The wind howled a mournful tune outside the imposing mansion, its icy breath seeping through the cracks in the shutters. Inside, though, a different kind of storm brewed. Arlecchino, the Knave of the Fatui, paced the plush rug in her study, her crimson dress swirling around her like a caged bird. Documents lay scattered across the ornately carved desk, forgotten.
"Arlecchino," a voice, soft but firm, cut through the tension. Furina, the sixth Fatui Harbinger, stood in the doorway, her golden eyes filled with concern. "What troubles you?"
Arlecchino stopped, a flicker of vulnerability in her usually stoic face. "The orphanage report," she admitted, gesturing to the papers. "The number of abandoned children continues to rise."
Furina crossed the room, her steps silent on the thick carpet. Picking up a report, she scanned it with a sigh. "It's a harsh world for the weak," she said, her voice laced with sympathy.
Arlecchino's gaze met hers. "But we are not weak, Furina." A pause, then a question that surprised even Arlecchino herself, "Have you ever considered...?"
Furina raised an eyebrow. "Considered what?"
"Adoption," Arlecchino blurted, then looked away, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "Perhaps we could offer a home to one of those children. Just one."
Furina's eyes widened in surprise. The idea was outlandish, to say the least. Arlecchino, the woman renowned for her icy heart and unwavering loyalty to the Tsaritsa, wanting a child? Yet, as Furina looked at Arlecchino's flushed face, a strange warmth bloomed in her chest. Perhaps it wasn't such a crazy idea after all.
"It wouldn't be easy," Furina began, her voice gentle. "Raising a child takes a lot of time and dedication."
"We can manage," Arlecchino declared, her voice firming. "We will." There was a newfound resolve in her eyes, a flicker of something maternal that Furina hadn't seen before.
And so, the unlikely pair embarked on their new mission. The process was arduous. Countless visits to orphanages, endless interviews, and navigating the bureaucracy of Snezhnaya. Arlecchino, always the strategist, meticulously planned for the child's needs. Furina, ever the diplomat, soothed ruffled feathers and ensured a smooth adoption.
Finally, the day arrived. A small, timid figure stood before them, clutching a worn doll. A girl with hair the color of twilight and eyes filled with fear and uncertainty. Arlecchino knelt before her, extending a hand. Her voice, usually sharp, was now surprisingly soft.
"Welcome home," she said.
The girl hesitated, then took Arlecchino's hand. Furina smiled, a genuine smile that reached her eyes. Perhaps, amidst the icy grip of Snezhnaya, a new kind of warmth had begun to bloom in the formidable Knave's mansion. The warmth of family.
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