#arlekin

You were the daughter of Karabas Barabas. To the rest of the world, that name meant cruelty. It meant the crack of a seven-tailed whip and the terrifying roar of a tyrant. But to the puppets the boys who danced and bled for his profit, you were the apology.

The theater was quiet, a rare lull between the morning's brutal rehearsals and the evening's frantic performance.

In the dim light of the wings, the dust motes danced like tiny, suspended stars. You preferred the wings; it was the only place where you were just a girl with a basket of fresh apples, not the daughter of the man who held the whip.

You found Piero first. He was sitting on a crate, his long, white sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a rare sight, and he wasn't crying, which was how the audience always saw him.

He was simply staring at the floorboards, lost in a stillness that felt heavy, like water pressure deep in the ocean.

"Piero?" you whispered, not wanting to startle him.

The said boy didn't jump from fear, he only lifted his head slowly, the white greasepaint cracking slightly around his eyes as they locked onto yours.

There was no theatrical sobbing, just a gaze so intense, so completely focused, that it felt like he had physically grabbed your wrist.

"You came," he said softy. His voice wasn't the wailing falsetto he used on stage; it was a low, resonant hum. "I was counting the seconds. I had reached three thousand and four."

"I brought food," you said, offering an apple. "Father is asleep in his office."

Piero didn’t look at the apple. He looked at your hand holding it. He reached out, his long, pale fingers brushing against your skin, lingering over your pulse point for a beat too long before taking the fruit.

"You are too good for this place," Piero uttered, turning the apple over in his hands as if it were a holy relic because you had touched it.

"Sometimes I wish the stage lights would explode, just so the darkness could hide you away where only I could find you."

It was a beautiful, poetic sentiment, but the look in his eyes was dark.

"Hah! And leave you alone with her? She would die of boredom in five minutes!"

The crash of cymbals couldn't have been more jarring. Arlekin dropped from the scaffolding above, landing in a crouch right between you and Piero. He sprang up instantly, his checkered costume a blur of motion, bells jingling with an irritating, cheerful rhythm.

"Arlekin, please," you stutter out, looking frantically over your shoulder toward the corridor. "Keep your voice down."

"Why?" Arlekin grinned, leaning into your personal space until you could smell the peppermint and old makeup on him.

"Are we sharing secrets? I love secrets. Is the secret that you missed me?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He grabbed your hand, the one Piero hadn't touched, and pulled you into a clumsy, mocking spin.

"Look at her, Piero! The Princess of the Puppets graces us with fruit!" Arlekin shouted, pitching his voice to the back row of an imaginary theater.

He dropped to one knee, throwing his arms wide, blocking your path completely. "Oh, glorious daughter of the Beard! Have you come to inspect the merchandise?"

"Arlekin, stop it," you said, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. A couple of stagehands walked by in the distance, glancing over with confused expressions.

You tried to pull your hand back, but his grip was iron-tight beneath the playful veneer. " people are staring."

"Let them stare!" Arlekin laughed, hopping up and draping an arm around your shoulders, weighing you down while he poked your burning cheek with a gloved finger.

"Look, she’s turning red! It matches my hat! See, Piero? She likes me better. I make her colorful. You just make her pale."

"You are making her uncomfortable," Piero said with a voice that is flat and cold, as he stood up, towering over the hunching Arlekin.

"I'm making her alive," Arlekin snapped back, his grin sharpening into something feral for just a second before returning to his goofy mask.

He looked down at you, his nose bumping yours. "You’re not uncomfortable, are you, little bird? You like the noise. It drowns out the sound of your father snoring."

Arlekin was loud, obnoxious, and acting like a fool, but the way he boxed you in against the crate wasn't accidental. He was creating a wall with his body, forcing you to look at him, to acknowledge him, to be part of his chaotic orbit.

"I just wanted to make sure Piero ate," you said, trying to duck out from under his arm.

Arlekin didn't let go. Instead, he deftly snatched the other apple from your basket and took a massive, crunching bite, eyes fixed on yours. "Delicious, tastes like devotion."

Piero stepped closer, invading the space from the other side. The air grew stifling. You were caught between the tragic statue and the manic jester.

"Ignore him," Piero whispered, his hand drifting to touch the hem of your sleeve, tugging it gently, anchoring you to him. "He is just noise. Stay here. Sit with me. I will be quiet. I will let you breathe."

"Boring!" Arlekin started to shout, ready to launch into another manic tirade, but something inside you finally snapped.

The heat in your cheeks wasn't just embarrassment anymore, it was a sudden, sharp spike of adrenaline, you couldn't handle the noise, the crude invasion of space, the way he treated the world like a toy he could break.

"If you like secrets so much," you hissed, your voice trembling with rage and fear that cut right through his act, "I have one for you."

Arlekin blinked, the manic grin faltering for a microsecond. He tilted his head, intrigued by the sudden fire in the usually quiet doll. "Oh? Do tell, whisper it right here." He tapped his cheek, leaning down.

You didn't whisper it to his cheek, instead you stepped forward, grabbing the checkered lapels of his costume, pulling his face down to yours so he couldn't look away while you wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. You wanted to hurt him the way he hurt everyone else.

"I know," you breathed, the words heavy and accusing. "I know about the aerialist. My friend. Everyone thinks the pulley snapped on its own, but I saw you. I saw you up in the rafters twenty minutes before curtain call. I know you killed her, Arlekin."

The silence that followed was choking, even the dust seemed to stop moving, while ou waited for him to recoil, to deny it, to make a joke.

Instead, the corners of Arlekin’s mouth curled up slowly, but it wasn't his usual frantic, painted-on smile. It was soft, genuine, and utterly terrifying.

He didn't pull away; he leaned into your grip, his eyes gleaming with a dark delight, as if you had just given him a gift.

"That's a very good secret," he exclaimed, his voice dropping to a velvety purr that sent a shiver down your spine.

As ge placed his hands over yours on his lapels, trapping you there. "She was loud, she took up your time, and she always wanted you to watch her practice. It was annoying."

He brushed a thumb over your knuckles, indifferent to the accusation of murder.

"But, fair is fair," Arlekin continued, his eyes darting briefly to the side before locking back onto yours. "In exchange for your secret, I will reveal one for you. A trade."

He leaned closer, until his lips brushed the shell of your ear.

"I may have cut the rope, but I'm not strong enough to hoist the counterweight alone." He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his grin widening, showing too many teeth. "Who do you think held the line steady while I worked the knife? Who do you think made sure the stage was clear?"

Your blood ran cold. Slowly, dread pooling in your stomach, you turned your head.

Piero was still standing there, he hadn't moved. He hadn't protested, only stood with his long, drooping sleeves and his face of eternal tragedy.

He looked at you with those wide, watery eyes that always seemed to beg for forgiveness, yet held none of the guilt of a normal man.

"She made you cry once," Piero said softly, his voice hollow and mournful, as if he were reciting a line from a sad play. "I could not allow that to happen again. We did it for you. We cleaned the world for you."

Letting go of Arlekin's coat, you stumble back a step in horror.