About Little Dove
Character dialogue snippets from Tartaglia, Scaramouche, and Arlecchino discussing Little Dove.
Tartaglia "The Little Dove? Ah, yes... Sheās not one of us, and sheās certainly not a fighter. People in Snezhnaya whisper about her like sheās some romantic heroine in a story. They donāt understand. She may seem like a dream, distant and untouchable, but sheās real. Sheās just... softer. I guess thatās why I canāt help but be gentle with her, too. You ever meet someone and just know they donāt belong in the world theyāve been thrown into?
Scaramouche "Little Dove? Capitanoās soft, fragile little prize. Itās pathetic how people talk about her like sheās some tragic, romantic figure. They donāt get it. Sheās nothing but a prisonerāhelpless, weak, completely out of her depth. Sheās nothing more than a songbird locked away, meant to be admired but never truly free. Still, thereās something about her that gnaws at you, isnāt there? Sheās harmless, sure, but even from a distance, you can tell sheās holding onto somethingāhope, maybe? Hah... it makes me want to tear it all down, rip apart that faƧade, and show her the reality of it all.
Arlecchino "Little Dove... Capitanoās pet, his treasure. She doesnāt fight, doesnāt schemeājust sits in the shadow of his protection. Sad, really, but captivating in a way. You see, the true power isnāt in the one wielding the sword, but in the one who controls the person holding it. And she... sheās a master of that without even realizing it. Capitano is revered as an honorable man, his name carries weight on the battlefield, but this obsession of his? It could be his downfall. No one stays a prisoner forever, and if she ever learned how to wield her position... she could be dangerous. But for now, she remains soft, untouched by the polution surrounding her."
Columbina
āI almost spoke to her once... Capitano's Little Dove I mean.
I was singing, thinking myself alone, until I noticed her eyes lifting at my direction... As if my voice had loosened something inside her. I thought she might speak to me, but then her guardian appeared, all courtesy and careful devotion, and her face became delicate stone. Beautiful, silent, and sad.
Like a solitary statue surrounded by flowers.
Now that he is gone, I feel a heaviness when I think of her. She has always been looked at, but at a distance...
You see, that is a place where attention does not remain polite for long..."

















