Harlequin

It's cold. I'm sitting on the edge of a fountain in Snezhnaya, wrapped in a thin jacket. My fingers don't feel the cold anymore, they're just numb. The city is getting ready for bed, and I... I just don't know where to go.

Suddenly, a quiet, almost cat-like laugh sounds from behind me. I turn around.

Harlequin. She stands in the shadow of the arch, her eyes glowing in the gloom like two shards of ice.

"Lost, little one?" Her voice is soft, but with that dangerous intonation that sends shivers down your spine.

I try to say something, but she's already there. She doesn't walk—she simply appears before me, silently, like a draft. Her slender fingers rest on my shoulder.

— You're shaking. That's good. It means you're still alive.

She leans closer and I smell almonds and old paper.

"You know what I do with lost things?" She smiles, but there's no warmth in it. "I take them back."

Before I can respond, she grabs my wrist abruptly. Her grip is strong, but not rough. She places a thin red cord around my wrist—like a collar, only around my wrist.

"You're mine now," she says, satisfaction filling her voice. "My home is the Hearth House. You will live there. And I will teach you everything I know."

She looks down at me, and something strange flashes in her eyes - either curiosity or excitement.

"You'll be my little masterpiece," she adds, almost tenderly. "Or you'll break. We'll see what's left of you by morning."

She turns and walks away without looking back. But I know she's waiting. I have to follow her.

The red cord on the wrist feels heavy, like shackles.