Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The landlord of the small apartment at the end of the Quartier Narbonnais is a kindly old man afflicted with terrible nearsightedness and a perpetual hunch. It’s most likely thanks to his failing eyesight that he doesn’t seem to recognize Furina when she finally pens her signature on the lease and hands the forms back to him. He simply takes the papers, adjusts his bifocals, and squints at her signature for an uncomfortably long time before finally raising his head and smiling beatifically at her.

“All signed and sealed. Welcome to your new home, Mademoiselle… ah,” he glances back at the document, “Furny, is it?”

She doesn’t bother correcting him. Mademoiselle Furny it is. What difference will adding one more mask to her vast repertoire of fakes really make anyway. 

Her new home is a far cry from the Palais Mermonia. Gone are the familiar white marble floors, shined to a reflective polish, replaced instead by rickety wooden boards warped with age that make her every step uneven. The kitchen was probably fashionable a few decades ago- now, it’s simply in disrepair. Her own room is pathetically small, consisting only of a deflated mattress, a writing desk missing half a leg, and a sole oil lamp. Furina flicks the lamp on, and the small flame comes to life. It tries valiantly to keep the darkness at bay, batting away at the encroaching shadows on the walls.

She turns around, taking it all in. Her new life, her new home. It’s old, it’s musty, it’s in utter shambles.

But it’s quiet and empty and that’s what she needs it to be because she is so, so, very tired.

Furina stares at the little flame for a while longer. Then, she flicks it off, letting the darkness swallow her whole as she falls onto her bed.

—

She spends hours lying in bed, staring at her unremarkable ceiling. There’s nothing really wrong with her ceiling per se, other than the fact that a large water stain seems to have taken up residence in the middle of the space, and that one corner looks as though it’s sagging under the weight of a few centuries worth of inflated expectations. But other than that, it’s fine, as far as ceilings go. If she’s feeling particularly generous, she might even be convinced to call it a rather normal ceiling, special in its overwhelming mundaneness. That is, if she’s feeling generous. Right now, it’s hard to muster up any feeling other than an overwhelming weariness.  

Ceiling watching has become her new favorite pastime. It doesn’t require any thought or pretending, just inordinate amounts of time, which she has in spades. Her mornings usually start with waking up and counting the fine grains of wood she can make out on the ceiling, one by one until she loses count and has to start all over again. After a hundred or so rounds of mindless counting, she’ll fall into a fitful sleep again and wake up an hour or two later to go to the bathroom. Then it’s back to watching the ceiling some more and counting even more grains until the sunlight outside her window begins to dim into late afternoon, then dusk, and then finally, evening.

Evening is her most dreaded time of day because that’s when it becomes dark and when it becomes dark, the whispering thoughts in her head become braver and louder. She could easily flick on the lamp beside her on the bed stand to dispel the dark, but the mere thought of moving her arms even the slightest fraction seems like a monumentally draining task. So instead, she strains her eyesight in the encroaching darkness, trying to regain her count of the grains. But the harder she strains, the more the wood seems to shift and warp in the darkness, becoming all manner of absurd images. Sometimes she swears she can see flashes of the prophecy etched into the wood as if to taunt her; other times, she sees a masked face that looks like death holding a gigantic sword in its clawed hand. The sword is poised right above her head like the guillotine, ready to render its judgement.

And sometimes, it’s just eyes. Hundreds, thousands, millions of eyes, watching her, dissecting her like a frog on a tray. Eyes, eyes, eyes.

She shuts her own eyes, but they follow her into her mind as well, cutting and cutting and cutting until the pain finally turns into numbness. And when nothing remains of her original self, she places the pillow over her face and smothers herself until the world once again sinks into inky darkness.

In her dreams, she swears she can still hear the sound of the water rising.

—

It’s around the third day (or is it fourth? Time is a blur when all you do is stay in bed) of her newfound isolation that Furina discovers while immortal she may be, removed from the feeling of hunger she is not.

This presents a new problem to her situation. Back in the Palais Mermonia, she never had to suffer the indignity of missing a meal- not with her personal chef and a slew of servants ready to whip up a fine dining experience at her immediate beck and call. And if she wasn’t feeling the fine dining experience, a melusine guard would have been more than happy to run to the nearest confectionery store and fetch her a cake or pudding of some sort to sate her appetite. Suffice to say, hunger was a non-issue for her in the Palais Mermonia.

But she is not in the Palais Mermonia with her chefs and servers and melusine errand runners. She is in a small rented room that is barely keeping together, located at the end of the Quaritier Narbonnais, with only herself and the unending quiet for company.

Another uncomfortable growl from her stomach reluctantly forces her to action. It had been easy enough in the beginning to ward off the pangs of hunger by simply sleeping more and if she could have her way, she would have just chosen to sleep and never wake up. Unfortunately for her though, it would seem her stomach has other plans. Sluggishly, begrudgingly, she throws off the covers, trudges over to her kitchen, and opens the fridge. She peers inside. 

What she sees is far from encouraging. Assorted condiments, while excellent when paired with food, are not food by themselves, unfortunately. A bottle of opened Fonta, half drunk- also not food. Mmm. What looks to be a scone of some sort left by the previous resident of the room- very tempting, but the slightly fuzzy green growth on its side is probably better left undisturbed.

With a sigh, Furina closes the fridge. She considers her options. Going back to sleep is impossible with how angrily her stomach is growling at her and while her landlord seems nice enough, she can’t exactly ask him to go and make a grocery run for her. Which means she has to do it herself. 

She has to go. 

Outside.

As soon as the thought pops into her mind, she feels her pulse quicken and breath shorten. An unsettling cold creeps into the pit of her stomach and for a second, it feels like she might- but then she ruthlessly shoves the feeling aside before it can overwhelm her.

She breathes in, then out. In, then out.

“It’s just some groceries.” She grits out, gripping the fridge handle with more force than is strictly necessary. “How hard can it be. If you can trick the people into thinking you were their god, you can damn well trick yourself into thinking that you’re okay.” 

She pushes off the fridge, striding straight to the door. She lets manic momentum propel her forward, shoving away the doubts as she reaches for the door handle.

“You’re okay,” she mutters furiously to herself. “You have to be,” she says, opening the door.

And then she stops dead in her tracks.

Leaning on the opposite wall, Fontaine’s champion duelist and former bodyguard to the fake Archon of Hydro, Clorinde, raises her head.

Furina freezes. 

Her former bodyguard makes no move. Only regards her with a blank gaze from beneath her bycocket hat.

A cold sweat begins to form on Furina’s brow. She remembers hearing a story once, more a rumor, circulating in the hushed whispers of Fontaine’s high society. How Fontaine’s newest champion duelist was descended from the Marechaussee, the famed hunters of old. How they never let their prey escape once they had them in their sights. How they always finished a hunt, always.

Clorinde remains motionless. Arms crossed, eyes fixed on her.

Furina opens her mouth. Nothing comes out. It feels like there’s ice in her throat.

Clorinde’s eyes bore into her.

Another second passes. A minute.

Two.

Numbing fear slowly turns to trepidation, to confusion. Is this a hunt… or is it a trap?

Furina takes a cautious step out. And then another, and another. Her former champion turns her head to follow her every step but makes no other move. It’s only when she’s nearly at the stairs leading down to the landing that Clorinde pushes off the wall.

Furina bolts. She takes the stairs down two, three at a time. It’s a miracle she doesn’t break her neck. She skids down into the shabby lobby, catching herself, and shoves the door open with her shoulder. 

Only once she’s safely outside does she finally stop and hunch over, panting for breath. Hunger has left her weak and wobbly. Spots are dancing in her eyes. She squeezes them shut, trying to will them away.

She hears the door open behind her and her eyes fly open.

Clorinde steps out, shutting the door neatly behind her before turning to Furina with a single raised brow. As if to say, ‘Is that really the best you can do?’

It was never a hunt to begin with. Just a cat toying with the little frightened mouse.

The fear suddenly drains out of Furina. She’s so tired. The rational part of her brain is screaming at her to run, run away like she always has but she can’t. Not anymore. She’s just so. Damn. Tired.

“Just get it over with,” she says, the sound of her voice sounding broken even to her own ears. “I don’t care if you make it hurt. Just… make it quick.”

Something finally cracks in her former champion’s expression. For a fraction of a second, her stoic face drops, eyes widening. It’s almost sickly gratifying to Furina, seeing her would-be executioner breaking the icy facade.

And just as quickly as her expression changes, it reverts back to blankness. 

Nothing. Not even an acknowledgement of her pain or weariness. Just… nothing.

Suddenly, Furina feels her resignation spark into fury. So this is the sum of her suffering then? Not even worthy enough to be a stain on her executioner’s blade. Fine.

Fine.

“To hell with you.”

Furina brushes past her former champion, walking down the street as fast as her legs can take her. She doesn’t bother looking behind her to see if she’s being followed or not. If her executioner wants to stick the knife into her back now, then so be it. If not, then fine. 

She has groceries to get, death sentence or not.

Thankfully, the grocer is nearby, just on the corner of the quartier, only a block away. A small bell tinkles as she pushes the door open and the shopkeeper, a stern-looking older man with a droopy moustache raises his head from the newspaper he’s reading. He gives her a cursory nod before returning back to his newspaper.

A chilly reception. Perfect. Furina snags a basket and heads down an aisle filled with what looks to be bread and grains of some sort. The store is relatively empty, save for the occasional customer here and there, but Furina doesn’t want to linger more than she needs to. The last thing she needs right now is someone to recognize her. Or for Clorinde to follow her in and while Furina might have successfully faded from the spotlight, her former champion certainly has not.

She snatches a loaf of bread, mentally calculating the price and the Mora she has in her purse. This seems like it’s… enough? Maybe. Whatever. She shoves it into her basket along with a few random boxes of what looks to be a pasta of some variety before heading back to the front. She places the basket on the counter and the shopkeep looks up.

“Found everything alright then?”

Furina simply nods, not in the mood for conversation. Unperturbed, the shopkeeper sets his newspaper down and begins ringing her up. As he types the numbers into the register, Furina’s eyes land on the paper.

And freezes when she sees her own image staring right back at her.

Furina de Fontaine: Where Is Our God Now?

Liar, Crook, and Archon.

Court of Fontaine in shambles. The Oratrice no more.

What happens to us now?

That’s her picture. Her picture, right there, for all the world to see. Everyone can see her. Everyone. Everyone has their eyes on her. Everyone.

“Mademoiselle?”

Furina jumps, startling both herself and the shopkeeper.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” He deposits a few coins onto the counter. “Your change.”

Furina grabs at the coins. Her fingers are trembling and they fall out of her loose grip. She bites her lip, tries again.

The shopkeeper is looking at her strangely. He’s squinting.

“Have we met before, mademoiselle?”

Everyone can see her. Everyone. Everyone has eyes on her. Everyone.

She grabs her basket and dashes for the exit, ignoring the shopkeeper's surprised call. Somebody enters the shop and she can’t stop and runs right into them, sending her groceries flying to the ground.

“Sorry, sorry.” She shoves things pell-mell into her basket, not caring if something gets squished. “I’m so sorry.”

She picks herself off the ground and runs. She runs without stopping, faces passing by her in a blur. She runs all the way back to her small apartment at the end of Quartier Narbonnais, shoving the key into the lock. Once inside, she stumbles into the bathroom, catching herself on the edge of the sink.

She can’t breathe.

Eyes on her. Eyes on her.

Don’t look at me. Don’t look, please, please, please, please, please, please, don’t look at me.

Liar. Crook. Archon. 

I’m sorry.

Her stomach churns and she dry heaves into the sink. Nothing comes out and she heaves again. She feels their eyes on her skin, judging her, seeing her for the fraud she really is.

Liar. Crook. Archon.

It’s your fault.

I’m sorry.

Her throat spasms and acid burns the back of her windpipe. She can’t breathe, she can’t breathe, she needs to breathe or she’ll drown, drown like the prophecy always said she would. The tears are threatening to drown her.

Someone grabs her by the elbow and she tries to scream but all that comes out is a pathetic whimper. She can’t see who it is. Her vision has gone dark and she’s terrified.

“I’m so sorry.”

And the tears finally drown her, leaving her all alone in the darkness once more. 

Chapter Text

Consciousness comes to Furina in slow, plodding stages. Her mind is first to break the surface, resurfacing deep from within the realms of a fitful slumber plagued with the sounds of rushing water. One by one, her other senses follow suit.

Her eyes flutter open. She sits up, blinking groggily and then groaning as a dull ache settles behind her eyes. Her head is pounding.  And her eyes are swollen. And her nose feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. Conscious and awake, but at what dire cost? 

A glance out the window fails to tell her just how much time has passed- the sky is overcast and dreary, a perfect mirror of her own foggy state. Gods, it hurts her head just to think but she tries anyway, attempting to piece together the gaps in her memory.

It’s all a queasy blur. She remembers going out to fetch groceries… and failing that task rather spectacularly. After that are just hazy remnants of feelings. She remembers the overwhelming fear and panic, feeling sick and trapped and spiraling into darkness. And just before that something… someone? Grabbing her arm? Or was that part a hallucination conjured by her downward spiral as well?

…Probably not, since last she recalls, a hallucination doesn’t have the ability to drag her to bed, change her into sleepwear, and then tuck her beneath the covers

So not a hallucination... but an unknown helper? Who then?

…And are they still here?

A sound suddenly comes from her kitchen, not unlike a pot being accidentally dropped, and she jumps, heart nearly shooting out of her chest.

Well, that answers that.

Carefully, she gets up from the bed and creeps quietly to the door. She places one ear against the wood, trying to make out any sound that would indicate who or what her uninvited house guest is but she hears nothing concrete. Just the soft patter of footsteps and the sound of the stove burning away.

She hesitates, hand coming to rest on the doorknob. Then, with a shuddering breath, she cracks the door open and peers out. 

Even with their back to her, Furina can instantly recognize the shock of jet-black hair tucked properly beneath a familiar bycocket hat.

“I was wondering when you’d finally wake up.” 

Clorinde doesn’t look up from the stove, ladle in hand as she continues to stir the simmering pot in front of her. She lifts the ladle up to her mouth, taking a cautious bite before flicking the stove off. She turns around, pot in hand.

“How are you feeling?”

Furina only stares silently, wide-eyed, back at her. 

“Different question.” Her former champion sets the pot down on her rickety dining table. “Are you hungry?”

As if on cue, Furina’s stomach lets out a loud, mournful growl. 

She feels her ears turning warm, but thankfully, Clorinde either doesn’t hear it or she tactfully chooses not to say anything. She simply goes to the far end of the table, opposite to where Furina is, and pulls out the seat before sitting down. She looks to Furina, waiting.

Not expectantly. 

Just… waiting. 

A second later, Furina opens the door fully. She shuffles over to the table and sits down. There’s a fork on her side, but no plates. Of course there wouldn’t be any plates. She doesn’t own any plates. She doesn’t even remember owning a fork, let alone two.

She picks up the fork and dips it into the pot, stabbing what looks like a small piece of… something. She doesn’t know what it is. It’s yellow. It’s slightly moist. It’s most certainly unappetizing. She lifts the fork to her lips. Chews. 

Swallows. 

And makes a face. It’s lightly salted but other than that, it tastes exactly how it looks. Like wet rubber that’s been boiled. Aggressively bland.

“What is this?”

“Macaroni,” says Clorinde and even the name of the dish sounds plain and dull. She picks up her own fork and stabs a piece inside the pot. “You should know; it’s the only thing you grabbed before running out of the grocers in a panic.”

Furina has nothing to say to that. She takes another bite instead.

Swallows.

“Are you going to kill me?”

Without batting an eye, Clorinde dips her fork into the pot once more and responds, “It’d be too much effort to make you food just to kill you right afterward.”

“You could be issuing me my last meal and rites.”

“And you can do better than sauceless macaroni as your last meal.”

“My standards are very low.”

Clorinde sets her fork down. She stares down at Furina, who immediately looks away. Even now in the safety of her own home, the feeling of having eyes on her person is unsettling. 

“Have you always been so…” her former champion pauses, tapping a finger on the wood, “macabre?”

Furina looks down.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Clorinde raises a thin eyebrow. 

“Maybe?”

Furina shrugs.

“It’s been 500 years since I’ve had a moment to be myself. I’ve forgotten a lot in those 500 years.”

The tapping stops.

Furina stares at the pot. Her reflection stares back at her, distorted. Practically impossible to make out any of her discerning features, not even the colors of her hair.

“Like how to be just ‘me.’”

The only thing she can make out in the distorted reflection is her eyes. Hooded. Tired. Accusing. 

She tears her gaze away

“Why are you here.”

For a long moment, her former champion says nothing. Then, she leans back in the chair and clears her throat.

“Officially, by order of the Iudex Justice, Acting Regent of the Court of Fontaine, I am here to render my services and see that your basic needs are met- food, shelter, Mora, etc. Until those needs are satisfied or my services are deemed no longer necessary, I am to remain near your person and continue to assist you to the best of my abilities.” 

Iudex Justice. Acting Regent. Hydro Dragon.

A cold pit opens in the bottom of her stomach. Her former Chief Justice, now Acting Regent. A regent for a nation now without a god. A nation she abandoned. She can only imagine what he thinks of her, what she’s done, and…

She shakes her head. No. No, that life is behind her now. She left all that behind when she gave up everything except her name and even that she’s not sure if it really belongs to her.

Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.

“You said ‘officially.’” She lifts up her chin, mustering what remains of her courage to put on what she hopes is a strong face, a defiant face. “And what, pray tell, is the ‘unofficial’ reason you’re here?”

Clorinde says nothing, but her silence speaks for itself.

For the first time since the trial at the Opera Epiclese, Furina smiles.

And for the first time since she’s known her, Clorinde flinches.

“Let me guess,” Furina coos, meeting her former champion’s eyes, and it’s so, terrifyingly easy to slip the mask back on again, to use the honeyed, poisoned words she’s so familiar with to strike like a viper and flay. “Worried that a certain fake Archon might try to upstage the delicate balance of the court if she ever decides to make her grand comeback?” Her smile grows ever wider, broken glass and jagged edges. “Oh, delightfully devious of you! Of them! Keeping the charlatan of Fontaine under lock and key under the kindly guise of promising to take care of her every want and need. How noble, how generous, how grand!”

“That’s one way to look at it,” says her former champion, eyes like steel.

“Oh?” Furina laces her fingers together and places her chin on top. It feels wonderful, it feels dreadful, playing with a loaded gun pointed straight at her head. A manic edge bubbles beneath the surface of her veneer, shoving aside the voice inside howling for her to shut her mouth before she says something that will definitely get her killed or worse. “And how would you frame it, my dear former champion? Tell me, why exactly are you here then, if not to be mine judge, jury, and executioner?”

“Don’t call me that,” says Clorinde, lips pressed into a thin line, and Furina could crow.

“Call you what?” Instantly she descends on the crack in the armor like vultures to a carcass. “Executioner?  Oh, but, isn’t that what you are, why you’re here? Why else would you be? One grand send-off, a heart-pounding finale for the show of the century!” She throws her arms out, catching the entire stage, the entire world in her manic grasp. “For one night only, come one, come all, and bear witness to the divine comedy that is, the very charlatan of Fontaine! Witness the very rise and fall with your own two eyes!” She throws her head back and laughs, glass piercing her mask. “That's why you’ve all come, that's why you're. All. Here!”

Clorinde’s head whips up and lightning strikes the stage, the world.

“I’m here, because when her archon needed her the most, her champion raised a blade to her throat instead.”

The laughter freezes in her throat.

“I’m here, because I wasn’t before when I should have been. I’m here, right now, because I’ll be damned if I make that same mistake ever again.”

Lightning continues to dance in the duelist’s eyes, even as her voice remains unbreakably firm.

“But that’s not my decision to make.” The fire lessens but the embers remain smoldering. “It’s yours.”

The world shatters, the stage lights turn off.

This is a trick. It has to be. There’s no way on Teyvat that she’d forgive her fraud of an Archon that easily, that anyone would. Why would they? Why.

“I thought Neuv-” Furina stops. Lets out a shaky breath. “I thought you said the Acting Regent ordered you to do this.”

Her former champion recedes back into the seat, shoulders falling just the slightest.

“I requested it. Personally. The Acting Regent merely gave it a title to make it official as well as adding his unwavering support. But we both agreed, you’re the one who has the final say. It’s your choice to make. Yours alone.” 

It has to be a trick. She searches Clorinde’s face. There has to be a lie in there somewhere, anywhere.

All she finds is a quiet determination, an understanding, a kindness that she doesn’t deserve.

“It’s my choice?” The mask is cracking, slipping, threatening to fall away. Her throat is raw from the laughter, but she pushes through the pain. “Mine?”

Clorinde dips her head and says nothing.

Furina looks down. Her own choice, her own decision, her own life.

What’s the right choice?

What's the wrong choice?

What do I want?

For a moment, she does nothing.

Then, slowly, she reaches out a trembling hand and picks up her fork. She dips it into the pot and raises it to her lips and places it in her mouth. Chews. Swallows.

It’s bland. It’s tasteless.

It’s warm.

“This is terrible,” she manages to say. “Too salty.”

And at that, she swears she sees the corner of Clorinde’s lips twitch ever so slightly upwards.

“I’ll remember that for next time,” she says, politely turning away as Furina continues to eat her too salty macaroni even as her vision blurs and it becomes impossible to see.

—

It feels more than a little surreal having another human being nearby in such close proximity, especially after the last few days of near-constant solitude. Even more surreal is the fact that the specific individual just so happens to be her former-now-not-former bodyguard, a woman who not that long ago, was more than ready to cut her down in the name of duty and justice, in front of her own people. 

Furina’s still not quite sure how she feels about that last fact. Good, bad, the jury’s still out on that one.

And yet, despite everything having changed all at once and in such a short time frame, nothing truly changes. Even with her newly reinstated (temporary) bodyguard, Clorinde actually keeps much to herself. In fact, most of her time is spent keeping a near-constant watch outside the door to the apartment, largely leaving Furina to her own devices inside. She had steadfastly refused Furina’s hesitant invitation (largely made out of politeness) to come inside instead, insisting on letting the latter have her own privacy.

And in a strange way, it’s comforting, having both the choice and the distance given to Furina, because even with her new companion, her own disposition doesn’t magically change overnight. Because nothing really changes, not really. Sure, there are days, rare as they are, which can almost be considered different than the norm, acceptable even, days in which she can crawl out of bed and function like an actual human being. And then there are the not-so-good days, far more consistent than the acceptable ones, where simply heating up leftovers from the night before can be considered her crowning accomplishment, one that leaves her drained and utterly spent.

And then there are the days where all she can do is lie in bed and count the grains of wood on her ceiling over and over and over and over again.

Those days are particularly bad and it’s on those particularly bad days where Clorinde breaks her own vow and breaches the sanctity of her privacy. On those days, she’s the one who will unlock the door with the spare key and gently drag her out of bed and to the bath, she’s the one who will wash her hair and dry it and clothe her, she’s the one who will heat up the leftovers and silently urge her to pick up the fork eat whatever is in front of her, to maintain some semblance of normalcy, of a routine.

Only when Furina’s own daily needs are met, will the champion duelist begin her own routine, one that consists of laying down all the armaments on her person onto the rickety dining room table. First is her Iron Sting, unbuckled from its place on her hip, followed by her revolver and bullets, and lastly, a truly astounding assortment of throwing knives that she keeps hidden on her person. Once everything is properly laid out and in its rightful place can she proceed to maintaining and cleaning all of said weapons.

Furina watches her listlessly during these quiet moments. There’s a clipped cadence to all of her bodyguard’s movements, as if each action has its appropriate expenditure of effort and energy, no doubt honed by years of repetition. Oil, wipe, polish, inspect, continue. Oil, wipe, polish, inspect, continue. Rinse and repeat, ad nauseam. 

“Surely you don’t need to do that every time,” Furina finally says after one particularly long morning. She’s had a slew of bad days recently, one after the other and her sleep schedule is non-existent, interrupted by fitful nightmares of rising water and incisive eyes. As tired as she is though, sleep remains impossible, so instead, she settles on watching Clorinde instead.

Oil, wipe, polish, inspect, continue. 

Rinse and repeat, ad nauseam. 

“You know I wouldn’t be considered much of a champion duelist if I let my weapons rust.” Her bodyguard holds a throwing knife up to the light, turning it back and forth until it passes her meticulous inspection. With a satisfied nod, she sets it down and moves on to the next one. Rinse and repeat.

“But you don’t need to do it every day. Surely you can take a single day off or have someone else do it.”

“Then that would make it someone else’s responsibility and not mine.”

Even with her complete lack of energy, Furina finds it in herself to roll her eyes.

“Now you’re just arguing semantics.”

Clorinde simply shrugs.

“There’s no grand reason to why, if that's what you're looking for. It’s a habit that turned into a hobby. Just a small little responsibility that I can fulfill every day in a world filled with very big responsibilities.”

She sets the knife down and picks up another.

Oil. Wipe. Polish. Inspect.

Rinse and repeat.

“If I can’t do anything else, I know at the very least, I can do this.” Her eyes never once stray from her work. “Small victories, wherever I can take them.”

Furina falls silent, mulling over her words.

“... I could use a small victory,” she finally admits, closing her eyes and letting her shoulders droop.

Clorinde hums thoughtfully and Furina lets the soft sounds of cloth against quiet steel finally lull her into a dreamless slumber.

—

The next morning is one of those rare good mornings, one where Furina can actually get out of bed and dress herself proper. She even manages to make breakfast for herself, a piece of only slightly crispy toast and butter. It’s her first time not burning the toast and for some reason, that fact alone is enough to give her an inordinate amount of satisfaction throughout her breakfast. 

“Small victories,” she murmurs to herself as she chews on her toast. She swallows. 

“Baby steps,” she says, an idea beginning to form in the back of her mind as she cleans and puts away her plate. A silly idea, a childish idea. But an idea of her own, all the same.

“One little thing I can do,” she repeats as the idea grows, bigger and bigger as she puts on her shoes, gloves, and tophat and opens the door to her apartment.

Clorinde looks up from where she’s leaning against the opposite wall. She tilts her head, waiting for her to speak.

Furina clears her throat.

“I want a hobby.”

—

An hour later sees the two of them walking out of a quaint little establishment titled Bertin’s House of Curiosities, carrying an assortment of items in hand. The one in Furina’s hands is particularly important- a small rectangular tank filled with water, and she makes extra sure to walk slowly so as not to jostle the residents inside said tank.

She can’t stop smiling. It’s the first genuine smile she’s had in a long, long time.

“You know,” Clorinde readjusts her grip on the recently purchased bags of small foods and toys, “when most people say they want a hobby they mean something like taking care of a plant or reading a new book. They start small.”

“And indeed they are small, look!” Furina holds the tank up to Clorinde’s face, who takes a polite, cursory glance before looking away. “And I assure you, I quite know what I am doing. The shopkeeper assured me that out of the three, only Mademoiselle Crabaletta would continue to grow for a while more, but that the tank would still be plenty big enough for the three of them.”

Clorinde raises a single brow. Furina is quickly coming to recognize that her bodyguard has many flavors of raised eyebrow- bemusement, wryness, deadpan dryness, etc. This one, if she interprets it correctly, is most likely amused indulgence.

“You’ve already named them.” It’s not a question.

“But of course! What kind of boor would I be not to give names to my Salon Solitaire? Granted, they’re all names I took from a book I read a while back, but they are still excellent names regardless, worthy of their pedigree! Behold!” 

She points to the ball-octopus stuck contently on the glass with its suckers, “May I have the utmost pleasure to introduce to you the esteemed Gentilhomme Usher! He can be a bit of a stick in the mud at times, but his intentions are good and genuine and he is one of Mademoiselle Crabaletta’s most trusted confidants once she sees past his strict exterior. And let’s not forget the good Surintendante Chevalmarin!” She gestures to the bright pink seahorse floating without care next to Mademoiselle Crabaletta and drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Between you and me, he is a surintendante in name only; more often than not, he can be found shirking his clerical duties in favor of flirting with the good Mademoiselle. And oh, she pretends to be miffed with his advances, but secretly, she enjoys the attention and despite his frivolous nature, he truly does care for her. She warms up to him much slower than she did with Usher, but after solving the mystery of the mansion with him, the two find common ground to stand on and…”

She goes on, gabbing away all the while as they walk back home. Clorinde says nothing, only humming quietly when Furina asks for her input and letting slip a small smile when the latter is not looking.

Chapter Text

It’s around a few weeks after having acquired the members of her Salon Solitaire, that Clorinde finally asks something of her.

Furina pauses, a box of dried aquarium food half-open as she prepares to present the residents of her aquarium with their breakfast. Her eyebrows scrunch in confusion.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening.” Her excuse is half-true. It’s been one of those mornings again, where it’s not particularly good, but not particularly bad either. Just tiring. On those kinds of days, it’s hard to get anything accomplished, save for making sure that her Salon Solitaire remains fed and cared for. Just because she’s having a bad day doesn’t mean her aquatic friends should suffer for her inability to be happy. And besides, it’s a silly reason, but seeing her salon cared for always manages to lift her downed spirits, however slightly. “Can you repeat what you said?”

Sitting at the rickety kitchen table, weapons laid out before her, Clorinde continues her own routine.

“I asked, if you were interested in attending a get-together with some of my friends.”

Furina blinks owlishly. She turns her head first to the left, then to the right. 

Her bodyguard doesn’t roll her eyes. That would be improper.

“Yes, I am referring to you. There’s no one else here that I could be referring to.”

“You could be asking the Salon members,” Furina mutters, only a touch petulantly.

“Last I checked, a seahorse doesn’t have the required appendages to hold a tea cup successfully for a get-together like this one.”

Furina sniffs haughtily. “Because Surintendante Chevalmarin doesn’t have the necessary vocal requirements to voice her offense, I will be offended on her behalf.” She turns away, dropping the dried flakes into the tank and watching as her salon members gratefully lap up the offering. “The gall of your tone, good lady. Deplorable.”

Clorinde says nothing and continues running the cloth over her Iron Sting. Saying nothing is her way of waiting patiently and by the Archons, can Clorinde be patient.

After a second longer, Furina sighs, dropping her facade.

“You can’t actually be serious.”

“Why not.”

Furina looks back at her bodyguard incredulously. “Ummm, I’m not sure if it’s come to your attention, but in the past, I never accepted those types of gatherings unless they were officially ordained. I had to keep up the appearance of an Archon, remember. Any sort of intimate setting would have made it difficult to continue the charade.”

“But you’re not the Archon anymore,” Clorinde counters simply and… drat, that’s true, she has a point. “There’s no need to hold yourself at a distance now.”

“I-I mean, yes, that’s true but…” Furina flounders, “ah, y-you said that it was a gathering with your friends, did you not? I’m afraid my presence would be the awkward third wheel on the already fumbling cart. Better that you alone attend, since you know them already.”

“Actually, you know them too,” Clorinde says, blunt as a hammer, and Furina mentally stumbles yet again.

“Er… I. I do?”

Clorinde shrugs. “Only in passing, but the fact still stands. There won’t be any awkwardness or forced conversation. Just a few friends of mine, drinking tea, catching up.” 

She pauses and then carefully adds, “Eating cake.”

Oh, that’s a low blow. Furina tries not to scowl. “You can’t bribe me with cake every time, you know.”

“Actually, I can and more importantly, I will.”

Furina tries to hold onto her indignation. She really does. But her frustration is about as genuine as her fake reign as Archon and a second later, it all melts out of her in a weary sigh. 

“Why me?”

“Why not?” is her bodyguard’s exceedingly simple reply and Furina is starting to greatly dislike that answer since the champion duelist seems to pull it out at every opportunity she can get and each time, Furina has to fumble for an answer. “Even I have to socialize like an actual human being from time to time and since they invited me, I thought you’d like the chance to do the same. And since we all know each other, you won't even have to put on any airs.”

Gentle dig at her own social life aside, even Furina finds herself being infuriatingly swayed by her bodyguard’s argument. It’s been literal ages since she's talked to anyone aside from Clorinde and her Salon Solitaire, and while her Salon Solitaire make for excellent companions, excellent conversationalists they are not. Make no mistake, the thought of conversing outside her small circle of (admittedly just the one) individuals still sends an uncomfortably chilly feeling in the pit of her stomach.

…But. It’s not as chilling as it once was. In fact, it almost sounds… manageable. And the added bonus of not having to put on a mask to converse with people could be… nice, even.

And also, more importantly- cake. 

Archons above, it's been so long since she’s had a slice of actual, real food. Having co-existed with Clorinde up to this point has confirmed one of Furina's earlier suspicions- that while her champion may be an excellent duelist and fighter in her own right, her skills in the kitchen rank barely above Furina’s own. It was only last week that they had finally moved on from lightly salted macaroni to macaroni with sauce. Furina had cried tears of joy when she discovered that their macaroni, that soggy, pathetic excuse for food, could indeed, actually have a flavor profile beyond that of just wet rubber.

(Clorinde had called her dramatic, but Furina swore she saw a somber twinkle in her eyes as well.)

“Well?” says Clorinde, bringing Furina out of her thoughts. “How about it?”

Furina bites her lip. Curse her own weak resolve. Curse Clorinde for bringing up a completely logical argument and counterpoints to rebut her own. Curse the temptation of sweets and cake. 

“It’s your choice,” says Clorinde, and her tone could almost be considered gentle. “If you don’t want to, then you don’t have to.”

 And most of all, curse her for being so damned understanding.

“I’m…” Furina sets down the box of dried food. She hesitates. “I’m not very good at this sort of thing. Honestly, I’m starting to suspect I never was. I think I was just good at pretending until I started to believe it myself.”

“Well then,” says Clorinde as sets aside her cloth and stands up. She comes to Furina’s side, looking down at her. “It’s a good thing you won’t have to pretend anymore.”

Furina looks away from her gaze.

“Don't you think I'd, you know, be a bit of a wet blanket?” she says, one last ditch effort.

“Not really,” says Clorinde, as blunt as ever, and Furina has to stop herself from snorting out of surprise. “If anything, that’s what they would call me.”

“Are you really sure these people are your friends?”

“Only one way to find out.” 

Clorinde looks at her knowingly and Furina can’t help but duck her head so that the amusement isn’t visible for her bodyguard to. She refuses to let Clorinde have this round in their little game, petty as it might be.

She does have a point though.

Only one way to find out.

—

Evening rolls around and the two of them make their way to a small tavern nestled comfortably at the far end of the Vasari Passage. It’s not the type of establishment that Furina would have been caught dead entering in her previous life and while the shabby exterior leaves much to be desired from her expectations, she can help but feel a small thrill as she steps through the door. She had always wondered what it would be like to live just as a normal citizen of Fontaine, to go to lesser-known eateries and places such as these and experience a life far removed from her own. A normal life.

Contrary to the drab exterior, the interior is surprisingly warm-lit and welcoming. Clean too. There’s some ambient noise, but nothing too intrusive or loud, and only a few patrons here and there. Clorinde must be a regular because the barkeep nods to her in recognition when she catches his eye.

“Welcome. Your party’s already here. Room 203.”

“Thanks.” Clorinde gestures for Furina to follow and begins climbing up the stairs. 

Room 203 is right at the end. Clorinde raises her hand to knock on the door, but Furina stops her before she can.

“Wait. I, um…” she falters. There’s no good way to put this. “I need a second.”

Clorinde raises an eyebrow but says nothing in response. She lowers her fist and nods for her to continue.

Furina straightens up, closing her eyes. She takes a steadying breath. One, two, in and out. She clears her throat. “Ah, ah. Ahem.”

She opens her eyes.

“I’m ready,” says the girl behind a mask.

Clorinde makes no comment. She simply raises her hand and knocks twice on the door. 

“It’s open,” calls out a voice from within, and she pushes the door open as Furina follows behind her.

Clorinde had called it a tea party, but as far as parties go, it’s probably one of the most subdued gatherings Furina has ever been invited to. For starters, there are only two people seated at the table- a rough-looking man, jacket thrown haphazardly over his shoulder, with streaks of white in his otherwise jet-black hair who looks vaguely familiar to her. And… and a small melusine with a gentle look on her face that also looks damningly familiar.

The melusine is the first to look up and her gentle expression breaks into a wide smile.

“Clorinde!” She gets up from her chair and comes around the table to hug the taller woman around the knees. And to Furina’s utter astonishment, Clorinde lets her. She even leans down to give her an affectionate pat on the head. “You’re late,” says the melusine, though without any indictment in her tone.

“Only a little,” replies Clorinde, neatly sidestepping the reason as to why they were late (it had been Furina’s fault. She had dragged her feet in the preparations until the last possible second). “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” says the melusine, and the way she says it makes it truly seem that everything really is and will be, alright. She turns to Furina and smiles, giving a little wave. “And hello to you too. I’m Sigewinne.”

“And you can call me Wriothesley,” says the man, getting up from his seat and Furina does her best not to recoil because the other man already had a presence sitting down. Standing up, he completely looms over her. The sharp look in his eyes also doesn’t help matters at all. “Though you probably know me better as the Duke of Fortress Meropide.”

Furina’s eyes widen in recognition. The Duke of Fortress Meropide? The infamous jailer himself?! This is Clorinde’s so-called casual friend?! Is this what she meant by Furina knew them already in passing? Oh, that doesn’t count. That so doesn’t count! The Duke is infamous enough that even children on the streets of Fontaine know of him ‘in passing.’ 

The melusine by the Duke's side is starting to look familiar to her. Furina thinks back to where she’d seen that same face before. It was… where was it again? The opera?

A jolt goes through Furina as she suddenly remembers putting her hand in a bowl of water, how the ensuing pain was so intense that she nearly passed out on the stage, how the strange little melusine who had come forward looked her straight in the eyes as she treated the burns on her hands, never once taking her eyes off her, not for a second, not…

“Oh, y-yes!” Her exclamation comes out more forcefully than intended, causing a slew of surprised expressions thrown her way. She quickly clears her throat, shoving away the feeling that is certainly not light panic deep into the recesses of her mind. “Yes, I have heard of you, Duke Wriothesley, yes.”

“Just Wriothesley,” says the jailer, and the way he says it feels like she's made a mistake of some kind and she tries her best not to cringe.

“Wriothesley it is. Oh, but where are my manners.” Furina doffs her tophat and takes a bow, falling back onto centuries' worth of etiquette and muscle memory. “Furina de Fontaine, as I’m sure you all well know. Enchanté. It is my absolute pleasure to finally make all of your acquaintances.”

“We’ve actually met before,” says Wriothesley, and now the mania she had carefully hidden away begins to creep in once again behind her strained smile.

“O-oh, we have? Er, I mean, we have, of course we have!” Furina laughs, eyes darting a little to the side of his head, never directly at his gaze. “Ah, would you be so kind as to refresh my memory as to where? Perchance, was it the Opera Epiclese?”

“That’s right,” he says, and Furina inwardly celebrates, just before he adds, “You were present at my trial where I was convicted of murdering my foster parents in cold blood.” He shrugs. “I don’t think you were that interested in my case since I plead guilty to all my charges. I remember you leaving right after that.”

“I-I…” Furina fumbles. The pit of her stomach is filled with ice. Her hands clench and unclench. “That’s… I’m so sorry, I…”

But before she can fumble anything else, Clorinde reaches over and smacks the Duke upside the head. 

Hard.

“Ow.”

Sigewinne places her hands on her hips, looking disapprovingly up at him. It’s almost comical, seeing a small melusine wagging her finger sternly at the man who towers above her.

“Don’t be a bully.”

Wriothesley blinks, still rubbing his head. “I’m not,” he says, and he sounds genuinely confused. “I’m just saying it like it was.”

Clorinde lets out a quiet breath through her nose. “And they say I’m the one with the lack of social skills.”

“Say you’re sorry,” adds Sigewinne, and Furina’s jaw drops as she sees the jailer of Fortress Meropide, the Duke himself, actually wince.

“I really didn’t mean anything bad when I said that.” Then, he sighs. “Though I guess from an outsider’s perspective, it does look like I was giving you a hard time. My bad. It won’t happen again. I swear on my title as Duke." 

He sticks his hand out. 

“Here, let’s have a do-over. Name’s Wriothesley. Good to meet you.”

Furina can only stare in response, the entire conversation having gone sideways before rightways, all in the span of seconds. And now, the infamous Duke of Fortress Meropide is apologizing to her. To her. And as strange as it sounds, Furina believes it to be genuine. Everything about this man screams no-nonsense, even his apology. Blunt, crude… but extremely honest.

Suddenly, it makes sense as to why Clorinde is friends with him.

She stares hesitantly at his offered hand. Blunt, crude… but extremely honest.

“I’m… Furina.” She takes his hand and notes that it’s surprisingly warm, even despite the Cryo Vision pinned visibly to his lapel. She licks her lips. “Just… Furina.”

And then, because her track record won’t let her have one good win for herself before absolutely fumbling it, she opens her mouth and asks, “Did… did you really kill your foster parents?”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, she slams her jaw shut in horror, but to her surprise, he throws his head back and lets out a sharp laugh.

“You’re more straightforward than I thought you’d be,” he says, and for some reason, it feels like she’s somehow won an approval of some sort. “Yeah, I did, but I’ll be frank, they were complete bastards.”

“Language,” says both Sigewinne and Clorinde at the same time, and he holds his hand up in surrender.

“Sorry, sorry. But enough about my boring past. Tea’s getting cold and I don’t know about you but one of my biggest peeves is when tea gets oversteeped.”

He sits down at the table, gesturing for the rest to do the same. Sigewinne takes the seat to the right and Clorinde to his left, thankfully leaving an empty spot next to her side for Furina to take. Cautiously, she sits down and takes the proffered cup, bringing the warm liquid to her lips.

A familiar taste slides down her throat and she pulls back in surprise.

“Is… is this gloire de deuil? ” the surprised delight creeps into her voice without meaning to. “Why, this is my favorite blend!”

At that, Wriothesly finally cracks a grin, showing off his canines.

“I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”

She’s no stranger to praise. But honest praise, warm praise still sounds utterly foreign to her ears, especially with the way Sigewinne is smiling kindly at her and even Clorinde has something akin to satisfaction dancing in her usually impassive eyes. So she busies herself by ducking her head and taking another sip of the tea. To force the attention off herself, she opens her mouth.

“S-so, apologies beforehand, but I’ll admit, I’m dreadfully ignorant of the proper way to conduct oneself in a casual setting such as this.” She swallows and bows her head in deference. “Could I trouble the three of you to enlighten me? What does one do at such a gathering?”

Her genuine inquiry is met with an unexpected silence.

“I’m s-sorry, is that a taboo subject?”

Wriothesley glances languidly over to Clorinde, who is in the middle of taking a sip of her own tea.

“Your turn to answer,” he says and she puts her teacup down.

“Why not you.”

“Because I live 20,000 leagues under the sea and all my casual conversations are with the hardened criminal underbelly of society.” He leans back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head. “I think I’ve safely demonstrated that my social skills are utter dogshit.”

“Language,” Sigewiine says yet again, though this time it’s around a mouthful of scone so it comes out more like ‘wa'ngach,’  than anything else.

“That sounds like an excuse more than anything,” counters Clorinde.

“It really is. What’s yours?”

It’s between this bickering, this back and forth, that Furina slowly comes to the realization that other than Sigewinne, who is the only non-human present, that she is perhaps, doomed to be surrounded by people who have the same level of ability as herself to socialize like a normal human being.

Which is to say, absolutely none.

Wonderful.

“What’s got you smirking over there?”

Furina startles at Wriothesley’s question and she quickly smooths the expression on her face.

“No reason, no reason at all.”

The Duke still looks suspicious, but Sigewinne, bless her melusine heart, comes to her rescue.

“Don’t listen to them, they’re just being silly,” she says in the same way a mother would of her impish children. “And to answer your earlier question, don’t worry. There’s no doctor’s prescription or set rules you have to follow at a tea party,” she says, holding out a scone to Furina. “Really. Do whatever you feel like. Relax. Drink tea. Eat sweets until your tummy feels funny. Just be yourself.”

Furina takes the scone and holds it in her hand. Just be herself. But how exactly? She’s spent the last 500 years being everybody and anybody  but  herself. Can it really be that easy?

She doesn’t have an answer to that. But here, surrounded by people who aren’t exactly her acquaintances, not exactly strangers, she feels as though she doesn’t need to know. Not with them.

Furina lifts the treat to her mouth and takes a bite. Chews. Swallows.

“Okay,” she says, and she blames it on the overt sweetness of the scone that makes her words come out softer than intended. “I’ll try.”

Sigewinne smiles at her. “Good,” is all she says, right before Wriothesley snaps his fingers in realization.

“Oh, but if you’re looking for something we can all take part in at a get-together, I think I know just the thing.”

Sigewinne’s smile turns rueful, as if to say ‘Here we go again.’ She’s the only one though. Even Clorinde sits up straight, eyes suddenly alight with interest. Furina quickly nods for him to go on. 

“Oh, please do share!” Whatever the other man has to offer will be of valuable experience in the future, so that she doesn’t make the same mistakes again (again? Wait, there’s going to be an again? )

Wriothesley grins and Furina feels a sudden chill run down her spine. It’s not a malicious grin by any sort, but it does show off his canines… and just how oddly lupine his facial features really are, now that she gets a good look at them.

Oh. Oh no.

What box of terrors has she inadvertently opened now?

“Tell me,” he reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out a small, nondescript box that somehow still makes Furina gulp. “How much do you know about a little something called Genius Invokation™?"

---

One hour later

“This was a mistake,” Clorinde says in her customary deadpan, watching on with thinly veiled amusement as Wriothesley gleefully sweeps in the betting pot- two scones, an éclair, and a velvet cake, courteously provided by the loser, a one, Furina de Fontaine, who is currently, holding her head in her hands and cursing a storm beneath her breath. “I think it’s time you cut your losses.”

“Au contraire, I think it’s time I regained my winnings,” she snaps back. She slaps her hands on the table, glaring at the Duke who is smugly sucking the chocolate out of the éclair, her hard-earned éclair dammit.  “I demand a rematch! Best 5 out of 7!”

Wriothesley pops the rest of the éclair into his mouth, chewing for an infuriatingly long time before finally swallowing. “I’m game,” he says casually, as if hadn’t just won the previous three games in a row with minimal effort. “But you’re all cleaned out and I don’t play with people who can’t afford the buy-in. Whaddya got to make it worth my while?”

In response, Furina grabs the brim of her tophat, rips it off her head, and slaps it down on the table.

Sigewinne lets out a gasp. Even Clorinde looks perturbed.

“Oh, I’m game,” repeats Furina, gratified to see the smugness turn into begrudging respect in her opponent’s eyes. “The question is, if you are as well, monsieur.”

A fire lights in the Duke’s eyes and he grins, canines and all. “You got guts. I like that.”

With that, he slaps his palm on the table. There’s a flash and then where his hand should be is replaced by a monstrously sized mek gauntlet. Even to Furina’s inexperienced eyes, she can tell that the weapon is a work of art… even with the oddly contrasting cute stickers plastered here and there against the grey metal.

“The stickers will peel off,” says the Duke, glancing pointedly at Sigewinne, who smiles innocently back at him.

“I think I’d rather keep them.”

Clorinde is suddenly by her side, looking more interested than she’s ever seen her before.

“You need to win,” she says and there’s something that can be closely approximated to urgency in her tone. “I’ve been trying forever to get him to let me take a look at those.”

“And you’ll keep waiting forever.” Wriothesley retracts his hand and begins shuffling his deck and Furina follows suit. “Sorry, not sorry.”

“Haha,” Furina slaps her deck down on the table and draws five cards. “Pride before the fall, as they say, my dear Duke Meropide! Clorinde! My champion! Attend to me!”

“As if I don’t already.” Nevertheless, Clorinde peers over her shoulder and takes a glance at her hand. She grimaces, which is already a wonderful start to this final round of Genius Invokation TCG™. 

“Alright, so you need to re-roll all the dice that aren’t Hydro aligned. All your characters are energy hungry.”

“But of course!” Furina looks down at her dice. Some are red. Some are green. Some are even yellow, which she knows, thanks to her color theory, is a combination of both red and green. “Which one are those again?”

“Everything that isn’t blue.”

“But of course!”

—

They play for who knows how long. The cakes and tea disappear in a flash. There’s laughter, there’s warmth, there’s victory to be had and for the first time in the longest, longest time, Furina feels like she’s a part of it all as well. 

She laughs uproariously at Wriothesley’s anguished cry when he spills a cup of tea on his limited edition Wolf’s Gravestone card, she raises her voice in chorus with Clorinde’s in righteous indignation when Siegwinne, a craftier duelist than all three of them, slyly clears them out of all their scones. She even manages to win a game herself and it’s with the good dignity that comes with her station that she accepts her win with grace, only initiating a single victory pirouette as opposed to the customary three. 

The evening goes on and on, but not forever, as much as Furina surprisingly finds herself wishing that it could. Soon, the energy winds down, and reasons are made as to why they must finally depart. It’s as they’re getting ready to leave when Sigewinne takes her aside to a corner of the room.

“That was a good game,” she says, and Furina, still off the high of her victory, preens under the compliment.

“Truly, it was!” She can be as loud and as boastful of her victory as she wants; Clorinde and Wriothesly have gone downstairs to settle their respective tabs and Sigewinne honestly seems like the type who takes pleasure in the achievements of others and who is she to deny the melusine of her contentment? “Such a fascinating concept, using cards as proxies to wage battle against your opponent, but a wondrous one, nevertheless!”

“Thinking about getting your own deck then?” teases Siegwinne but Furina stops, honestly considering it.

“That’s… not a bad idea,” Furina’s voice rises in excitement as she imagines all the varied combinations she can make, the masterful ploys she can pull off, and most importantly, the losing faces of the Duke Meropide as she obliterates his very hand. “Actually, that’s a capital idea. In fact, every citizen of Fontaine should have a deck of their own, not just me! Such a captivating game deserves to be played by all, regardless of financial means or status.”

Her mind churns as she figures out how to pass the decree into law. “It should be simple enough to set aside some of the Fontaine Research Institute’s annual funds for citizen card purchases. The labcoats might huff and groan, but once they realize it’s for a noble cause, they’ll understand. And of course, I’ll need a way to make it official, which means soliciting permission from Neuv-”

She immediately stops. Sigewinne looks at her strangely at her sudden silence and Furina swallows. 

“On second thought, perhaps it’s too ambitious of an idea,” she finishes weakly, lowering her arms. “Forget what I said. It’s a pipe dream.”

The melusine’s strange look slowly morphs into a concerned stare. Suddenly, it becomes very hard to meet her eyes. Impossible, actually.

Furina glances away.

In the corner, the clock ticks away in the silence.

“I’m sorry.”

Sigewinne tilts her head. “Hm? What for?”

“For… bringing down the mood. It was all going so well and…” Furina wrings her hands, harder than is necessary, hard enough to be a reprimand, “and I had to end it on a sour note.”

She’s not expecting any sort of response from the melusine, and if there is one, it’s sure to be filled with pity, so she braces herself, readying for it.

“What’s a sour note?” Sigewinne asks instead.

Furina actually stumbles while standing completely still. “I… pardon?”

“A sour note,” Sigewinne asks again, completely honest and not a hint of pity in her inquiry. “I’ve heard Wriothesley say that before and I’m always confused if he’s referring to notes on paper or notes like on sheet music. How can any of those taste sour?”

That’s right. Melusine. Furina had nearly forgotten. The smaller girl acts so relatably human that Furina had forgotten for a moment that she technically… isn’t.

“It’s… an expression,” she explains and Sigewinne nods for her to go on. “It means to leave a bad taste in one’s mouth after an experience. Oh, er…” she cringes, “aaaaand I’ve just explained one expression with another expression. Um…”

But Sigewinne’s features light up in understanding and she claps her hands together. “Oh, oh, I’ve heard that one before! Wriothesley says it’s like when he has to meet with officials from the Palais Mermonia who say one thing but mean another and it always leaves him feeling bad and annoyed afterward.” 

“I… I suppose that’s one way to look at it… I think?”

Sigewinne lowers her hands, the concern once again returning to her face. “And is that why you said you were sorry? Because you thought you were leaving me with an impression like sour candy even though in small, reasonable quantities it’s actually quite tasty?”

If her brain wasn’t overheating like a malfunctioning Gardemek before, it most certainly is now. “I… Yes?”

“And do you still feel that way right now?”

Furina opens her mouth. And then she pauses. “Actually… no,” she says, and she’s telling the truth. She’s more confused than anything, having been successfully led down a tangential rabbit hole of the melusine’s own design but… that’s still better than what she was feeling before.

That answer seems to satisfy Sigewinne. The concern eases from her face, turning once again back into a placid smile as if the whole exchange never even happened. “Then that’s good,” she says with a respectful nod, and for some reason, Furina is compelled to hastily return it with her own. “Thank you for teaching me that expression.”

Furina can’t help but smile a little at the melusine’s earnestness, her uncanny knack to manipulate the conversation in a way that feels natural and more importantly, better. “You’re more astute than you let on. Are all melusine’s as discerning as you are?”

“Hmm, well, I can’t speak for other melusines but as for myself,” she puts a finger up to her lips and winks. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m just really good at faking it until then.”

This time, Furina’s smile comes out more strained.

“Funny. I’m much the same.”

She’s expecting the melusine to inquire about that, for her to ask for more information regarding her cryptic statement. Instead, Sigewinne looks over to her, a wry look of understanding in her eyes.

“It’s hard, pretending all the time, huh?”

Furina blinks at the melusine’s uncharacteristically somber tone before remembering. That’s right. She would know. A melusine masquerading in human society. A fish out of water, just like herself.

“I thought it would be easy,” Furina admits, and it feels so good, so right to admit to, just for a second, her weakness, without shame, without judgement. She laughs quietly, scornfully. “Oh, how naïve I was.” 

Siegwinne says nothing, silently urging her to go on. 

“In the beginning, I told myself I just had to pretend for a little and that afterward, I could go back to being me… But now…”

Furina looks down at her hands.

Sigewinne waits patiently.

“Now… I don’t know if there ever was even a ‘me’ to begin with.” 

Sigewinne is quiet for a moment. Then, the melusine lets out a soft hum.

“Hm,” she goes, tapping at her chin thoughtfully. “Well, if you ask me, if there was ever a ‘you’ to begin with, I think… it doesn’t matter."

Furina blinks. She lowers her hands.

“It… doesn’t?”

“Nope. Who you were, are, and will be.” Sigewinne makes a shooing gesture as if throwing them to the side with a smile. “It doesn’t matter.”

Furina can only stare dumbly. Out of all the replies she could have received, ‘doesn’t matter,’ was the furthest one she expected. Who she was, is, and will be… doesn’t matter? What does she mean by that?

"It’s like…Hm...” Sigewinne taps her chin again. “It’s like, a bottle of medicine that's been shaken one too many times. It’s a little mixed up, a little different. It’s never going to be what it once was. But that’s alright. The nice thing about medicine is that it's still useful. It’s always going to have a purpose, no matter what form it takes." 

“But… I’m not- a bottle of medicine,” says Furina dumbly, and Sigewinne giggles.

“No, of course not. You’re much more than that. You’re alive. And because you’re alive, you can grow, you can change. You can take in some new parts for yourself that you like, you can let go of some old parts of yourself that you didn’t. And hopefully, down the line, you can be… hm. Something…”

She stops, pondering her next words, and Furina can’t help but speak up because she needs to know.

“Better?”

The melusine’s smile turns rueful.

“Different,” she says gently, but it doesn’t feel like an admonishment or rebuke. It simply feels like the truth. “Better is what you make of it.”

Fruina lowers her head, staring at her gloved hands. One black, one white. Her favorite colors, always in contrast, never in alignment. 

She clenches her hands.

“That all sounds so…”

(Impossible)

“Hard.”

“Oh, it is.” Sigewinne agrees emphatically. “It really is. But…” Sigewinne sticks out her hand and smiles. “I’ve heard that having some friends around makes it a bit easier, you know?”

Furina stares.

Not strangers. 

Not acquaintances.

“Friends?” she asks, her voice soft. 

“Mhm,” says the melusine.

Furina looks down at the small hand in front of her. 

Not strangers.

Not acquaintances.

Friends.

Slowly, hesitantly, she takes the hand in front of her.

Sigewinne beams.

—

The melusine’s words are still echoing in Furina’s head as she and Clorinde make their way back to the apartment. This late at night finds the streets to be relatively empty and silent, lending a rather somber mood to the atmosphere. Furina is quiet all the while and Clorinde remains the same, having picked up on her charge’s subdued attitude after having left the tavern.

Friends. 

Even now, the word seems utterly alien to her. A friend. A confidant. A companion.

Friends.

She had never lacked for acquaintances or colleagues back in her time as acting Archon, but those were never people she could ever consider friends. Because friends were dangerous, friends could worm their way into her heart with their sincerity and honesty and once they were past the walls, they would see just how ugly and twisted her secret was and flee. No, better to avoid such heartbreak, better safe than sorry, if not for the sake of her people, then for the sake of her own sanity.

Friends.

But… that was before. That was the past. The present is different. Now, she has no need for such walls in her heart. Now, she has the opportunity to pursue such relationships, without fear of her secret being exposed, without worry.

And that fact alone, absolutely terrifies her.

Friends.

There’s a sudden tug on her shoulder and she whips around, recoiling.

Clorinde blinks in surprise, hand still outstretched.

“You were about to run into a lamp post.”

Furina feels the tips of her ears warm. Thank the gods it’s dark; her pale complexion has always been one of her greatest tells, much to her embarrassment. To cover said embarrassment, she coughs loudly into her hand.

“So it would seem.”

Clorinde crosses her arms. “So it would seem that you were about to run into a lamp post?”

Furina sniffs haughtily, mimicking her bodyguard’s stance. “Mayhaps I was merely checking the lamp post for the quality of Fontaine’s metalsmiths. It could be a hazard if it were of inadequate make. I won’t stand for it.”

“Hm.” Clorinde walks up to the lamp post and gives it a solid knock. “Feels plenty adequate to me.”

“Oh, and since when did you become an expert on metallurgy, hm?”

“The same time you did,” she replies, not quite smirking, and oh, this is dangerous to Furina, much too dangerous. This, this banter, this familiarity, this warmth. “If that’s all, your grace, we should be on our way.” 

She turns around, setting down the street.

Friends.

“Wait.”

Clorinde pauses. She turns around, head cocked inquisitively and Furina realizes with horror, that she said that last word out loud.

Well, no turning back now.

“That is, er… that is to say, Ms. Clorinde..”

The added title is an immediate mistake. Clorinde stares at her like she’s grown another head. “Just… Clorinde is fine,” she says, the hint of confusion clear in her voice. “You know that.”

“R-right, of course. I did, er, do.” Furina coughs again. Wonderful, simply wonderful. This is going swimmingly. How on Teyvat did Sigewinne make it look so easy? Curse the melusine and her instantly likable nature and face. “It’s just… there’s a certain conduct that has to be followed for occasions such as these, a proper gravitas to be observed.”

Clorinde nods slowly. “That occasion being?”

Is she sweating? It feels as though she’s sweating, and not from heat, but from the cold sweat of anxiety made physical and manifest.

“The occasion being, ah. Um…” Furina flounders. Gift of gab, why have you forsaken me now of all times. Quickly she switches tracks. “S-so, it has been brought to my attention through this evening’s pursuits that I am sorely lacking in… how do you say, an intrinsic understanding of social cues.”

“No worse than others, to be fair,” Clorinde interrupts and Furina glares weakly back at her. “Sorry. Continue.”

Furina clears her throat again. “Ahem. As I was saying, my understanding of social norms in the presence of good company is severely lacking. I have committed many a faux pas, time and time again, so it is with this knowledge of my ignorance that I beg of your indulgence and forgiveness for this request of mine. Please, feel entirely free to correct my behavior if this is much too presumptuous to ask. That is to say, ah… if it’s entirely alright with you, o-of course… er…”

Oh no. Her platitudes have run out. No more flowery verses to hide behind. Damn. Damn, damn, damn.

Clorinde waits patiently, hand on her hip, cocked in a quiet amusement.

Furina bites her lip.

“Wouldyoubemyfriend?”

Clorinde blinks. 

For once, the surprise that flitters across her face is as clear as day. Furina has never seen her express so much emotion before. Ever.

She opens her mouth, and Furina braces herself for the worst.

KRRSHHH!!!

But instead of words coming forth, it’s the sound of shattering glass.

The two of them start and Furina whirls around, shrinking in herself at the sound of shattering glass breaking the silence of the night. Her eyes dart around the street, searching. Where?

Clorinde already has her revolver drawn. “That came from around the corner.”

Around the corner…

But that’s… that’s where her apartment is.

Clorinde seems to come to the same conclusion. In a flash, she’s in front of Furina, one hand held out protectively.

“Stay behind me,” she orders, the tone of her voice brooking absolutely no argument, and Furina immediately complies. 

Together, the two of them approach the corner. The quiet of the night has fled, replaced by a low murmur, voices that Furina can’t quite make out. Mustering up what dredges of courage she possesses, she peeks her head around the corner.

The funny thing about a mob is that a mob doesn’t need to be a multitude of individuals to be considered a mob. Sometimes, all it takes is a handful of like-minded men and women, banding together for a common cause and raising their voices to be heard. 

Voices, that are raised with anger.

“We know she’s in here!” yells one man in the front, and to her horror, Furina recognizes him, it’s the shopkeep of the grocers, the one she had avoided going back to ever since she had been recognized. “I saw her just waltz out a few hours ago like she owned the place!”

“I’m telling you, you have the wrong person.” The kindly old landlord is the only thing between the building and the surging, angry wave of people. “Miss like her wouldn’t even hurt a crystalfly.”

“Tell that to my cousin in Poisson!” yells another voice in the wave and the mention of the city makes Furina’s blood run cold. “Or what’s left of his family. I’ll tell you what’s left. Nothing! Nothing but water. Water, damn you!”

The kindly landlord opens his mouth to say something, but the wave pushes forward and sweeps him off his feet. He reels, arms pinwheeling uselessly and he falls back, knocking his head against the door with a fleshy thump.

“No!”

The scream is torn from Furina’s throat before she can stop herself. Instantly, the wave whips around toward the direction of the sound. Recognition turns to surprise. And then, anger.

“It’s her!!” screams the wave. “It’s the fake!”

The wave surges forward, relentless, furious. Furina stumbles back, away from the outstretched arms, away from the gnashing teeth, away from the eyes that cut her down, piece by piece by piece by piece. 

“N-no. Please, I’m sorry.” 

Her whimpers fall on deaf ears. She tries to move away but the eyes, the eyes, the eyes have her rooted in place. She holds her hands above her head, trying to push back the wave, to keep it from drowning her.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, don't hurt me please, I’m so sorry, I- I..!”

BANG!

Everything stops all at once.

Clorinde lowers her gun, the barrel still smoking.

“That was a warning shot.” She cocks the revolver. “This one isn’t.”

All at once, the surging sea recoils. Furina’s eyes widen and she latches onto her bodyguard’s arm.

“No! Clorinde, no! D-don’t hurt them!” 

Clorinde says nothing, not even looking at her. Furina stamps her foot. 

“I… I forbid you from hurting them!”

Clorinde’s head whips in her direction and Furina nearly recoils. She’s so used to seeing the calm purples of her bodyguard’s eyes that it’s startling, no, frightening, to see them darkened with rage.

“You can’t be serious.” The tendons in her neck are visible, straining.

“I am.” Furina places her hand on her bodyguard’s outstretched hand, the one still holding the smoking revolver. “Don’t hurt them. Please.”

A second passes.

Then two.

Three.

And then, to Furina’s utter relief, her bodyguard slowly lowers her arm.

“Move,” is all she says, and the sea parts at her command.

The two step forward, one tense, coiled like a viper, ready to strike at a moment’s notice, the other shaking, cowering, avoiding the cutting gazes.

The kindly landlord stirs feebly when they approach him, blood flowing from the gash on his forehead. In a flash, Furina is by his side, using her shoulder to help him up. 

The kindly landlord blinks, glassy-eyed stare turning into one of recognition.

“Oh.” He lets out a wheezy cough. “It’s you, miss.”

Furina can only nod, biting her lips hard enough that she can taste iron. “I’m so sorry,” she apologizes again. Because that’s all she can do, all she’s good for.

The kindly landlord shakes his head.

“ ‘s fine… fine. Not your fault, miss. Not your fault.”

Oh, but it is. All of it. All of it.

Clorinde opens the door, ushering them all inside. Once inside, she locks the door behind her and stows away her revolver.

“I’ll take him,” she says, going to the landlord’s other side. “Go back to the room. Wait for me. Lock the doors. Stay away from the windows.”

The fear is subsiding. At least, that’s what Furina thinks is happening. She feels very far away, like seeing herself at the end of a telescope. Her whole body is shaking but she’s not cold. Just… numb. 

So very numb.

“Furina.”

“Okay,” she says, her voice sounding distant even to her own ears. “Okay.”

She begins climbing the stairs, taking them one at a time. Slowly. Mechanically. She counts the floors as she passes them by. One. Two. Three.

She’s in front of her own apartment. She’s inserting the key. She can’t insert the key, her hands are shaking too hard. She digs her nails into the skin, forcing it to stop shaking. She tries inserting the key again. She opens the door. She walks inside.

She can’t see, the apartment is dark. She doesn’t bother turning on the light. She walks over to her bedroom instead. She opens the door.

She sees her window. She sees that it’s broken, shattered, a brick-sized hole in the middle of the glass. She doesn't feel the night air come through the hole, biting at her skin. She doesn’t feel it. She’s too numb to feel anything.

Then, she finally sees the water on the floor. 

Confusion finally breaks through numbness. Water? Did she leave the sink on? But no, if that was the case, her entire apartment would be flooded, not just her room. But where else could the water have come from if not from…

From…

From…

Oh no.

She rushes over to the aquarium in the corner of her room, but it’s already too late. 

There’s a hole in the glass of the tank. The inside is a dry, uncaring void.

Nothing moves.

She reaches inside with trembling hands, and picks up a piece of bright orange shell, broken, shattered. She holds it in her hands.

The door swings open. Clorinde rushes in, a question already forming on her lips when she sees the glass. She stops. Pain consumes her expression.

“Furina…”

Furina stares at the hole in her heart. There are tears streaming from her eyes, but she can’t feel them. She can’t feel anything.

Not even the numbness.

—

Clorinde is the one who cleans the glass and water out of her room afterward. She also removes the broken aquarium without asking for permission first, but Furina can’t seem to bring herself to care. She’s much more content instead to simply stare at the blank space where her Salon Solitaire once occupied, whiling the minutes, hours, days away in bed. Staring, staring, staring.

At first, Clorinde tries to convince her to at least leave the bed and failing that, to at least eat something, anything. The latter request, Furina has no choice but to accept as Clorinde personally shovels spoonfuls of macaroni into her mouth. Furina could make a fuss, but she doesn’t. It’s much easier to let people do what they want. It makes everyone happy in the end.

Time becomes a blur and Furina thinks it’s somewhere near the end of the week when Clorinde announces that she’s heading out.

“I’m going to get groceries,” she says, donning her bycocket hat. She hasn’t left her side the entire time. “Is there anything you want?”

Furina simply shakes her head.

Clorinde’s lips turn into a thin line.

“I’ll be back soon.”

Furina thinks she says something in response. Maybe. Probably not.

A second later, she hears the door click shut.

Silence.

She goes back to counting the grains of wood on the ceiling again. 

One. Two. Three.

I’m sorry.

Four. Five. Six.

Liar, Crook, Archon.

Fifty-four. Fifty-five. Fifty-six.

She closes her eyes. In the darkness, the sounds of the rising water rush forth.

Four hundred and ninety-eight. 

Four hundred and ninety-nine. 

Five hundred.

There’s a knock at the door.

Furina opens her eyes. 

Another knock. It’s coming from outside the apartment. Clorinde must have forgotten something. Maybe her purse. Or the keys. Sluggishly, Furina drags herself out of bed, trudging to the door.

She opens it.

It’s not Clorinde.

“Hello, Ms. Furina.” 

The Fatui Harbinger known only as the Knave smiles down at her, dark eyes glinting red. 

“It’s such a pleasure to see you again.”

Chapter Text

There isn’t much (or anything at all really) in the apartment to offer in terms of refreshments or entertainment, but the Fatui Harbinger known only as the Knave makes no comment on the sad state of affairs. She simply sits herself down at the rickety dining table, watching with hooded eyes as Furina sets the tea kettle to boil on the stove. She can feel the Harbinger’s gaze on her skin, following her every movement like a hawk circling its prey. Waiting, waiting, waiting for the right moment to leap down and sink its claws into her. But not now, not until the time is ripe, so until then, Furina picks up the pieces of her shattered mask and stabs the jagged pieces back into her cheeks, hiding the broken girl away from the world and letting her other self take control. 

Enter stage left, once again, the charlatan of Fontaine.

“You’re a surprisingly difficult person to track down,” says the Knave as Furina sits down at the seat across from her. She crosses her legs, a polite half-smile playing on her lips that fails to disperse the coldness in her eyes. “Monsieur Neuvillete was more than forthcoming when we had our dialog on re-establishing diplomatic ties between our nations, but the moment I changed the subject to ask about your whereabouts, his reception turned positively frigid.”

Furina laughs. It’s a horrible laugh, even to her own ears, a shrill, emotionless sound that edges on mania. But she needs to laugh, needs to cover up the icy terror creeping up her spine, or else her splintered mask will fall apart like a house of cards. 

“Oh, don’t blame our dear Acting Regent. I gave clear instructions to everyone involved that I was merely taking a sabbatical, a little time for myself, away from the recent dramas.” She laughs again waving her hand as if to say ‘oh you know how it is with those types,’ before continuing on, “But fear not, I am doing quite well for myself! I admit, my current accommodations are a tad more… shall we say, spartan, than I am accustomed to, but there is a certain charm in its rusticity, wouldn’t you agree?”

The Knave’s eyes flit briefly around the room, from the uneven floorboards to the sagging roof and her half-smile seems to almost turn sardonic.

“Quite,” she says and the quiet contempt stabs into Furina’s inflated bravado like an icicle. It’s all a game to the Knave, a mocking act of charades and Furina has all but lost the first round, horribly. She needs to regain control quickly or else.

“Y-yes, well,” she clears her throat, trying to change the subject away from the sad state of her living situation. “Ah! Do allow me to apologize for not having prepared anything in advance. Had I known you were coming beforehand, I would have rolled out the red carpet, so to speak.”

“Ah, but that would spoil the surprise,” says the Knave, silk laced with poison in her voice and Furina flinches unconsciously at how the words seem to pierce deep into a primal fear of hers. “And don’t worry about the red carpet. I prefer my entrances to be low-key.” Her half-smile grows ever so wider. “So to speak.”

Round two of this act of charades has barely even begun and already, Furina is losing.

“But where are my manners.” The Knave suddenly leans down and Furina starts violently in her seat at the unexpected movement.

The Knave pauses, a question in her gaze. Beneath the table, Furina digs her nails into her thighs until the pain contorts her face into a parody of a smile.

“Sorry,” she says, pieces of her mask slipping away from her. “Leg cramp.”

The Knave stares at her for a second longer, before shrugging and turning away. “My condolences. Perhaps a housewarming gift might cure those phantom pains you seem to be suffering.”

She picks up a small white box off the ground, setting it down on the table and pushes it forward with a long, black nail. “For you. Do you recall the patisserie located in the Vasari Passage, the one that makes those divine slices of cake?”

Furina lets out a delighted gasp. “That same patisserie that only makes sixteen of those divine slices per day? Oh, my good Knave, you didn’t!” Furina leans forward, opening the box and peering inside. “Aha, but it is! And do mine eyes deceive me, or do I see not one, but two of those divine slices as well? My friend, you’ve outdone yourself! C'est magnifique, haha!”

Too much. That's too much, too quickly. Too suspicious. Furina immediately cuts her laughter off but the damage is done for the Knave’s piercing eyes are on her, seeing past her shattered mask. Before, in previous meetings, it was obvious that behind the Knave’s polite facade was a roiling contempt, held back only by decorum and the presence of other parties. Now, without those third parties, Furina has nothing to shield herself from the Knave’s utter disdain, her backhanded compliments, and worst of all, her eyes. Eyes that are on her, seeing her for what she really is, a fake, a crook, a liar, a…

Furina quickly looks away.

Another round, another complete loss.

“Forgive me for saying this,” says the Knave slowly, languidly, a panther playing with the terrified mouse in its paws, “but I don’t ever remember you being quite so… boisterous.” 

Furina digs the nails into her thighs again, harder this time, just so that she can remain in place, in front of the Knave’s gaze.

“In fact, I remember you being rather subdued last we met.” The Knave places a hand on her chin, tapping lazily. “It’s quite the change.”

“A-ah w-well,” Furina scrambles. The mask is slipping, breaking, no matter how hard she tries to stab the pieces to stay in place. “I-I must admit, I was a rather poor host last we met, but you know what they say! Freeing yourself from 500 years of responsibilities and expectations does wonders for one’s ability to entertain guests! Just ask Clorinde, gods know I’ve been doing nothing but humoring her these past few weeks, haha!” 

The last laugh was unintentional. She quickly stops. Too quickly.  

Strangely, at the mention of 500 years, a shadow flashes across the other woman’s face. For one instance, the polite facade is wiped away, replaced with a terrifyingly empty stare that nearly makes Furina scream.

And then, just as suddenly as it appeared, it’s gone, replaced once again, by the icy half-smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“As you say,” she says with an incline of her head. Her eyes suddenly sharpen and she leans forward in her seat. “Speaking of Fontaine’s champion duelist, where is she now? I admit, I find it strange that she’s not constantly by your side, especially in these… changing times. Rather negligent of her.” 

The kettle that was left on the stove suddenly lets out a shrill whistle and Furina flinches, knees banging painfully into the table as her already strained nerves fire off.

The kettle’s whistle slowly peters back into a low whine with occasional puffs of harsh noise. Bubbling, but not quite at the boiling point.

Not yet.

The Knave doesn’t even move. If anything, her half-smile seems to grow. 

“Rather… dangerous.” 

The Knave tilts her head and Furina bites her lip, not caring anymore if it’s a visible sign of weakness because if she doesn’t, she’ll scream. 

“I can’t speak for your bodyguard, but leaving you to fend for yourself is certainly a bold choice. It would be all too easy for a malevolent third party to visit harm upon both of you whilst separated and far apart from each other. All too easy. All too precarious.”

The Knave's smile grows and this time, the smile does reach her eyes.

“Wouldn’t you say?”

Furina opens her mouth, sure that her next words will be a scream.

“D-don’t threaten her,” is what comes out instead.

The Knave blinks. 

The smile slides off her face.

Furina slaps a hand over her mouth. 

“I-I’m so sorry, I-I, I didn’t…” 

But the rest of the words won’t come out because all of a sudden, she can’t talk. Her mouth moves up and down, but no words come out. Nothing. It’s as though she’s lost the ability to simply breathe. 

Thankfully, just as she’s on the verge of panicking, the Knave dips her head.

“It was a tasteless joke,” admits the Knave and the shock of admittance causes Furina to inhale, to finally breathe again, for now. “I retract my earlier statement.”

It’s not an apology. It’s a pyrrhic victory. A loss to both of them in their little game of charades. And just as quickly as the loss came and went, the stage is once again reset. 

“Let us talk of lighter things.” 

All too easily, the board resets, and the pawns return to their original positions. The Knave makes her opening move. 

“Recently, I was able to procure seats for that new play that’s been making its rounds through the circuit. La Belle Dame sans Verite is what it’s called, I believe. I’m a philistine when it comes to having an appreciation of the arts but even I found it to be a captivating tale. Have you had a chance to see it yourself?”

The sudden change in topic is jarring but Furina instantly grabs onto the lifeline thrown her way. The arts, the stage, this is her wheelhouse, so to speak, her one chance to regain whatever is left of her mask in this game of charades.

“N-no, unfortunately,” Furina coughs, trying to force her voice into sounding somewhat normal, unaffected, “but I’ve heard nothing but good things from the people who have. It’s being performed by the L’Arachel troupe is it not? The director is a tad heavy-handed with the melodrama, but their set pieces are first of their class. And oh, the costuming- simply marvelous. You would think the characters themselves were plucked out of their own period in time when you saw them walking on stage.” She lets out a forlorn sigh as the memories begin to take reign of her words. “Oh, I would have loved to have seen them perform in their heyday at the Opera Epiclese, I haven’t been back since-”

She freezes.

Too late, she realizes, as it wasn't a lifeline that was thrown her way, but a trap. One that she walked right into.

Even in the fading light of the room, the Knave’s eyes glisten like blood.

“Ah, yes, how could I have forgotten?”

For the first time since Furina has known her, the Knave sounds delighted. 

“The trial of Fontaine’s very own Archon. The show of the century.” Her words slip like honeyed poison from her lips, burning Furina with caustic glee. “I was preoccupied with disaster mitigation efforts in Poisson at the time, but I’m told by my sources that it was quite the spectacle for those who attended. Even now it boggles the mind, having a deity worshipped for so long pronounced as nothing more than a fake.”

The kettle on the stove shrieks again, even louder, and this time it doesn’t stop. 

“I have to commend you,” says the Knave, eyes dancing to a macabre tune, “it takes courage and fortitude to play the fool for your people. And for 500 years!” She lets out an empty laugh. “A lesser person would have gone insane, keeping a poisoned secret for so long. And what did your efforts gain you in the end? Nothing but scorn. Their love, their adoration, their faith.” She snaps her fingers and the sharp sound bites into Furina’s soul, flaying it to shreds. “Gone in an instant.” 

The shrieking hurts. It hurts Furina’s ears, her head, her brain. It rings inside her chest like a damnation.

“The ingratitude of the masses, I suppose.” The Knave lets out a sigh and shrugs carelessly. “The fraud’s game truly is a heartless one.”

Don’t call me that, Furina says but it comes out barely a whisper, more a choked wheeze. There’s no air in her lungs. She can’t breathe. 

“Or rather,” the Knave smiles down at her, the executioner’s benevolent gesture to a cursed soul, “instead of the fraud’s game, perhaps it should be the martyr’s?”

The whistle of the kettle sounds like screaming. 

And Furina begins to laugh. 

She laughs and laughs and laughs and doesn’t stop, not even when she feels her throat begin to tear under the strain, not even when the Knave’s smile slowly turns into confusion, not even when the tears begin to fall from her shattered mask. If she had noticed, it would have simply made her laugh even harder. She laughs, she needs to laugh, if only so that her lungs can attempt to draw air, but with each dying gasp, the harder it is to breathe. 

The laughter turns into wheezing. She can’t breathe. It’s all so hilarious. She can’t breathe. It’s all so torturous. She can’t breathe. It feels as though a thousand hands are clawing at her, ripping away bits of her soul and forcing her under the waves. She’s drowning and the harder she tries to draw breath, the more the panic makes it impossible and the more the edges of her vision start to fade.

She can’t breathe.

She needs to breathe.

Breathe. 

Breathe.  

Breathe damn you.

But she can’t. She can’t, she’s drowning, she’s crying, she’s sobbing, she’s dying, she can’t breathe, she can’t, she can’t, she can’t-

“Lady Furina.”

Her head swivels toward the voice but her eyes are unfocused. Everything is a shadow in her vision. One of the shadows moves towards her and she cringes, cowering into herself.

“Furina.”

The shadow solidifies. The Knave stares back at her. The panic in her mind is clouding Furina’s vision, making it as though the Knave actually looks concerned.

“Listen to me. Listen. No, don’t look away. Look at me.”

Furina finds the Knave’s eyes, stares into blood-red pupils.

“Good. You will listen to my instructions. You will follow them. Understood?”

Furina’s mouth opens and all that comes out is a broken croak.

“Don’t bother using words. A nod will suffice.”

She closes her mouth. Nods.

“Then look here.” The Knave holds up one of her blackened hands. “I will raise a hand, and then set it down. I will raise my other hand, and then also set it down. You are to breathe with each rise and exhale with each fall. No sooner, no later. Am I clear?”

Another nod.

“Good.” She raises her right hand. “Begin.”

Furina breathes in. It’s choked and ragged. Not a breath, barely even a whisper.

“Slowly.”

Furina tries again. This time, she manages to hold it in.

“Excellent.” The Knave lowers her hand.

Furina exhales.

“Very good.” The Knave raises her left hand. “In.”

Furina inhales.

The Knave lowers her hand. “Out.”

Furina exhales

“In.”

Inhale.

“Out.”

Exhale.

In. Out. 

Up. Down.

The shadows in her vision begin to recede.

In. Out. 

Up. Down.

The thousand hands are drawn away, reluctantly, begrudgingly.

Furina closes her eyes.

In. Out. 

Up. Down.

Her head breaks the surface of the surging sea.

She opens her eyes.

The woman known as the Knave stares back at her.

And she can finally, finally breathe again.

Suddenly, she feels the exhaustion, the bone-crushing weariness settle over her shoulders all at once with overwhelming force. She slumps down in her seat, not caring anymore about appearances or her shattered mask. Only minutes before, she had been teetering on the edge of mania, of fear, of panic. Now, there’s nothing. 

Nothing but numbness. 

Furina raises her eyes and meets the Knave’s gaze head-on. She wonders what the Knave sees in her face, in her dead gaze. 

The two stare at each other.

…And the Knave is the first to look away.

Not an apology. A pyrrhic victory.

After a second, the Knave gets up from the table and walks over to the stove. She lifts the kettle up and finally, the horrible screeching gives way to silence. She walks back to the table and sits down, pouring the hot water into two empty glasses, steam wafting up into her face and obscuring her expression. 

She slides a glass over to Furina.

“Drink.”

The Knave pauses. 

“Please.”

Furina can’t even feel the shock that she's supposed to feel. She just lifts the glass to her lips and drinks, remembering too late that it’s hot and she splutters, water tickling the back of her windpipe.

This time, a handkerchief is slid across the table.

“Slowly.” 

The room falls silent.

Furina drinks from her glass, watching as the last bits of the evening sun disappear from the window, setting the room into gloomy darkness. The Knave remains motionless, her own glass untouched. She simply waits.

Furina sets her glass down. She stares vacantly at it. A small part of her mind idly notes that she’s lost this cruel little game of charades. Completely, utterly, lost. A larger part of her mind doesn’t care. All it cares about is closing her eyes and falling asleep and never waking up. To let the numbness settle into her soul and wash it all away. To let it be over, please, let it be over, once and for all.

She’s just. So. Tired.

The Knave picks up her glass. She doesn’t drink.

“I have agitated you,” she finally says and Furina could laugh at the overwhelming understatement. Could, but she can’t find it in herself to muster up any sort of feeling other than overwhelming apathy. “That was never my intention.”

“You don’t need to suddenly start caring about my feelings,” says Furina.

The Knave opens her mouth.

She closes it.

Furina stares at the little droplets of water at the bottom of her glass, trying to see what little remains of her reflection in them. She stares and sees absolutely nothing.

“You are broken.”

“I’ve always been.”

The Knave falls silent. 

Furina stares at the droplets of water at the bottom of her glass, stares at her empty reflection.

“I can’t play this game anymore,” she says brokenly to her empty reflection. “I just can’t. There’s nothing left of myself to give up.”

The silence stretches on.

The Knave sets her glass down.

“Then… no more games.” 

The Knave crosses her arms and leans back in her seat. 

“No more games. Only an honest dialog from this point forth. Whatever is said will not leave this room, you have my word.”

Furina feels her lips twitch. The ghost of mirth. An honest dialog. With a Fatui Harbinger. A harbinger that tried to murder her in cold blood no less.

“An honest dialog,” she repeats back, the irony evident. “You expect me to believe you?

The Knave shrugs. “Believe it or don’t,” she says bluntly. “It matters little to me. The choice is yours.”

The use of the word ‘choice’ makes Furina blink. A sense of deja vu settles over her. Her choice. Her choice alone. A lifetime of having her choices dictated to her and now…

Will hilarities never cease.

Furina lifts her chin.

“You first.”

The Knave acquiesces with a silent dip of her head. Her eyes look elsewhere for a moment. 

“Truthfully, I abhor sweets.”

Furina blinks. Slowly. She looks over to the box sitting between them on the table. Looks back to the Knave.

The smile on the Knave’s face could almost be considered wry.

“Sugar disagrees with me. It leaves me excitable and on edge, a detriment to my many duties.” She lets out a quiet huff. “My misfortune then, to be born in the nation that invented and perfected the art of the macaron of all things.”

The Knave reaches out a finger to her glass, idly tapping the surface.

“The orphans love sweets though,” she says, almost as an afterthought before laughing quietly. “What child doesn’t. Oh, they try to hide their guilty pleasures away from me, but a Father always knows what their children are thinking. So, whenever I stop by the house of the hearth, it’s always with sweets in hand and a drag in my step as I prepare for the inevitable. Yet, despite whatever indignity I must suffer through, I will admit, there is a certain… satisfaction I glean from their contentment.”

Her nail settles on the glass, pausing and her gaze turns to Furina.

“Their happiness.” 

The Knave lowers her hand and falls silent.

Furina’s turn. A lie for a lie then? Or a truth for a truth?

The Knave looks at her beneath hooded eyes.

Waiting.

Watching. 

Furina opens her mouth. 

“I’m tired.”

The Knave tilts her head, and says nothing.

“I’m tired,” Furina says again because maybe, if she keeps telling herself that, then she can trick herself into believing the opposite might become true and that she’ll be magically fixed and better and not broken. “I’m tired. I’ve been tired for 500 years and counting. And I’m so, so sick of feeling this way. Of being this way.”

She picks up her glass, holding it loosely in her grasp. Just on the verge of slipping through her fingers and falling to the floor.

“I’m tired of being broken. I’m tired of wearing a mask. I’m tired of just… everything.” 

Furina closes her eyes.

“I just want to be me, for one, tiny, second. But I can’t. I can’t.”

“Why not?” asks the Knave.

Furina flings her glass at the wall and it shatters.

“Because I don’t even know who that person IS!”

The silence echoes without end.

Broken. The word echoes in her mind. Broken. It repeats over and over again as her mask finally falls and reveals the empty space it had been concealing the entire time. Broken, because maybe, if she thinks it enough times, then she can trick herself into believing the opposite might become true and that she’ll be magically fixed and better and not broken.

Or maybe.

She won’t.

“Who do you think you are?”

Furina lifts her face up. She doesn’t even have the energy to stare back at the Knave, let alone answer her question.

“I told you. I don’t know.”

“Try.”

To hell with it.

“Liar.” Is the first word that comes out of her mouth, without any thought or effort. “Fraud. Crook.”

She pauses and her lifts twitch upwards in a hollow approximation of amusement before falling blank once again.

“Archon.”

The Knave nods slowly at her list. “Liar,” she repeats back to her. “Fraud. Crook.”

The Knave pauses.

“Human.”

Furina stares back at her.

“Is that supposed to be an insult or compliment?”

“It is what you make of it,” says the Knave, not rising to the challenge. “Just like how you make yourself out to be the charlatan.”

“Because that’s what I am.”

“But not what you have to be.”

Furina falls silent. 

The Knave stands up, regarding her beneath hooded red eyes before turning away.

“I once thought you a miserable god.”

Furina watches as the Knave goes around the table and to the wall. She stops before the shattered glass, staring down at the shards with an unreadable expression on her face. 

“A miserable, arrogant god, unworthy of the love and affection lauded unto you. What had you done to deserve such undying faith? What would you do to be worthy of it? I watched, I waited, I observed and I saw nothing. Nothing, but a god sitting high above on their throne, playing with their toys. The world could sink beneath the waves for all you cared.”

The Knave pauses.

“I see now, that I was wrong.”

Furina twitches.

“It is not that you didn’t care. It is that you cared too much.”

The Knave kneels down, fingers ghosting over the shards of glass.

“And that it broke you.”

…

“What do you see now?” Furina asks, despite herself, because some part of herself wants to know, wants to know that even if she can’t see her own reflection in the mirror, someone else might.

The Knave does not answer her. She simply gathers the shards of glass into her hand and encloses them in a blackened fist.

From between her shoulder-blades, the Knave's Pyro Vision suddenly alights, and immediately, blinding flames leap forth from the cracks in her fist, filling the room with an infernal glow. Furina can feel the searing heat from where she is sitting, so intense that each breath burns her throat and the sensation shocks her into sitting straight.

The flames cease. The light fades, returning the room to darkness.

The Knave stands up and walks back to the table. She opens her fist, and something drops down onto the table.

Furina looks down.

A glass teardrop. 

Smoldering, still glowing from the intense flames. Alight, even in the darkness of the room. Flawless. Beautiful.

Furina can see her own face perfectly reflected back in the glass.

Her head shoots up.

“You’re lying,” she says. “You’re lying,” she says again, voice cracking on the final syllable. “This… this can’t be what you see. It just can’t.”

The Knave says nothing, only looks to her with the same hooded gaze, the same unreadable silence.

Leaving the choice to her. Truth or lie.

Furina looks back to the teardrop.

If it is a lie, then it is the cruelest lie ever told to her, far crueler than 500 years of solitude and misery.

And if it is the truth…

But it can’t be.

…But if it is.

Then is it so wrong, to hope?

Furina reaches down, hands trembling, and picks up the teardrop.

It burns. She feels it burn her skin, setting her nerves alight with searing heat and she gasps. But even despite the pain, she clutches it close to her chest, letting the warmth spread over her entire frame like an embrace.

“Broken,” the Knave says and her quiet voice could almost be considered gentle, “but not forsaken.”

A choked sob is ripped from Furina’s throat before she can stop herself. She places a hand over her mouth, but there are no more tears left in her. All she can do is hold onto the warmth, let it burn her, let it tell her that she is here and she is real.

In the silent, dark room, she holds onto that spark of life, just for a moment longer.

And then, from outside, the sound of a key being fitted into a lock can be heard.

The Knave’s expression turns back to what it once was, a half-smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“And speak of the devil and she shall appear.” 

The door opens.

“I’m back.” Clorinde walks in, arms full of groceries. “Sorry it took so long I-”

Then her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room and the rest of the greeting dies on her lips.

For a long second, nobody moves.

The groceries drop to the floor with a crash. Clorinde moves as lightning, Iron Sting already in hand and striking at the Knave’s exposed neck.

“No!”

Furina leaps up from her seat, but immediately, a wave of wooziness hits her and her knees buckle.

“Clorinde, s-stop!”

Clorinde freezes. The blade halts an inch away from bare skin.

Then, in another flash, she’s by Furina’s side, catching her before she falls. No words are said, but the look on her face is enough. Anxiety, worry, and above all else, fear.

Furina steadies herself and grabs her arm.

“I’m okay,” she manages to get out. She even tries to smile. “I’m okay. Really.”

Clorinde’s eyes dart silently from her to the Knave, before back to her. She looks her up and down, scanning for any sign of foul play and finding none. 

Slowly, the anxiety lessens just the slightest in her eyes.

Clorinde lets out a shaky breath.

“Thank god.”

She stands up, putting herself between Furina and the Knave. The Knave hasn’t moved an inch since the start of the whole interaction, merely standing in place, hands behind her back.

Clorinde points the Iron Sting at her.

“Get out.”

The Knave merely inclines her head.

“As you say.” She turns to Furina, regarding her with a quiet expression. “I suppose this is farewell, for now.”

And then, to Furina’s shock, she extends out her hand, dips her head, and bows.

Clorinde tenses, but makes no movement.

Still bowing, the Knave raises her head, looking only at Furina.

“If we are to ever meet again in the future, it may be as allies, most likely as adversaries. Even so, know that for this moment, you have earned my respect.”

Furina stares.

The Knave simply looks back at her, hand outstretched. Waiting. Watching. For her choice. 

Her choice alone.

She reaches out, and places her hand in the Knave’s.

The kiss that the Knave places on the back of her hand could almost be described as gentle, like a Father wiping away a child’s tears.

“And I hope,” says the woman known as the Knave as she straightens up and turns away, “that in the future, you will have learned to respect yourself as well.”

And with that, she opens the door and walks away, leaving only silence in her wake.

The door clicks shut.

Instantly, Clorinde is by her side again. Her hands move across her shoulders and down to her sides, urgently searching again for any sign of injury or harm.

“I shouldn’t have left,” she says and Furina isn’t sure if she’s talking to herself or Furina. “That’s twice I’ve abandoned you. It won’t happen again, I swear on my life.”

Furina shakes her head. “It’s okay. I’m-” but the rest of her reassurances are cut off as another wave of dizziness hits her and she sways, kept only from falling to the floor by Clorinde’s hasty intervention.

“Furina!” Clorinde catches her, the worry coming back full force before her eyes narrow. She rips off a glove with her teeth and places a hand on Furina’s forehead. Furina feels her own eyes flutter at the cool sensation.

“Shit.” Clorinde bites her lip. “You’re burning up.”

“Mm.” 

Furina nods into the hand. Tiredness is seeping into her bones. The darkness in the edges of her vision beckons, inviting her like an old friend. 

“But… I think…" she feels herself fading, even as Clorinde continues to talk to her but it's hard to hear her or anything. Her eyes flutter. "I think... I’ll be...”

And then she closes her eyes and surrenders herself once again to the waves.

—

The lights are still on upstage, but Furina finds herself standing all alone on the wide empty expanse. The only other thing on the stage besides herself is a large, unending mirror that spans from one end of the stage to the other, disappearing into the curtains. Furina can hear the audience- a low murmur of waves cheering, jeering, laughing, crying, but when she looks out to the seats, she sees no one. Just row upon row of empty seats.

From the empty orchestra pit, there’s a tapping noise, a non-existent conductor readying their symphony. The murmurs turn into a low hush and a silent, melancholy tune begins to play.

On the unending stage, Furina raises her arms, and begins to dance.

In the unending mirror, her reflection raises her arms, and begins to dance.

The two dance together in perfect sync to a silent, forlorn song. With each step, each spin, the murmurs of the ghosts become louder and louder.

Furina spins and her reflection spins with her.

The voices laugh.

Furina raises her arms and jumps and her reflection also raises her arms and jumps.

The voices jeer.

Furina reaches out to the light and her reflection does the same.

The voices scream.

Furina trips and falls and her reflection trips and falls.

The music stops. The voices fall silent.

The mirror cracks.

Furina cries and her reflection sheds the same tears.

Furina wipes at her eyes and takes a deep breath. She stands up.

Her reflection remains on the ground, sobbing.

“It hurts,” weeps her broken reflection.

“I know,” says Furina, walking towards her other half.

“I’m so tired,” sobs her reflection, heart broken

“I know,” answers Furina, heart breaking.

“Does it ever get better?” asks her reflection for the truth.

“I don’t know,” replies Furina without the truth. “I think it gets easier, not always better.”

And her broken reflection cries harder.

Furina reaches out her hand and her reflection looks up, unshed tears in her eyes.

“But…” she says with a small smile, “I’m ready to try and make it better.”

Her broken reflection looks up at her, at her outstretched hand.

Furina smiles back at herself.

“And I hope you are too.”

She reaches out, fingers brushing against the broken glass.

And it shatters.

—

Furina awakens with a start.

Her first breath catches in her throat the wrong way and she ends up coughing for a good few seconds before finally getting her breathing under control. Once it feels like her heart is once again safely contained in her rib cage, she sits up from the bed.

And winces. Ow. Ow, ow, ow. She feels sore. Mm, no, that’s an understatement. She is sore, from the tips of her hair to the soles of her feet. Every movement, however small, is accompanied by an uncomfortable twinge in her muscles. But oddly enough, despite the discomfort, it’s not painful. More of a prodding poke than anything. It’s like she finished a long, arduous day that left her tired, but content with what she had accomplished. Exhausting, but also, strangely satisfying.

She stretches, arms above her head, feeling the satisfying pull of her muscles. Her eyes land next to her bed stand.

There, glinting in the faint morning light, is the glass teardrop.

Furina stops. Slowly, her arms lower. 

The glass teardrop glints again, almost as if to entice her.

Unbidden, her hand reaches forward, pausing just for a brief second, before she finally picks it up.

She peers at the glass. Amazingly, it’s still warm, even if the bright glow from earlier has finally dissipated. And… now that there’s light, she notices, there’s actually a small crack in the middle. A hairline fracture, barely even visible in the light, but there regardless. Yet even with the miniscule flaw, she can still see herself reflected perfectly in the marred surface. 

She stares into her reflection.

She has half a mind to simply throw it out. Who knows how much of what the Knave said was the truth, who knows how much of it was lies?

But then, even if it was a truth or a lie, there’s another half of her mind that wants to keep it and simply believe.

Choices, choices.

She stares into her reflection, into her own eyes.

Truth or lie?

Fake or real?

God or human?

Broken.

Or...

A sound suddenly comes from her kitchen, not unlike a pot being accidentally dropped, and she jumps, heart nearly shooting out of her chest, which is then followed by an overwhelming sense of deja vu. 

Slowly, teardrop still in hand, she lifts herself off the bed and walks towards the door, placing a hand on the knob.

From the other side, she can hear the soft patter of feet against wood and the sound of the stove burning away.

She takes a deep breath. Lets it out slowly.

The glass teardrop is warm in her hands.

She pushes the door open.

“No, no, no, why are you acting up now of all times you piece of junk.”

Clorinde hunches over the stove, fiddling with the knobs as the pot next to her bubbles away. The champion duelist lets out an annoyed grunt and gives the knob a slap.

“C’mon, work!”

The stove lets out a pathetic belch, shakes ominously, and then turns itself off.

“Dammit.” 

With a frustrated sigh, Clorinde turns around, cursing a storm beneath her breath.

And then, she sees Furina staring at her from out her bedroom door and stops.

They stare at each other, one in silence, the other with a gamut of emotions running across her face- shock, disbelief.

And then finally, utter relief.

“Hey,” says Clorinde, sounding almost on the verge of tears.

Furina swallows.

“Hey,” she says back, quiet.

Clorinde looks away.

“You… you were out for a couple of days. Your fever only broke late last night.”

Furina opens the door a little more.

“Did… you stay by my side the entire time?”

Clorinde coughs into her hand.

“How are you feeling?” she says, answering a question with a question.

Furina considers her question. How is she feeling? There’s a whole list of words to choose from. Sore, spent, still slightly woozy. All true, but not all completely accurate. What then?

“Hungry,” she finally settles on, completely truthful.

Clorinde blinks. And then, Furina sees the ghost of a smile finally appear on her face.

“Same here.” She beckons with her hand. “Let’s go get some breakfast.”

Furina considers it.

And then, she opens the door and steps out.

—

The macaroni is largely an unsalvageable mess and the stove will need to be replaced once they can inform the landlord about it, yet despite all these setbacks, Clorinde’s quiet cheer is unshakeable. Furina can practically feel the silent contentment emanating from her normally stoic bodyguard as they exit the cafe, breakfast in hand. Her good mood continues on, even as the clouds roll in and a light rain begins to fall. Not hard enough to warrant a quick retreat back home, just light enough to be felt peppering against bare skin.

“We can try that deli too if you’re still hungry.”

Clorinde unclasps her capelet, draping it around Furina’s shoulders to protect her from the light drizzle. Furina makes a quiet noise of protest, but Clorinde is already pointing at another shop as she strides down the street.

“Or if you want something sweet instead, Navia’s told me the macarons from there are to die for. Not as good as hers, but still pretty good.”

Furina watches her go on, a somber mood keeping her own words at bay. Ever since waking up, she’s felt strange, as if there’s something that she needs to do now that she’s awake. Like coming to two branching paths in the road and figuring out which one to walk down.

What now?

One road, she knows, simply leads back to where she came from. It’s a safe road, one without any tricks or surprises in store, but also, one without any real value. 

The other road is different. That road, she has no idea where it leads. It could be worse, filled with trips and falls and dangers that the safe road lacks.

But it also could be better. And she has no way of knowing unless she tries walking the path for herself.

By herself.

Choices, choices.

A gaggle of giggling children runs past them as a Gardamek dutifully trails behind. The children stop before a puddle, laughing as they all jump into it. The Gardamek continues on its way.

“Oh, right, we should stop by the grocer’s again before we head home.” They come to a four-way crossing and stop. Clorinde looks both ways before stepping forward. “We’re out of macaroni.”

Furina doesn’t move.

“Clorinde.”

“Hm?” Her bodyguard stops, peering over her shoulder. When she sees her charge motionless in the middle of the road, she turns around fully, walking back towards her. “Still feeling sick?” Clorinde offers out her arm. “Here, lean on me until we get back home. Or do you want to stop for a second and look for somewhere to sit down?”

Home or here.

Together or alone.

Choices, choices.

Furina looks up to Clorinde and makes her choice.

“You don’t need to look after me anymore.”

Clorinde’s eyes widen.

One of the children, a little girl playing in the puddle, slips and falls. She begins to cry, even as the other children rush to her side, even as the Gardamek plods onward.

“...A little late to be firing me now, don’t you think.”

Furina tries her best to look stern and not as heartbroken as she's really feeling. “I’m being serious.”

“And so am I.” Her bodyguard retracts her arm and wraps it around her own waist as if to shield herself from whatever may come. “Did… did I do something wrong?”

Furina’s head whips up. “No! No, of course not.”

“Then why?” asks Clorinde, the quiet hurt in her voice cutting through everything else.

The light drizzle continues to fall. Furina looks up to the sky, at the pieces of blue poking through the grey clouds.

“Somebody told me that maybe… I’m a little broken.”

Clorinde lets out a sharp breath. “That’s not true.”

“It is a little,” Furina says, with a rueful smile, holding up her hand as Clorinde begins to protest. “But… I think I’ve realized, that’s okay. I’m a little broken, a little lost. But despite all that, I’m still here. I’m still alive.”

She looks down at her hand, at the teardrop pendant still clutched in her fist, still warm, even after all this time.

Broken, but not forsaken.

“And I think, it’s time that I learned how to stand on my own two feet.”

From behind, the little girl's sniffles turn into tentative laughter as her friends encourage her to her feet. Wobbling, shaking, she pushes off the ground, smiling shyly at the cheer her friends let out.

Clorinde looks at her. Her amethyst eyes are unreadable.

“You don’t have to change overnight.”

“Oh, I know. But…” Furina laughs a little, “But, I think I’d like to start soon. Sooner rather than later.”

There’s a moment of silence between the two, broken only by the fading laughter and the sound of the light rain.

The Gardamek plods on towards a destination only it knows.

Clorinde bows her head.

“You’re sure,” she asks the falling rain and Furina knows she’s won her over.

“I am,” she says, and for once, it’s the most true statement she’s ever uttered. Unconsciously, her hand rises up, as if to place itself reassuringly on Clorinde’s shoulder, but she pauses before the gesture can come to fruition, and lets it fall back to her side. “Besides, you’ve put your own life on hold long enough for me.”

“A little longer won’t make that much of a difference,” says Clorinde, but Furina simply shakes her head with a sad smile and the rest of her sentence dies out. She looks down again. 

“You’re sure,” Clorinde asks again, one last time.

Furina lets out a shaky breath.

“More sure than I’ve ever been. I’ll…” she begins to say, and then stops. “I’ll…”

(be okay)

(be fine)  

(be the me that I want to be)  

“I’ll live,” she finishes truthfully.

And that’s all she can really hope for. But for now, that’s enough.

Small victories, wherever she can take them.

Clorinde is silent. She raises her head up, looking towards the sky and Furina follows her gaze. The light rain has stopped, and the first glimpses of the sun are beginning to peek through the clouds.

“You know,” says Clorinde to the emerging sun, “I never got to answer your question.”

Furina looks at her quizzically.

“What question?” she asks, and then stops as she remembers. Her breath catches in her throat.

Clorinde lowers her head, smiling a wistful, little smile at her.

 “I was a little hurt, to be honest,” she says, still smiling her sad little smile, “I thought we were already friends.”

Furina laughs and towards the end, it comes out a little choked.

“Sorry,” she says, turning away so that Clorinde won’t see the tears beginning to form in the corner of her eyes. “I’m terrible with social cues.”

“Oh, I know.” Clorinde sighs. “What are you going to do without me.”

“I don’t know,” Furina answers honestly. “I really don’t know. But at the very least,” she finally turns to Clorinde and smiles, “I know I won’t break the stove trying to make breakfast.”

And when Clorinde throws her head back to laugh quietly, a little sad, a little proud, Furina knows that she’ll be alright, that they both will be.

They’ll be alright.

All too soon, their laughter and mirth subside, leaving only the reality behind. Even then though, the silence between them is comfortable, warm and understanding.

She’s going to miss this. So much.

Furina clears her throat and speaks past the forming lump.

“So, I guess this is goodbye.”

“Mm.” Clorinde shakes her head. “I don’t like saying goodbye to friends I just made. How about, see you later instead?”

Furina laughs again, to hide the pang in her heart, and nods.

“I like that. I quite like that,” she laughs again, and now the sound hovers on the boundary of joy and parting. She holds out her hand for Clorinde, one last farewell. “Well then, see you later, my newly acquired friend.”

Clorinde gently pushes her hand aside and hugs her.

And Furina hugs her back, finally feeling the dam welling up inside her burst forth. Tears begin to flow from her eyes and onto Clorinde’s shirt, but the other woman makes no comment. She simply tightens her grasp and Furina returns it, trying to convey every single emotion that she can with the gesture even though it’s not enough, it’ll never be enough to show how much she means to Furina.  

“Thank you,” says Furina, hiding her tears into the embrace. “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

“Mm.” Clorinde hugs her tighter. “Nope. Try again.”

Furina laughs into her tears.

“You’re right. I meant thanks. And… and see you later.”

“There you go,” says Clorinde warmly, fiercely. “See you later.”

Her arms tighten, one last time, as if to remind Furina that she’s not alone, not anymore.

And then, she let’s go.

Clorinde walks past her, striding down the path from where they came. Furina watches her go, her retreating back becoming smaller and smaller until it’s just a small purple speck in the distance.

Until finally, it disappears.

Furina turns around. She lets out a shaky breath.

And then, she continues down her own path, making her way back home.

She walks past the laughing children, frolicking in the newly announced sun, their joy in each other evident for all the world to see.

She walks past the patrolling Gardamek, ever plodding onward, ever facing towards an unreachable, unseeable goal, but continuing on regardless.

She walks past familiar streets and unfamiliar streets, letting the nostalgia and melancholy wash over her like a wave, letting her head sink beneath the waves, but never pulling her under.

There’s a hole in her heart, a familiar yawning loneliness that’s always been with her. But now, she finds that the loneliness isn’t as crippling as it once was. Now, it almost seems bearable. A scar that’s finally had the chance to heal.

For the first time in five hundred years, she feels as though can finally embrace the loneliness for what it is, instead of running away from it.

Furina lets out another breath. She holds the hand with the glass teardrop up to her chest, letting the warmth guide her steps.

Even now, she’s not sure if she’s made the right decision, or that she won’t stumble and fall along the way. But it’s her decision and hers alone.

A beam of sun lights to her face and she holds her hand up, blinking towards the cleared, blue sky. She takes in a deep breath, holding it in for as long as she can, before finally letting it out.

Small victories, wherever she can take them.

Furina closes her eyes, letting the sun wash over her, just for a second more.

…

And then… 

“Are you sure this is the right place?”

A loud, familiar voice breaks through her quiet. Furina opens her eyes, blinking. She… she knows that voice. She turns her head towards the corner of the street, to where the voice is coming from.

“That’s what it says on the paper. Unless Katheryne got the address wrong.”

A second voice joins the first one. This voice is quieter but no less familiar to Furina. She peeks around the corner.

Two figures stand outside her apartment building. Well, that’s not entirely correct. Of the two, only the blonde Traveller from beyond the stars stands, her ever-present travel companion floats in mid-air, hovering close to her head.

“Hm…” her little companion, Paimon, if Furina remembers her name correctly, takes a look at the scrap of paper in the Traveller’s hands. “Well, if you say so. Gotta say though, it’s not exactly what Paimon was imagining in her head. Something with a little more… pizazz, you know?”

“I think it’s neat,” says the Traveller, and Paimon hovers just a little lower.

“Sure, sure.” She nudges the Traveller. “Well, go ahead. Knock, see if she’s in!”

The Traveller raises her hand and knocks on the door, waiting patiently. 

Furina can only stare. Going from parting, to meeting. From one door closing, to another opening. 

Maybe, that’s just how life is.

Maybe, she’s more than ready to embrace it for what it is.

Furina closes her eyes. Takes a steadying breath. One, two, in and out. She clears her throat. “Ah, ah. Ahem.”

And then, she opens her eyes and walks forward toward a future of her own making.

“You know, it’s common courtesy to make sure the homeowner isn’t in earshot when you’re denigrating their abode…”

Chapter Text

“Oh, you’re so full of it!”

Out of everyone in the troupe, Pauleau is definitely the most forthright in his opinions when it comes to stageplays and the likes, unsurprising considering his double position as both actor and scriptwriter for ‘The Little Oceanid.’ Passion is in his blood, both in creation and action.

The actor-turned-playwright points incredulously at Lauwick, who holds his hands up in genial surrender. “There’s no way you’re seriously saying that the Laurent company’s rendition of 'The Tell-Tale Meka' is better than the Beaumont troupe’s 'Flask of Cagliostro!' Absolutely no way!”

“It’s an opinion I stand by.” Lauwick, normally so genial and easygoing, crosses his arms, standing firm in his convictions. “Besides, Ms. Furina wasn’t even the lead role in the Beaumont version of the 'Flask of Cagliostro.' It’s objectively obvious which play was the better one out of the two.”

Pauleau throws his hands up, fed up with his companion’s unchanging opinion. “I can’t do this. Dulphy, tell him! Tell him he’s wrong!”

“Actually, I’ve always been more partial to Ms. Furina’s performance in 'The Hydro Raven.'”

Pauleau gapes in betrayal and Dulphy smirks with playful glee as Lauwick lets out a full-bellied laugh. 

“Sorry, but it’s a classic. ‘Quoth the Hydro Raven, glub glub.’”

Still smirking, she cranes her head back, looking towards the only other member of the theatre troupe who hasn’t yet joined in on their heated debate.

“But that’s just my opinion. What do you think, Ms. Furina?”

From where she’s sitting in the directing chair, head in her hands, Furina finally looks up.

“I’m thinking that we should stop talking about all the old roles that I’ve starred in and focus on more important things. Like, oh I don’t know maybe, practicing for the play that we’ll have to perform at the end of the month?! Does any of THAT ring a bell?”

The conversation had started innocently enough. They had just wrapped up a fairly productive rehearsal and were in the midst of taking a break when Lauwick suddenly posed the question to the group. At first, the praise had been flattering even if misguided, and Furina did her best to gently deflect the attention away from her past roles with all the humility that she could muster. But then, Pauleau had joined in the debate with his own passionate opinion and Dulphy had hopped in just to fan the flames and from there, the whole situation had spiraled out of Furina’s control. That had been an hour ago. An hour. And they were still going strong, overriding Furina’s embarrassed protests with more impassioned opinions that made it impossible to get a word in edgewise. The only thing she could really do was hide her steadily reddening face behind her tophat as the rest of the group waxed poetic about every single one of her old acting roles. 

Every. Single. One.

Her completely reasonable and outstanding suggestion is met with a variety of reactions, none of which are unequivocal support. Lauwick and Paulealu mainly look confused. Dulphy remains unrepentantly impish. 

“But…” Lauwick scratches at his head, “how else are we going to figure out which one of the plays you acted in was the best then?”

“You really don’t need to,” says Furina bluntly and the grown adult man has the gall to actually pout. Just as she thinks she has them back on track though, Pauleau suddenly snaps his fingers.

“The Lender of Liyue,” is all he says and Furina groans into her hands once again as both Lauwick and Dulphy nod sagely in unequivocal agreement.

“Oh, true, true.”

“That’s such a good one. You guys remember that one monologue the lender has at the end where she has to defend herself before the citizens and they turn their back on her?” Lauwick shivers. “Chills, literal chills.”

“Oh, yesssss!” Dulphy sits up, excitement in her eyes. “I remember when I was first getting into acting, Aurelie took me to see a showing. I thought I’d be bored out of my mind, but then I remember Ms. Furina coming out on stage and I was just… hoo!” She gestures rapidly with her arms. “Nobody had actually tried to do a sympathetic interpretation for the lender before and by the time the curtain fell, I was bawling my eyes out.” She lowers her arms and chuckles quietly. “Couldn’t even walk in a straight line. Aurelie had to take me back home that night.”

Paulealu smiles, and his is tinged with the same wistful nostalgia that was in Dulphy’s voice. “Aurelie did the same thing for me. I remember going home that night and practicing the final monologue in my room until morning just to try and recapture that same feeling.” He laughs. “Aurelie was so angry with me when I stumbled into practice that day. Said that I’d never impress the Archon if I couldn’t even get through my lines without nodding off.”

With the conversation turning to their departed teacher, the mood shifts, from lighthearted banter and teasing, to a quiet remembrance that still contains the echoes of her influence. It makes Furina’s half-hearted protests die on her lips as she sees the nostalgia color the faces of the troupe

With a sigh, Furina takes off her tophat, settling it in her lap. She fiddles with the ends of the ribbon.

“It sounds to me that we should be remembering the impact your old teacher had, rather than my own inflated accomplishments.”

Dulphy shakes her head.

“Both are important to us,” she says, earnestness written all over her face, and for once, both Lauwick and Palulealu nod with her in agreement. “What Aurelie taught us, and the way you inspired us are the reasons why we’re all here.”

“Aurelie was the one who brought us all together, that’s for sure,” nods Lauwick, “she held us together through it all and helped fan our passions. But you’re the one who lit the spark to our passions. Without that spark, none of us would be here. Not even Aurelie.”

Their sincerity is blinding. How on Teyvat was Aurelie able to handle such open-faced earnestness? It’s all too much for Furina, so she looks away, bringing her tophat up to hide her face.

“You’re all giving me entirely too much credit.”

“Or maybe you’re giving yourself entirely too little,” counters Dulphy, the impishness back in her voice, and Furina can’t help but stifle the laugh threatening to come out of her. 

“In all seriousness though,” Pauleau ducks his head, putting a hand over his heart, “thank you. For everything.”

Furina feels herself warm beneath the kind looks thrown her way. Aurelie raised her troupe far too well, they’re much too kind for their own good. It’s the first time she’s heard her past influence framed in such a positive light, a past that she still has very mixed feelings about. But… even so, if they can accept a small part of her past for what it is, then she supposes, if not for her sake, then at least for theirs, she can accept a small part as well.

Just a small part.

“I still do not feel I am entirely deserving of your praise…” she says, and then turns back to face the troupe with a growing smile, “but it would be boorish of me to continue refusing your kindness, so instead I’ll simply say, you’re welcome.”

She puts her tophat back on and ducks her head beneath the brim. 

“...And thank you as well.”

The smiles aimed her way break out into grins and for a moment, just a fleeting moment, Furina feels as though she’s found a little corner of the world where she can accept that small part of herself.

Just a fleeting moment.

“So does this mean you'll tell us which one of your old roles was your favorite?”

Furina resists the urge to roll her eyes at Dulphy, who stares back at her, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. Just barely. Still, her smile remains, even as it turns into one of fond exasperation when both Lauwick and Paulealu perk up again like puppies waiting for a treat. Good grief. There are moments in her life where she forgets she’s been alive for over 500 years, moments where she feels that all people are on equal footing with her in terms of life experiences and maturity. 

This is NOT one of those moments. 

“If I tell you, can we please all get back to rehearsal?”

“Oh yeah!”

“For sure.”

“Swearsies.”

It’s like she’s tucking in children for a bedtime story. Furina sits back and taps her chin. Her favorite role. Favorite role. Hmm.

“It wasn’t as well received as my other performances… but I’ve always held a fondness for my part inside 'The Baroness of Cristo Monte.'"

Both Lauwick and Pauleau greet her with confused looks. Only Dulphy claps her hands in recognition.

“Ooooh, I remember that one! The group performing disbanded after only a handful of runs, so not many people got a chance to see it. I didn’t even know you were in it!”

“Yes, well…” Furina coughs into her hand, slight embarrassment coloring her movements as she recalls her early stage career. “I’ll admit, it’s not as well known as some of my more recognizable roles. I had only just started accepting invitations to act with theater troupes so my performance could have been considered a bit… rough around the edges. But even so, being able to play and bring to life the Baroness was what I consider to be one of my most fulfilling performances on stage.”

“What about the Baroness drew you to her?” inquires Lauwick.

Furina takes a second to think. What did draw her to the Baroness? Her character wasn’t particularly sympathetic- throughout the story, she was hellbent on enacting her own version of justice for wrongs visited upon her. She succeeded, in the end, but at great personal cost to herself and to everyone she held dear. It was as much a tragedy as it was a cautionary tale.

“I suppose…” Furina pauses. “I suppose it’s because I admired her.”

Dulphy makes a face. 

“You admired a woman who was so committed to her idea of justice that she gave up her own soul for it?”

“Well, when you put it like that, it does sound rather wretched,” Furina admits before shaking her head. “But no… I think it was that commitment to her justice that struck a chord with me. Here was a woman, so completely entrenched in her idea of righteousness that she was willing to sacrifice her very soul and wear a mask for her entire life, just to deceive both her friends and enemies. All for the sake of her justice."

Furina pauses. She looks down, clasping her hands together.

“I know that feeling. That feeling of wearing a mask for so long that it becomes you."

She pauses, then chuckles quietly.

"It’s… tiring, to say the least. Very tiring. But, being there, on the stage, in the Baroness’s shoes, it felt like, just for a moment, I could be free.” 

All three of the troupe say nothing, encouraging her to go on with silent looks.

“And not just then, but all the other times I was on stage, I felt a sense of freedom. I could be someone else- someone who was allowed to be perfect or broken or powerful or weak. I could be anyone or anything. In that instance, people could see me for who I really was, whoever that may be. For a moment, everything felt…”

She trails off. 

Not quite as lonely, was what she was about to say. 

But she decides to keep that secret for herself. 

“You really did love the stage, didn’t you?” Pauleau says with quiet respect and Furina feels nothing but gratitude for his use of the past tense. Even now, they try to respect her boundaries, never once forcing her back to that world as much as they’d love to see her return. As much as her own soul calls for it.

But that world is her past, not her present.

“I still do,” she says with a hopeless little smile, and the others seem to understand. Because she knows that even when the curtains are drawn and the lights are off, the stage itself still exists as echoes of new and old stories are written and told, with or without the audience. With or without her. “A little world, away from the big world. I loved it.”

“Even if the world turned its back on you?” asks Dulphy and Furina knows she isn’t asking about the stageplay anymore.

“Even then.” Her answer is instant, surprising even herself. But it’s true, deep down in her soul, she can feel the truth in her words, her conviction. “Even then, I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving the world.” 

Furina pauses, and then she lets out a wistful chuckle. “I wonder if this is what being a worried mother feels like?”

“What, unpaid?” jokes Pauleau.

“Unlucky?” chimes in Dulphy with an impish smile

“Unable to sleep?” calls out Baraud from the far side of the room where he’s nailing a stage prop (so he had been listening in after all, the sneaky lout.)

Aurelie really has raised all of them far too well.

“Unappreciated,” says Furina, and this time, she really does roll her eyes as she fights off the exasperated smile threatening to spill over. “Because her ‘unruly adults’ have what’s probably the best artistic consultant in all of Teyvat to help them rehearse for their play and oh, would you look at that! Break time’s over.”

Both Lauwick and Pauleau at least have the decency to look somewhat sheepish. Dulphy just lets out a disappointed “awww.”

“Don’t ‘aww’ me young lady.” Furina snaps her fingers and instantly, her ‘unruly adults’ stand at attention. Very good. “Now, enough dilly-dallying. Back to where we left off!”

She flips her script open to the last page, seamlessly transitioning back to the role of artiste, director, and theatrical consultant extraordinaire. “Lauwick, you have the lines down, but the cadence of your speech is off the slightest. I want you to try slowing your words when you speak; remember, it’s a play, not a marathon.”

Lauwick salutes smartly. “Yes, ma’am!”

“Good. Pauleau, don’t forget that the fake Hydro mimics will pour forth from below stage the instant the Little Oceanid drops her Vision into the fountain to bring back the water, so you need to stay exactly on your mark or risk being sprayed down by a dozen or so mek-powered stage props.”

“Understood, ma’am!”

“And Dulphy, remember, show don’t tell. Your body is your most important tool as a performer, let your actions tell the story and the rest will flow naturally.”

“You got it.”

“Excellent.” Furina flips her script closed and rolls it up. She points to the three of them. “Places people. Now, from the top. Act 2 of ‘The Little Oceanid.’ Aaaaaand... action!”

—

By the time Furina finally judges their performance to be satisfactory, the day has darkened into early evening. Lauwick is the first to leave, citing his duties as father and husband to his family waiting at home, and Pauleau and Dulphy depart shortly thereafter. Furina stays behind, intending to look over the various sets Baraud had been working on and promising to lock up once she was finished. She’s mostly completed with her inspection when the door to the building opens.

“Heya.” 

The blonde Traveller from another world waves to her and walks over, her little travel companion hovering a little behind. There’s a water bottle in her hands that she offers to Furina, who gladly accepts. “Been busy?”

Furina chuckles at the understatement. “That’s one way to put it.” She uncaps the bottle, taking a grateful swig before counting down on her fingers. “I’m still waiting on Valmant to put the finishing touches on his character's lines, a few of the set pieces still need to be painted before the show, and don’t even think to ask me the number of papercuts I’ve inflicted on myself in the past hour alone.”

“Soooooo.” The Traveller draws out the word, an amused glint in her eyes. “All according to plan then?”

Furina lets out a haughty sniff. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I am Furina de Fontaine, thespian extraordinaire! It’s going swimmingly!”

Paimon, who had been steadily hovering lower and lower with each recited item on her list, quickly regains her lost altitude with a relieved sigh. “Oh, good! Paimon wasn’t sure if all those things were good things or not. They kinda sounded not too good, if Paimon’s being honest.”

“Oh we are very behind schedule,” Furina assures the two of them which has the opposite effect, based on the looks the Traveller and Paimon exchange. “But, it’s all par for the course when it comes to readying a production like this. I’ll be honest, it’s rather exciting, feeling the crunch of a deadline again!”

Paimon nods slowly. “Riiiiiiight. Well, is there anything Paimon can do to help, at least?”

“Oh, always.” Furina hands her a sheaf of papers. “Do you think you could say some of these lines out loud to yourself and see if any of them sound awkward? I’ve looked at the dialog so many times now that I feel like words have all but lost their meaning to me.”

“Oooooh, sure! Paimon can definitely do that!”

The little travel companion snatches the papers out of Furina’s hand and flips them open to a random page.

“Hark and forsooth, my good friends and compadres… wait no, compatriots! My good friends and compatriots, what lies uh… yawn? Yawn-der? Oh, yonder! Oooh, this is kinda fun!”

The Traveller sidles up next to Furina. “That’s not ‘The Little Oceanid’ script at all, is it.”

Furina blinks as innocently as the day she came to be. “Would you believe me if I said it was a dictionary of old Fontainian stage vernacular?”

The Traveller’s lips twitch as Paimon continues to wax eloquent and incomprehensible. “Maybe,” she says, mirth dancing in her eyes. “Well, as for me, I’ve been pretty productive as well.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small envelope. “Here you go.”

Furina takes it and flips inside, eyes lighting up once she finds what she’s looking for.

“Aha! Looks like the Opera Epiclese shall be the venue for our esteemed performance of 'The Little Oceanid’, just as I always knew it would be!” She beams, taking out the written permit with a satisfied flourish. “Well done! I knew you were the right person for the task!”

“Mhm.” The Traveller gives her a pointed look. “You should have been there as well, you know. To ask him in person.”

At the Traveller’s astute remark, all the exaggerated airs leak out of Furina. Her shoulders slump and she has to look away. Not quite in shame, but not quite proud of her cowardice either. 

“I know,” is all she says.

The Traveller is quiet for a little bit.

“Neuvillete asked me to send you his regards,” she says after a pause, and Furina can’t help but flinch slightly at the mention of her former Chief Justice. “He asked how you were doing.”

Furina glances out the side of her eyes. 

“What did you tell him?”

The Traveller quietly considers her.

“That… you were doing your best.”

That actually gets a small laugh out of Furina. “Spoken like a true foreign dignitary. Very generous of you.”

“It’s an acquired skill,” the Traveller agrees with a smile before turning serious again. “And he didn’t say it… at least not directly, but I could tell, he wanted to say that he was sorry.”

She hesitates, before adding quietly, “We all are.”

Furina’s own eyes soften at the blonde girl’s uncharacteristically timid demeanor. She knows what she's referring to: the Trial of the Hydro Archon. At the time, their accusations had hurt, had cut deep to the core of her very being, and shattered her. But even then... she can’t find it in her heart to blame them too deeply. Her secret had been a guillotine of her own making, and the ruse would not have worked unless they all believed it. They’re as much of a victim of the past as she is.

And while the past will always have an influence on her, it’s still just the past.

She has the future to look forward to now, after all.

“I don’t want to say it’s okay, because that would be a lie,” Furina says truthfully and the Traveller nods sadly in understanding. “But I think… I’ve come to terms with the scars it left behind. And more than that, I don’t want to linger anymore on those scars.”

She smiles and while there’s a hint of those scars in her smile, it’s overshadowed by the coming warmth. 

“I’ve got 500 years of living to catch up on after all.”

The Traveller is silent for a moment. Then, she nods, her own smile breaking through on her face.

“You’re right,” she says, and her smile grows wider, “and way too nice for your own good.”

Furina sighs, placing a hand dramatically over her heart. “So I am told. My one tragic flaw, my herculean burden to bear.”

“Humble as well,” dryly remarks the Traveller, still smiling. She places a hand on Furina’s shoulder and squeezes gently. “At your own pace though, alright? No one’s rushing you or anything.”

Furina’s eyes soften and she nods at the implicit understanding in the Traveller’s words. Because despite all of her optimism and bravado, she knows that there will still be days in the future where everything will feel off center and the scars will hurt and the only thing she can do is stare aimlessly at the ceiling once again. But even despite those inevitable days, she knows that she can overcome them because she’s still here, she’s still alive, and that alone is a triumph in and of itself.

Small victories, wherever she can find them.

“I know,” Furina reaches up and squeezes the hand on her shoulder. “And thank you. I’ll…” she pauses, and then her eyes spark with an amused glimmer, “I’ll do my best.”

And she laughs when she feels the exasperated shove to her shoulder, even as the blonde visitor from beyond the stars continues to smile and join in with the laughter.

— 

The days pass by in a blur and just like that, the end of the month is here, with 'The Little Oceanid’s' debut premiere upon them faster than Furina was ever expecting. One moment, she’s happily chatting with the troupe, sharing stories of the stage, critiquing and comparing the latest dramas and plays to make their way around the theater circuit; the very next moment, she finds herself spirited away to the Opera Epiclese, directing the stagehands in setting up the various props, overseeing that the lighting remains constant, and a slew of other tasks and details that have her worrying herself to the bone that they make the deadline.

It’s rushed, it’s hectic, it’s crazy and Furina can’t deny that she loves every moment of it. As much as the stage was the bane of her existence in her previous life, it was also her home, the place where she could be someone else and herself all at the same time. Coming back is daunting, frightening, and most of all, comforting.

She’s taking a quiet moment for herself in one of the dressing rooms, giving a last-minute look over to the script before the first curtain call in a few hours when there’s a knock at the door. Quickly, she puts the script down, stows away her reading glasses (vanity on her part but some habits are impossible to break), and clears her throat.

“It’s open.”

The door cracks open and Dulphy’s head peeks through the gap. “Heyo, you busy?”

Furina sighs, a tad dramatically. “Always, but I think I can spare a moment in my busy schedule for you.”

“Very generous.” Dulphy comes into the room fully, dressed in her costume and Furina’s eyes light up in expectation. The actress spreads her arms out and does a slow spin, showing off her entire dress. “Ta-da! What do you think? Elain just put on the finishing touches and I wanted to get an expert opinion before showing anyone else.”

Furina gets up and makes a casual circle around the other woman, stroking her chin as she goes along. “Hmm, hmm…” 

In her honest opinion, Elain has outdone herself. Some of the more renowned haute couture of Fontaine would be put to shame with the timid seamstress’s dedication and craft. Dulphy’s own dress is a serene, mellow blue that matches with the color scheme of the little Oceanid herself and it is without a doubt, absolutely gorgeous. They had taken inspiration for the dress from another literary heroine, Marianne de Edmonds, a countess who faced a similar trial and tribulation in her own story, and even incorporated the sigil of her family crest into the little Oceanid’s dress. It was both a way to pay homage and to instill the best qualities of both characters into the actress- courage, selflessness, and love.

“Complètement captivant.” Furina nods decisively and Dulphy all but beams at the compliment. “My only other suggestion would be to perhaps let the shawl be removable, so that you have easier use of your arms, but other than that, it’s a superb piece.”

“I’ll be sure to pass your compliments to the chef.” Dulphy salutes her primly. She opens her mouth to say some more, but a sudden fit of coughs overtakes her, and she hunches over in pain.

Furina moves forward, immediately concerned, but Dulphy quickly waves her off. “I-it’s nothing, just some last-second nerves is all,” she assures her, and already, her coughs are subsiding, going as quickly as they came. “I made sure to take some extra medicine an hour ago. Nothing’s going to stop me from getting on that stage tonight.”

Furina worries the bottom of her lip. On one hand, she can understand Dulphy’s determination to be on stage tonight, no matter the cost- it’s the theater troupe’s last chance to say goodbye to the woman who brought them all together and finally receive some closure to that chapter of their lives. Yet at the same time, such dedication shouldn’t be put over Dulpy’s own health. And as much as Furina would like to take the other woman by the shoulders and sit her down, she knows she can’t. They’ve come too far to turn back now and even if they could, she knows none of the troupe would back out now. Herself included. 

The occupational hazard of being a thespian, the disaster of passion.

“Fine. But the first instant you start to feel worse, I’m sitting you on the bench, alright.”

Dulphy waves away her concern. “I know, I know,” she agrees easily and Furina doesn’t think she actually knows, not really, but she lets it slide for now. “Enough about me though. There’s another reason I’m here.”

“Oh?” Furina accepts the distraction, placing an intrigued hand on her hip. “You mean you didn’t just come here to gloat over your pretty new dress?”

“I mean, it was mainly that.” She gives another dainty little twirl and somehow even manages to make it look even cheekier than earlier, before turning serious again. “But no. Some bigshots came in just now and they wanted to see our permits.”

Permits? Furina tilts her head, confused. “I thought the Traveller took care of all that in her earlier meeting with Neuv- with the Acting Regent.”

Dulphy shrugs her shoulders, what can you do? “Well, we did kind of jump the line for reserving the venue. I mean, it is the Opera Epiclese after all. Last I heard, the waiting list is three years and counting.” Dulphy shrugs again, this time more frustrated than anything else. “They probably want to make sure we didn’t cheat our way in or something.”

“Or something indeed.” Furina lets out a sigh from her nose. This part of the stage, she didn’t miss, the bureaucratic red tape and dealings. Not to mention now she’ll have to personally blow her own cover to deal with the auditors. She had been adamant about keeping a low profile during her time at the opera, to avoid any potential spotlight shown her way, but apparently, that plan has gone out the window. Hopefully, whoever the auditors are, they can keep their mouths shut. “Send them in. I’ll deal with it.”

It must be her imagination because she swears she sees Dulphy’s face light up in childlike glee for a brief second before smoothing out again. “You got it,” she says, practically skipping out the door. “Sending them right your way.”

Well. That’s an uncharacteristically cheerful attitude to have when dealing with bureaucracy. Oh well. No matter, she’ll learn in due time. 

Furina turns around, checking her appearance in the vanity. She smooths out her collar, straightens her tophat, valiantly tries to fight down that one cowlick that absolutely refuses to stay down. She stares into her eyes, holding the gaze, and nods.

The door opens behind her.

“Alright people, gonna need to start seeing some permits or someone’s going to jail.”

Furina starts. That… that voice, that familiar, laidback drawl. 

She turns around.

“Duke Wriothesley?”

The Duke of Fortress Meripode himself gives her an easy two-finger salute. “Just Wriothesley,” he says before breaking out into an easy-going grin. “By the way, still gonna need to see those permits, ya know.”

“Don’t tease her,” says Sigewinne, coming out from behind his back and Furina does another double take and has to hold onto the vanity to prevent herself from keeling over. The melusine smiles innocently back at her and waves enthusiastically. “Hello again, Ms. Furina! It’s been a while! How have you been? Eating alright and everything? How’s your sleep schedule?”

“Not a house call, Sige,” reminds Wriothesley with an indulgent half-smile, and the melusine’s expression turns bashful.

“Sorry, force of habit.” She comes up to Furina, peering into her face, and Furina resists the urge to start fidgeting under the melusine’s gaze. After a second, the melusine’s expression relaxes and she nods.

“You’re looking a lot better though, if you don’t mind me saying.” She tilts her head and smiles. “I’m glad.”

“I… thank you? Wait, no, hold on a second!” Furina places a steadying hand on her head and then points at Wriothesley. Not accusingly, she’d never, ever point accusingly at the jailer of Fortress Meropide himself. But she does point. “Just what on earth are you two doing here?” she asks incredulously, “I mean, not that I’m not pleased to see the both of you, but I thought you never left the Fortress, let alone leave it to catch a play of all things!”

Sigewinne turns to the taller man, nudging his hip reproachfully. “You see? This is what you get when you never leave the house. People think you’re a shut-in.”

Wriothesley doesn’t even balk under the melusine’s disapproving stare. “I am a shut-in, our ‘house’ is literally a prison under the sea in case you’ve forgotten. Not like I can just open the door and take a walk outside now, can I?”

“You can at least go out for a swim and touch seaweed, like I do. It’s very therapeutic.”

“Um, hello?” Furina cuts in, waving her hands like a lunatic before the two can derail the conversation any further because as amusing as their banter is, she’s still in desperate need of answers. “Here? Why? How?” This is what she’s forced to, single-word utterances of her confusion. “Can someone please explain?”

Of the two, Sigewinne at least has the courtesy to look a bit apologetic. The Duke just shrugs.

“Because we got the invitation in the mail. Seriously.” He says at Furina’s incredulous splutter. “What, you think suddenly reserving the entire Opera Epiclese on the busiest day of the month without issue isn’t going to cause some waves in Fontaine? Even the inmates are gossiping about it.”

Okay, well… damn, that’s actually a fair point. Furina pouts. Apparently, the Traveller’s conversation with Neuv- with the Acting Regent had a larger ripple effect that she hadn’t foreseen.

“But also,” adds Sigewinne with a calming smile, “we just wanted to drop by and show our friend some support.

And okay, well… damn, that’s more than a fair point. That’s actually quite touching.

Furina sighs, more for show than anything, and holds out her arms. Immediately, the melusine leaps into the embrace, nearly knocking Furina off her feet, but she remains strong, even as her own heart warms at the kind gesture.

“Thank you,” she says and her voice comes out softer than she would like. Hopefully, the two won’t notice anything. “Both of you.”

Sigewinne nods, stepping back and even Wriothesley’s wolfish smile turns understanding and Furina quickly clears her throat before the atmosphere can overtake her.

“But still, how did you know that I’d be here?” She had been so careful, so meticulous in hiding her tracks, making sure that none of the theater troupe’s work could be linked back to her. “I made sure that my name was never associated with any part of the production.”

“Hm…” Wroithesley crosses his arms. “Well, let’s call it… a hunch.”

Furina raises a single brow. “Your hunch?”

Her disbelief elicits a bark of laughter out of the Duke. “Hell, I’m good, but even I’m not that good. Nah, this hunch is from someone else, someone who knows you better than all of us do.”

And before Furina can ask who, he moves to the side, revealing the third person behind the door.

“Hey.” 

Clorinde steps forward and instantly, it feels like no time has passed at all for Furina since their parting and she feels her breath catch in her throat. 

The other woman clears her throat, looking to the side of Furina’s head. 

“Long time no see.”

She steps further into the room, and that’s when Furina notices the bouquet in her arms. Lakelight lilies. The soft captivating blues are unmistakable. Her favorite.

Clorinde thrusts the bouquet forward, still looking to the side. “For you.”

“There aren’t that many,” says Sigewinne almost apologetically. “It’s not their time of year, unfortunately. But we all tried to gather as many as we could. Clorinde found most of them.”

Clorinde shifts her weight from one leg to the other. She’s nervous, Furina realizes with a start. Actually, visibly nervous.

“You don’t have to tell her that.” She clears her throat again. “Anyway. Congrats. They said you weren’t going to be on stage, but I still wanted to get you something to celebr- oof.”

The rest of her words are cut off as Furina plunges into her arms, nearly crushing the lilies between them, but she doesn’t care, not one bit. She hugs the taller woman as hard as she can. She tries to speak, but the lump in her throat makes it all but impossible, so instead, she hugs her even harder, trying to convey everything her heart wants to say. 

Clorinde seems to understand her unspoken words though. She simply chuckles quietly, moving the lilies away to gently return the embrace.

“Missed you too,” she says, the overwhelming warmth in her voice lacing her words with fondness, and Furina both laughs and sobs as she feels a gentle kiss placed on top of her head.

“I should have known,” she says when they finally separate. She sniffles a little, glaring without any sort of real heat at the three of them. Of the three, Sigewinne is the only one who looks at least a fraction repentant at the deception, the other two are as unfazed as a blubberbeast. “What happened to getting some space and letting me stand on my own two feet?”

“You never said anything about dropping by to catch up though,” Clorinde points out and she’s right, dammit, why is she always right. “And from where I am, it looks like you’re standing on your own two feet just fine.”

That last part is said quietly, with pride, and Furina has to look away for the sake of her tear ducts. What a mess she is. Scarcely five minutes into her reunion and she’s a mess. The night has barely even begun.

“And if I wasn’t fine?” Furina challenges, arguing simply for the sake of arguing.

“Then I would have dropped by with a pot of macaroni instead.”

Furina is most certainly not smiling. She’s not. 

To the side, Writhesley suddenly lets out a shudder. “Wait, don’t tell me you actually let Clorinde cook for you before,” he asks, sounding perturbed.

“Multiple times actually,” says Furina and the look Writothesley gives her can only be described as a combination of god-fearing awe and new-found respect

“Clorinde nearly set the fortress canteen on fire trying to open a jar of bolognese,” Sigewinne chimes in with an explanation. “She’s been banned ever since.”

“One time. That one time,” Clorinde defends herself, the visible parts of her ears turning red and Furina can’t help but giggle in delight at the rare flustered state the other woman is in. She most certainly needs to tease her more in the future, reactions like this are too rare and too amusing to pass up.

“Suddenly, all those meals of sauceless-only-lighted-salted macaroni are starting to make a lot more sense,” says Furina in between giggles.

“I don’t want to hear that from the person who tried to fry a slice of leftover toast for dinner.”

“Wha- that was one time! One time!”

Sigewinne bursts into giggles and a second later, Wriothesley joins in with chuckles that he attempts to hide behind his hand. Even Clorinde is part of the mirth, the constant twitch of her lips giving her away.

“Incorrigible,” says Furina, fighting off her own smile and failing miserably. She puts her hand on her hips and stares down at the people who are not quite strangers, not quite acquaintances, but something more. “Incorrigible, the lot of you.”

“In all seriousness though,” says Clorinde after the laughter finally recedes while the warmth lingers, “how are you doing?”

Furina considers the question.

How is she doing?

“I’m…”

(doing fine)

(doing all that I can)

(doing whatever keeps me going)

“...doing my best,” she says honestly.

And Clorinde simply nods in understanding.

“Small victories,” she says, her small smile never once leaving her face and Furina could hug her again, right at this moment.

Before she can, there’s another knock at the door, and a second later, Dulphy’s familiar head peeks in once again.

“Okay, time’s up!” She beckons to the group with her head. “I got you three as much time as I could, but now we really do need our theatrical consultant back. The show’s about to start real soon!”

Wriothesley claps his hands together. “Looks like that’s our cue to leave.” He holds out his fist and Furina, slightly bewildered at the foreign gesture, hesitantly encloses her hand around it. “Eh. Close enough.” He pats her on the shoulder, squeezing lightly, and grins in a way that shows off his canines. “We’ll be watching in the good box seats. Good luck.”

“Break a leg!” adds Sigewinne cheerfully, much too cheerfully for a supposed medical practitioner.

“I’m not even going to be on stage!” Furina calls back, but it’s too late, the two are already gone, following after Dulphy to their seats. Come and gone like a summer storm. Oh well. She can’t say she hates it. 

Furina turns to Clorinde and puts her hands on her hips expectantly.

“Well, any extra words of encouragement for me?”

“Like you need any more,” says Clorinde, blunt as ever, amusement and pride dancing in equal measure in her eyes. “You’ve already got this.”

Furina laughs.

“But of course!” She gestures out to the beckoning stage. “I am Furina de Fontaine, after all! Let the world come alive!”

—

Like all stage productions with high expectations, lofty ambitions, and a hefty ticket price, everything goes smoothly. The actors all hit their marks, recall their lines perfectly, and deliver a stellar performance with a professional gravitas that would make industry veterans grumble in approval. Satisfied would be an understatement for what Furina feels as she watches the show from behind the curtains. Overwhelming pride is more apt.

Like all stage productions with high expectations, lofty ambitions, and a hefty ticket price, everything goes smoothly.

Until, like all stage productions, everything does not.

It’s around the midpoint of the first act that Furina notices it. An imperceptible cough, hidden carefully in a sleeve by their main heroine, the Little Oceanid. Practically unnoticeable to the untrained eye, but Furina’s eye is anything but untrained. 

Even from behind the stage curtains, Furina can tell that whatever is afflicting their star actress is choosing now to attack as viciously as possible. With each passing scene, Dulphy’s face grows paler and paler until even the blush can’t hide the deathly pallor beneath. Furina twists a bit of the stage curtain in her hands with worry. What terrible timing. With any luck, the audience will simply mistake her unnatural paleness as a moment of truly inspired method acting. Hopefully, Dulphy can hold out until then.

But by the time the curtain descends for the intermission, Furina knows it’s a lost cause. 

As soon as the curtains fall, the Little Oceanid lets out a strangled gasp and collapses to her knees.

“Dulphy!” 

In an instant, Lauwick and Vilmant are by their friend’s side, grasping her shoulders out of concern, the concern etched plainly on their expressions.

“I’m… fine,” she gasps out.

“You are most certainly not.” Furina marches up to the three, grabbing Dulphy’s right shoulder and leaning it on her own. “Lauwick, if you please.”

“O-oh, right!”

Together, the two of them manage to drag Dulphy backstage, settling her on the bench. Her complexion looks even worse without the stage lighting on her and Furina bites her lip in worry.

“Vilmant, a glass of water.”

“On it,” says the other man, dashing away even as Dulphy continues her weak protests.

“I told you… I’m fine… just need… moment.” She clutches at her chest, wincing. “To catch… breath.”

“I don’t understand.” Lauwick wrings his hands, knuckles as white as Dulphy’s complexion. “I thought you said your new meds were helping.”

The actress winces. “They… they are.”

“Dulphy,” says Furina, a hint of iron in her voice, a technique she picked up from Clorinde, and the actress winces and hangs her head.

“They’ve been getting… less… effective.” Shame tinges her voice and she seems to curl up into herself. “I’ve been having to… up… the dosage.”

“What?!” Lauwick’s barely contained shout is horrified. “You mean they were only helping you manage the pain and not actually curing it?! That’s… how could you do something so… so reckless to yourself?”

Dulphy looks up with a glare. “As if… you wouldn’t… do the same! This play... it means too… much… to me… to all of us!”

“But at the cost of your life?! You know Aurelie wouldn’t have wanted that!”

“It’s what I… want!”

“Enough,” says Furina, having heard enough, and the two of them cringe, humiliation coloring their postures. “Both of you. Now is not the time for arguments. Not if you still want to respect Aurelie’s memory and give her a proper goodbye.” 

Like that, all the fight drains from both their faces, replaced with mortification and chagrin. The two hang their heads, looking away like scolded children.

Furina waits patiently. Waiting patiently is something she’s gotten quite good at. 

From beyond the curtains, the low murmur of the audience can be heard as they return to their seats, filling the silence with a quiet whisper of expectations of what’s to come.

Lauwick is the first to break, letting out a sigh as he runs a hand through his hair.

“You’re right. If Aurelie could see us now, she would’ve given us an earful for fighting amongst ourselves. I’m sorry,” he says, turning to Dulphy and asks hesitantly, “Can you still do the song?”

Dulphy hesitates and then reluctantly shakes her head.

“No and… even if I could…” Her eyes scrunch up, and even in her sternness, Furina can’t help but feel a twinge in her heart at the pain and regret on the actress’s face. “Even if I could… I wouldn't be able to give it… the justice it deserves. That Aurelie… deserves.”

Both the relief and disappointment are clearly visible in Lauwick's expression. “Then… haaa,” he lets out a sigh, drawing his hand down his face, “I guess… I guess we’ll just have to end it here.”

He’s silent for another moment before he suddenly slams his fist into his palm.

“Dammit.” 

It’s not fair. Furina feels her own hand ball into a fist. It’s not fair. They’ve come so far, worked so hard, all to honor a life and now, they have to give up right before the finish line. Frustrating doesn’t even begin to cover what they’re all feeling.

“Is there nothing we can do?” she asks, more for the sake of asking than anything else.

Lauwick shakes his head. “Maybe but…” he sniffles, rubbing quickly at his eyes with the back of his wrist, “this late into the show, I don’t know… The Little Oceanid’s song is the crowning moment of the entire story. It’s not like we can just find someone in the audience who already knows the lyrics by heart.”

He’s right. Of course he is. Furina already knew the answer, she just wanted for someone else to say it out loud. Even if they did find a volunteer who miraculously knew the words to the Little Oceanid’s song, they would also have to act in the Little Oceanid’s final scene as well and no one can do all that in the little time they have left, no one at…

Except no.

No.

That’s not true.

Furina stops.

Because there actually is someone who knows the lyrics by heart, someone who was at each and every one of the troupe's rehearsals, someone who also shared in the troupe’s dream and passion to honor their teacher, their friend.

“I can do it.”

Lauwick and Dulphy both turn to her, and it’s only then that Furina realizes that she said those words out loud.

“I…” she falters under their collective gazes, falters, stumbles. And picks herself back up. She raises her chin, hoping that her face shows more confidence than she actually feels. “The lyrics. I- I know how they go.”

Dulphy’s eyes light up.

“Of course!” she exclaims, too forcefully, and descends into another fit of coughs. “You… were there. You can sing… it.” She grabs Furina’s hand, her fingers cold but the strength in her grip is unrelenting. “You can sing… the finale.”

Lauwick is more subdued in his reaction. There’s a worried crease in his kindly face.

“Are you sure?” he asks quietly and Furina knows he’s not asking about the song.

Is she sure? Furina takes a breath. Is she sure that she wants to go back onto the stage, the world itself? Is she sure she can handle it all, the pain, the love, the adoration, the agony, all over again? Is she sure, that this is what she wants to do?

The answer comes to her without question.

“Yes,” she says softly. “Just… this one last time.”

Because no matter how much pain and loneliness she’s endured, it's nothing compared to the love she feels for the world. She will always love the world.

Always.

“Just this once. I mean it,” she adds and both Dulphy and Lauwick nod in complete understanding. “That part of my life is behind me and I don’t intend to revisit it ever again.”

“Of course,” agrees Lauwick.

“Thank you so much,” says Dulphy. There are tears in her eyes. “Thank you, from all of us.”

From beyond the curtains, she can hear the murmur of the crowd, swelling like a wave. Expectant, excited. Waiting in anticipation.

The stage. The world. It’s calling to her. It always has.

Furina turns around. 

She closes her eyes, takes a steadying breath. One, two, in and out. Ahem.

She opens her eyes and steps past the curtains, and onto the stage.

As soon as she appears, a hush descends on the audience. Shocked silence. And then, the whispers begin, the murmuring, the muttering.

Lady Furina? The Archon? The fake? Why now? A last-second replacement? So late into the act? What’s happening? What’s going on?

Furina hears none of it. She stares up into the spotlight, the faceless audience, the world.

And then, she begins, to sing.

Ah, si je pouvais vivre dans l'eau

le monde serait-il plus beau ?

Nous pardonneras-tu, ô chère mère ?

She sings, sings a song for a Little Oceanid who fell in love, she sings of that love and the secret that the Little Oceanid bore for her love. She sings, sings a song for a Little Oceanid

L'eau dans son courant fait danser nos vies

Et la cité, elle nourrit

Ainsi que toi, mon doux amour

She sings, sings a song for a lonely, little girl who fell in love with her world, she sings of that love and the secret that the little girl bore for her love. She sings, sings a song for a lonely little girl.

Non, le grand amour ne suffit pas

Seul un adieu fleurira

C'est notre histoire de vie, douce et amère

She sings, sings a song for them all, laying bare her heart for all to see. She sings a song of love, of loss, of loneliness, of dreams, of nightmares, of first meetings, of final partings, of all that has been and all that may come.

She sings and all the world is her stage and all the stage is her world.

She sings, a song, for everyone.

Moi, je suis et serai toujours là

à voir le monde et sa beauté

Et ça ne changera jamais, jamais…

From the sky descends a little Oceanid’s tears. A Vision. A single moment in an eternity of moments.

She raises her hand, and touches the tear.

The curtains fall, leaving the stage to silence.

—

When Furina heads backstage again for her costume change, she finds Dulphy sitting as she was before on the bench. A steady stream of tears flows from her eyes, staining her collar, and in them, she can see pain, frustration, and most of all, overwhelming gratitude.

“Thank you,” she says again, dipping her head and the tears fall to her lap. She wipes them away but they continue to fall without end. “That was beautiful.”

It takes Furina a second to formulate her response- to once again inhabit the role of Furina and not the Little Oceanid, but when she does, she smiles kindly, sadly, at the other woman and places a hand on her shoulder.

“Did I do her justice?”

Dulphy lets out a warbly laugh. “You did more than that,” she says. “Everything and more.”

It’s the highest compliment that Furina has ever been given, but there’s no time to bask in the glory. Elain is already rushing towards them, new costume in hand and she quickly gestures for Furina to turn around.

“Arms up please, Ms. Furina.” She slides the gown over her shoulders and begins quickly lacing up the back. “Thank Archons you’re only a little shorter than Dulphy; I don’t think we had anything smaller for the Little Oceanid.”

On stage, Pauleau’s character finally breaks free from his bonds. He shoves off his captors, rushing back towards the village to stop his lover from making the ultimate sacrifice. He has one last soliloquy before the final scene- one last farewell before the Little Oceanid reappears before him in her true form, to soar through the village and bring back the water of life, before finally fading away into the sky.

“Clio!” He shouts out, equal parts anguish and longing in his voice. “Where are you? Answer me, please!”

Elain finishes the last of the laces and pats Furina on the back. “All done. You have the Little Oceanid’s tear, right?”

In response, Furina holds up the prop Hydro Vision in her hand. Elain gives it a strange look. “That’s not- forget it, it’s fine. Lower your head please.” Furina obliges and she places a long white veil that trails all the way to the floor onto her head. “Okay, all set. Ready?”

Furina takes a deep breath, closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she is Clio, a Little Oceanid, who loved and lost.

“Ready.”

“Break a leg,” whispers Dulphy.

Pauleau’s soliloquy is reaching the end. His character falls to his knees, in front of the fountain.

“Please, Clio. I love you.”

And enter, stage right.

Furina pushes past the curtains and onto the stage. As soon as she steps out, the audience lets out a collective gasp. She glides over to where Pauleau lies, white veil floating behind her like a trail of tears. 

The Little Oceanid’s lover looks up. For an instant, hope begins to bloom on his face, only to be wiped away by the Little Oceanid’s apologetic smile.

“You don’t have to do this,” says the heartbroken man. He places his hand over his heart. “You deserve better. You deserve the world.”

The Little Oceanid’s apologetic smile turns into a sad one, a loving one.

“As do you.”

And the Little Oceanid turns away from her lover and lets her tears fall into the fountain.

From the desolation, water surges forth, gushing and flowing with the bond of life. And from the water emerges existence. It takes the form of a strong boar, a curious squirrel, a flock of proud hawks soaring high into the sky. From the fountain, the Little Oceanid’s familiars bound forth, rushing through the streets of the village, and for each step they take, life springs forth, renewing what once was a broken world.

The villagers cry out, first in shock, then in joy. Their voices ring out in song, mingling with the tears falling from their eyes and continuing the cycle.

The Little Oceanid turns around.

“I love you,” she says to her lover and the lights begin to dim.

“I love you,” she says to the celebrating villagers, their joys, their sorrows as part of her own.

“I love you,” she says to the world as she disappears into a song of tears.

And the lights fade to black.

…

…

…

…

When they turn on again, the story is over. The world has once again become but a humble stage and all the men and women, merely its players.

There’s a stunned silence. 

And then, all at once, the silence gives way to the sound of thundering, overwhelming applause. Cheers ring forth with such intensity that even the stage trembles. A standing ovation the likes of which have never been reached before in the Opera Epiclese.

Furina steps forward and the rest of the cast on stage takes a step with her. She holds up her hand and the applause comes to a slow halt. The audience waits, wondering, with bated breath.

Furina opens her mouth

“The Little Oceanid, by Aurelie Fumeau. Dedicated to all.” 

She looks into the audience, to the eyes watching her, and smiles. 

“To everyone.”

This time, the resulting applause surges forth so strongly that even Furina has to take a startled step back. Then, she laughs and the rest of the stage members join in, sharing in her delight, even as it’s swept away by the applause. 

Somewhere behind the curtains, a stagehand presses a button and the Hydro Mimic stage props spring to life once more, sauntering forth and spraying a spume of bubbles that dazzle in the lights.

“You think she’d be proud?” asks Lauwick to her side. He’s staring up into the lights, tears trickling down his face.

Furina simply takes his hand, raising his arm up. To her other side, Pauleau mimics her actions and together, all the actors and actresses, raise their hands towards the sky.

“I know she is.”

Together, they all bow as one.

The audience is unstoppable in their joy. It rings in her ears, in her heart like triumph, like victory. She swears she can hear Wriothesley up in the boxes whistling loudly, Sigewinne raising her own tiny arms with the cheers and Clorinde looking down at her with that same, proud little smile.

The clapping goes on and on.

Something nudges the back of her leg.

Furina peers over her shoulder. A Hydro mimic stage prop, a small crab by the looks of it, bumps into her leg again. As discreetly as she can, she nudges it away with her leg but the crab simply brushes it to the side, acting oddly insistent for a mere stage prop.

Lauwick peers curiously down at her feet. “Shouldn’t the props be turned off by now?”

“I would think so,” Furina mutters back to him but before she can inquire further, she stops as something catches her eye.

The Little Oceanid’s tear is still there, in her hand.

Furina blinks. Hadn’t… hadn’t she dropped the prop Vision in the fountain? How did it reappear in her hands? She tries to open her hand, to let go of it… but for some reason, she can’t. As much as she tries to open her fingers, something in her mind seems to hold her back from letting the oddly familiar weight go.  

… Like it belongs there.

… Like it’s a part of her.

The Hydro mimic bumps into her leg again. 

She looks down. Her heart is racing. Unbelieving.

“...Crabaletta?” she whispers.

The crab gives her a little wave, almost as if to say ‘Finally! Took you long enough!’

It’s right then, that Furina notices that the noise and applause from the audience has stopped. Silence reigns in the Opera Epiclese. Silence, save for the sound of one, single, constant clap.

Clap.

Clap.

Clap.

Furina lifts her head, scanning the faces for the source of the singular sound. 

From his box seat, Neuvillete peers down at her, clapping slowly, proudly. 

With a shock, Furina realizes that he’s crying. But even as the tears stream down his face, not once does he falter in his slow applause. There’s nothing but an overwhelming pride and gratitude in his small smile directed at her. Pride, and a familiar fondness that she had almost forgotten what it felt like, a fondness that squeezes at her heart until it physically aches with each passing beat.

Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don’t cry.

Furina bows her head low.

At first, her tears are quiet. In the past, her tears had always been the byproduct of numbness, always accompanied by an interminable loneliness. They were hushed, hidden tears, for her and her alone. Tears that she wouldn’t even realize were falling from her eyes.

But, to her rising horror, she discovers that these tears falling from her eyes are not quiet. They are anything but. These tears are loud and noisy and ugly and raw and honest, so brutally honest that each resounding cry hurts. 

A vicious sob is ripped from her throat and she desperately tries to hold them back, putting a hand over her mouth. 

But they won’t stop and the tears grow fiercer, louder, finally allowed to express themselves after 500 years of solitude, of loneliness.

“Uuuuuaaaah, *snf*, hhhaaannngggh”

She wipes desperately at her eyes. What a terrible moment for tears. What a terrible moment to finally be allowed to feel.  This isn’t her moment, it’s the theater troupes and she’s upstaging them and she wants to stop but the tears won’t stop, they flow and fall and flow and soon her sobs are turning into full-out bawling, her emotions her feelings, her very being on display, for all the world to see.

“I’m s-sorry,” she tries to get out, but everything is a blur. The stage lights are blinding, dazzling in their brilliance. “I’m… I-I-I’m… haaaaahhh… aaahhhhhhh...”

There’s a burst of blue energy. Neuvillette stands before her. She can’t see his expression, tries to apologize for her outburst, for her feelings.

He simply wraps his arms around her.

Her sob’s pause, stunned. 

And then, her face crumples and she begins to cry even louder.

“Aaaaaaaahhhhh…  aaaaaahhhHHH!!! ” 

She holds onto her Hydro Dragon, weeping terribly into his clothes and in response, his embrace grows even firmer, his affection, his gratitude, his love, fiercer than fire. 

It only serves to make her tears fall ever harder, ever stronger.

She senses other people beginning to surround her. She feels Clorinde’s patient touch on her shoulder, her quiet presence by her side as she murmurs kind words into her ears. She feels Wriothesley’s hand on her head, his affectionate ruffle and encouraging chuckle. She feels Sigewinne’s small hand take her own, squeezing gently with all the care in the world. She feels Craballetta’s small claw pat at her knees like she’s never left, feels even the theater troupe’s voices mix in with her tears, their sorrow, their joy, all flowing into her.

“Lady Furina,” says her Hydro Dragon, and she cries even harder at the overwhelming tenderness in his quiet voice. “Open your eyes.”

She can’t and even if she could, she wouldn’t be able to see past the tears. But she tries anyway because she wants to see, wants to see the world and how it looks back at her.

She wipes at her eyes and she feels hands reach forward, brushing away the tears with a gentleness she doesn’t deserve.

Furina opens her eyes.

And feels her breath taken away.

The world. Oh, the world.

Hydro Archon, Hydro Archon, don’t cry.

But she can’t help it.

It’s beautiful.

The tears begin to flow anew and Furina cries. She cries and cries and cries and embraces the beautiful world, her friends, her family, in her arms.

And finally, she feels the world embrace her back.

Chapter Text

In Furina’s dreams, she finds herself back at the Opera Epiclese once again. She’s lying on her back on the stage, looking up to where the ceiling should be, but there is none. It's gone; all she sees in its place is a clear blue expanse that stretches on forever, past the curtains, past the seats, past what she can see.

She notices that the unending mirror from before is also gone.

“I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Furina sits up, turning towards the voice.

Her mirror-me walks over, each step an elegant grace. An enigmatic smile plays on her lips, one Furina could never mimic perfectly, even if she had 500 years to do so.

“Hello again,” says her reflection, crouching down. She tilts her head, looking Furina in the eyes. “It’s been a while, hasn't it?”

Furina nods. “About 500 years, give or take.”

Her reflection’s smile turns rueful and Furina feels a twinge of guilt.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

But her reflection simply shakes her head. 

“No, I deserved that. After all, I was the one who placed the mask on your face.” She tilts her head, searching Furina’s face. “Though... it seems like you’ve done away with the mask now.” 

Her smile widens. 

“Good. That makes me very glad.”

Her reflection stands up and holds out a hand. “Dance with me.”

Furina takes the hand and her reflection pulls her up, bringing her in close. Her reflection begins to lead them into a waltz and Furina falls in step with her, swaying in time to a song that exists in only their hearts.

They waltz, the blue sky above their only witness, watching human and god dance together as one.

Furina opens her mouth.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the god you wanted me to be.”

Her reflection chuckles, leading them on. “Did you forget? You never needed to be a god, only to act the part.”

“But still…”

“Hush,” chides her reflection, impossibly gentle, impossibly fond. “You have done nothing wrong. You simply acted out the role you were given, brilliantly."

She raises her arm, letting Furina spin out and away from her before leading her back.

"Too brilliantly.”

Grace in motion, sorrow in step.

“I only wish…” says her reflection, and there are five centuries worth of grief and heartache buried deep within her voice, “that I could have been there for you.”

Furina says nothing. Her reflection’s steps are perfect, flawless. Furina’s own steps are flawed, just a hair off-key.

“It was hard,” Furina admits quietly, her reflection and the sky above the only witnesses to her weakness, her selfishness. “There were times where I thought… I thought if the silence wouldn’t kill me, then the loneliness would. And all I could think of during those times was, why? Why did it have to be me?"

There's nothing but a deep, deep sorrow etched in her reflection's face. Guilt mixes with woe in her eyes, coloring each step in their dance.

Her reflection opens her mouth, the apology already on her lips, but before she can utter anything, Furina raises her head.

“But then,” Furina looks head-on into her reflection's eyes. “I realized… that if I was feeling lonely, it was nothing compared to just how lonely you must have felt.”

Her reflection's mouth freezes. There's no reaction from her, save for a stunned silence. 

Since the first moment the dance started, Furina takes the lead.

"500 years is a long time to be by yourself on stage." Furina smiles, not hurt or broken, simply accepting loneliness as a part of her. "Trust me, I would know."

Her reflection bows her head, and says nothing.

The two dance onward, towards an unknowing future, to a stage that has yet to be set.

“You said you wished you could have been there for me.” Furina looks to her reflection, a smile laced with equal parts understanding and sadness directed at her past. “I only wish I could have done the same for you too.”

Her reflection lets out a choked sob, head still bowed. Furina feels warm tears fall onto the back of her hand, and she gently squeezes the trembling hand in her own, reminding her that she's here, she'll always be here.

They waltz, the blue sky above their only witness, watching god and human come to understand each other as one.

Furina raises her eyes to the sky.

“I wish you could see the world you left behind. It’s filled with all sorts of stories. Painful stories, lovely stories, stories that haven't even been told yet.” Furina lowers her gaze and adds softly, “And they're all so beautiful. Each and every single of of them, a beautiful world waiting to be read and loved."

The song comes to an end and Furina comes to a halt, letting go of their entwined hands. 

Her reflection says nothing.

And then, her reflection moves forward and embraces her.

“My little ripple.” 

Furina feels the tears falling on her skin and this time, she's not sure whose tears they are. She simply returns the embrace, filling it with as much love and understanding as she can muster. She holds on to her past accepting it for what it is and loving it all the same.

“My dear little ripple,” her reflection says again and there’s an equal amount of pain as there is unrelenting affection in those whispered words. “I love you so, so much.”

And Furina hugs her back as their pain, and their joy come together as one.

And finally, finally at peace with herself.

Above, the blue sky shifts and flickers, distorting at the edges.

Her reflection pulls back, her smile turning apologetic even as the tears continue to fall from her eyes.

“It seems our time is nearly up.”

But it can’t be. Not now. There’s still so much Furina has to ask her, that she wants to know about herself. But all dreams must end and all dreamers must once again return to the waking world, filled with pain, filled with hope. 

So, she settles on just one, final question.

“What am I supposed to do now?” asks a lonely little girl to her reflection.

And her reflection smiles gently back at her, taking her hands into her own.

“I won’t tell you to just be yourself. That would be vanity on both our parts. But, I will ask you this one last request.”

Her voice sounds so far away. Furina tries to lean in closer, but it feels as though there’s an invisible barrier between the two, pushing her farther and farther out to sea, away from her home.

“What? What is it?”

Her reflection raises her hand and caresses Furina's cheek tenderly as a mother would for her child before setting them free into the world.

“Be happy. Be vain. Be conceited. Be meek. Be kind. Be all the things that you want to be and more. And above all else…”

She lets go and Furina stumbles back, falling, falling, falling. She tries to reach out, tries to grasp at the hand.

Her reflection waves back at her, sending her dreams free into the world.

“Live.”

—

Furina awakes with a start.

For a second, all she can do is stare dumbly at her ceiling, heart racing in her chest. She feels like she’s just run a marathon in her sleep and it takes more than a moment to regain her bearings. Once her heart rate returns to an acceptable pace, she finally sits up and attempts to regain her bearings.

She had been dreaming, that much she’s sure of. And… and in her dream, there was… someone, someone familiar, but now she can’t recall their face at all, no matter how hard she tries. They had said something… something about life…

But try as she might, the dream slips out of her mind like water. Ahhh, frustrating, so very frustrating. Furina scratches at her hair, further aggravating her aggressive bedhead. 

It's then she notices the tears falling from her eyes. 

Slightly bewildered, she dabs at her cheeks. How strange. What kind of dream must've it been to leave her feeling so... nostalgic? Like seeing an old friend after a long, long time and then parting ways with them once again. 

How strange.

With a sigh, Furina relents and lets go of the bittersweet feeling. No use getting morose over something she can’t remember. Maybe it’ll come back to her. Hopefully. 

She swings her legs out to the side of her bed and stands up, stretching her arms out over her head. The morning sun is just peeking out of her window and she notes with some small satisfaction that she’s up before her alarm for once. A good omen for the rest of her day, no doubt.

She reaches down to her bed stand and picks up her Vision. There’s a blue flash and a second later, her Salon Solitaire floats before her.

She smiles. Even now, seeing her Salon Solitaire never fails to fill her heart with delight.

“Good morning, mademoiselles and gentilhomme!”

Mademoiselle Craballetta raises her claws in greeting, always the more personable of the trio, and immediately sets to helping Furina into her clothes. Furina deftly navigates Mademoiselle Crabaletta’s well-meaning, but very clumsy attempts to slip on her heels, and assists her familiar in the best way she can. Her shoes always end up drenched in seawater in the end, an unfortunate side effect of having a Hydro mimic as a dressing assistant, but she appreciates the gesture regardless. As she gets ready for the day ahead of her, she turns to the ball-octopus hovering next to her side.

“Gentilhomme Usher, the schedule for today, if you please.”

The good octopus immediately begins bubbling out a list and Furina listens, nodding along.

“The Beaumont Company came by again? Ugh, persistent fellows. I’ll give them that much. I keep telling them that they need to put their name on the waiting list like everyone else, but it seems my pleas have fallen on deaf ears. You can remove their consultation request off the schedule. Let them sweat it out a bit, make my displeasure known.”

Gentilhomme Usher lets out an affirmative bubble. Furina reaches down into her drawer and opens it, carefully taking out the glass teardrop. She pins it to her cravat, adjusting it in the mirror as she continues to talk.

“That reminds me, Clorinde said I was in charge of bringing the tea this time for our weekly get-together. Any recommendations?”

Sureintendante Chevalmarin chimes in her opinion with a bloop and Furina’s nose scrunches. 

“No, asking Neuvillete is out of the question. The last time I asked him for a recommendation for the latest sweets, he bought out all the confectionaries in the Vasari Passage just to cater. Do you have any idea how hard it is to play Genius Invokation TCG™ when people are constantly shuttling in and out of your room with trays ladened with treats?”

Sureintendante Chevalmarin bloops in the negative, having neither the need nor the ability to partake either in cake or Genius Invokation TCG™.

“Nigh impossible. Not to mention it’s very distracting. Wriothesley and Sigewinne very nearly cleaned me out of the clothes on my back.”

Another bloop, this time forlorn.

“Well, no matter. I’m sure we’ll think of something. Perhaps we can ask Mademoiselle Navia for her opinion. Her recommendation is at least bound to be more restrained than Neuvillette’s.” Her eyes light up and she turns away from the mirror to directly address her Salon Solitaire. “Oh, we should invite her too, if her schedule allows it!” 

A chorus of approving bloops is the answer she gets and she grins, eminently satisfied. 

“Excellent. Well said, friends!”

She grabs her tophat off the dresser and sets it on her head. She gives herself one last lookover in the mirror, gazing directly into her reflection’s eyes.

Her reflection gazes back at her, with pride, with love.

Furina turns away, smiling.  

“Now, let us be off!”

She leaves her apartment, making sure to lock the door behind her, and descends down to the lobby. The kindly old landlord is reading a newspaper at the front desk and he looks up when he hears her footsteps. His wrinkled face breaks out into a smile.

“Ah, good morning, Mademoiselle Furny. Up early today?”

“Indeed,” says Furina, carefully stepping forward to shield her Salon Solitaire from his failing vision. She has yet to violate the no pets policy on her lease and today will not be that day. Mademoiselle Crabaletta clicks her claws in annoyance and Furina has to nudge her insistently back with her leg so as not to blow their cover. “Busy day today. So much to do, so very little time to do.”

The kindly old landlord chuckles, unfolding his newspaper. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage. You seem to be doing just fine for yourself.”

“But of course!” exclaims Furina as she walks over to the door, hand on the doorknob. “I am Furin- er, Furny de Fontaine after all!”

The old landlord chuckles again. “That you are,” he says kindly, lifting the paper to his eyes. “That you are.”

Furina turns back to the door. 

She closes her eyes, takes a steadying breath. One, two, in and out. Ahem.

She opens the door.

Outside, there’s not a cloud in the sky but she can feel the rain patter softly against her skin as she steps out. She can see a rainbow cresting over the street, visible even in the rising morning sun.

“Would you look at that,” says the kindly old landlord. “A sunshower.”

And Furina smiles triumphant, fearless, as she takes her first steps into the world.