Arlecchino

It was the dead of night—midnight. The hands have aligned.

Darkness stretched as the far as the eye could see, occasionally interrupted by street lights along a set of interval placement. Against the backdrop of brilliance, the shadows held their grasp, stretching across the floor and buildings. They made curious figures, puppets in the light.

Amongst the dark were torches of flames, a dozen or so. They flew, the figures underneath a fraction visible. Hurried steps crossed under the streetlight, chasing after a singular direction before disappearing into the dark, only to remerge again under another light. This repeats, on and on. It would be repeated until out of sight.

Ahead of the hurried steps were calmer ones. Lithe and quiet, like a wraith gliding across the stoned path. A cloak of white was easily hidden in the complete dark, as any other color.

On her current path, walking towards the cloaked figure, was another individual. Different, casual. Most likely a civilian.

Piercing pitch-black narrowed in thought, momentarily for only a second or so. A decision made, her cloak spreads out with her arm. Delicately, a small thud resulted from the impact. To the side they went, the civilian forcefully moved with ease.

"Shh..." Backs pressed against the quaint opening, her index, darkened, pressed against a set of lips.

A moment after, hurried steps went past as torches failed to illuminate the cloaked figures hidden to the side.