Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“There are a great many things we hide from the light, for one reason or another.”

This is the House of the Hearth.
Everyone here is an orphan.
Everyone here was rescued or taken in by Father.
No one here can be a failure.
The children here have light skin and dark skin, soft or scarred all the same. Each pair of eyes is a unique shade of color, with a unique glimmer or dullness to each one of them.
Residents of the house are indeed real people; some mistake them for clockwork puppets, but the more vocal members will assure the public- none of them are robots. The people of Fontaine find it hard to believe, but the members of the House shrug to each other. They follow orders because that’s what they’re told to do. Each one of them completes their orders exceptionally, whether it be taking out the trash or going into the woods after dark.
The children don’t like free verse.
The children don’t like cooking without a recipe.
The children don’t like dreaming.
Dreaming is cruel.
Dreaming only brings you misery.
Why are humans allowed to feel hope, if it slips through their fingers so easily, all the time?
Or perhaps, they don’t like dreaming because many of them don’t dream. And if they do, they are plagued by the nightmares of their past and of their impending doom should they fail. They are terrified.
These are the children of the House of the Hearth.
Everyone is content.
Everyone is cheery.
There is no need to worry about breakfast, lunch, or dinner.
Lyney doesn’t have to worry about how he will feed his sister.
Lynette doesn’t have to worry about cold and sleepless nights.
And Freminet doesn’t have to think hard about what he has to do.
This is Father’s way.
And to the children, this is the perfect family.
But of course, in a world where the sky is rumored to fake and the gods cannot be trusted, perfection does not exist. Could it be true that the most perfect organizations are the ones most broken under their shining facade?
This is the House of the Hearth.
And within these walls, glass dolls begin to crack.

Chapter Text

The Thing About Sand

It’s so shifty.
Lyney doesn’t like how sand shifts under his feet, or how it gets in his nails. He doesn’t like the seafoam that rolls over his toes as he walks along the seashore. He doesn’t like the way rocks are pulled into the ocean by the hungry tide. The one thing he does like is watching his footprints slowly disappear as the waves roll over them. He likes seeing the wet sand smoothen out under a carpet of blue. And he does adore the spray of the dolphins and whales as they come up for air–their calls and their songs, clicks and whirrs and playful bubbles–as if on cue, in the distance, water breaks the clear line of the shore and shorts upwards in a magnificent fountain display.
He will never tell anyone this, but these are the thoughts that run through his mind as he sits on the beach, tapping the heel of his shoe on a nearby stone. The sand piles at the bottom of his shoe and Lyney turns it over, taps it out, and watches it fall in a cloud of mist, back to the ground. He wonders how long it will be before these grains are returned to the sea.

Chapter Text

The Thing About Water

Lyney doesn’t like looking out at the sea. However his little brother, Freminet, is particularly fond of the ocean, and thus is the person who carries out his missions under the cover of darkness and knows everything related to those deep blue waters.
Freminet is seen by many as a boy who can barely hold a conversation despite his supposed to be talkative and party-all-night age, and really they wouldn’t be wrong. He’s the person in the back of the room who has hair covering his eyes and doesn’t speak unless called on.
Though Freminet has a habit of retreating into the ocean, even when it isn’t a mission assigned to him by Father. Going down on deep dives is his little secret though. Lyney doesn’t know what he does down there. For all he knows, Freminet might be pretending to be Princess Marcotte from the legends, or he might be looking for little coral treasures or spare parts.
To be quite honest with himself, Lyney has never asked Freminet what he has done under the sea.
He probably should be paying more attention.
Lyney thinks he will ask when Freminet returns from his dive.
Children don’t like waiting, but the House of the Hearth’s children are patient.
And some of them will be waiting for a miracle their entire lives.

Chapter Text

The Thing About News

The news gets around very fast, especially a place as echoey as the Court of Fontaine.
It is evening, the sky is dark, and the City of Stars is gleaming. Lyney and Lynette often find themselves sitting on the roof of the Opera Epiclese, their usual performance venue, and like watching the different lights flicker in and out of view.
This is when they receive the news.
There are people who remember everything, whether they like to or not. Some people just have a wonderful memory, and some of those people are very observative... Lyney and Lynette are those kinds of people.
But there is a pink-haired girl from the news station The Steambird, a journalist with glittering green eyes and a cherry-colored uniform. She knows the city like she knows her ABCs and 123s, and she knows too much about Lyney and Lynette. Charlotte. Her name means “free,” in some parts of Teyvat. She is a free spirit. She complains that she got the power to control ice instead of the power to control the wind. Her smiles are so bedazzling, and her photos are so stunning—could she freeze time if she tried? Is that how she gets wonderful pictures?
It matters not, she gets good shots, and some of those shots include Lyney and Lynette dangling their legs off the edge of the roof. She doesn’t post them in her articles without their permission, which is always a strict no- Lyney and Lynette like to keep their performance and personal lives private- but she’s always asking for something. That’s how she knows that one night in April, Lyney and Lynette are up at the top of the world, listening to each other, talking about their own days.
This is when she brings them the news that will change their lives forever.
“Freminet is dead.”
How Lyney’s eyes widened.
How his blood ran cold.
How he looked at Lynette, and only saw the coldness, the shock, the disbelief in her eyes. This was not the kind of joy they saw in the faces of people attending their magic shows. This was a look of pure terror, one that could only be mustered in the face of their Father.
How?
“His body was discovered in a stream just a few hours ago.”
Where?
“Just off the sea.”
Did he drown?
“That’s what they think.”
Lyney frowns.
Lynette shakes her head. “That- that’s impossible. Freminet is an expert diver-”
“I know, Mademoiselle Lynette,” Charlotte puts her hands out in front of her. “But this is the truth. Freminet is dead. I would assume your Father would have you return home as soon as possible.”
Lyney rapidly blinks the tears out of his eyes, the reporter in front of him turning to warm-colored blobs.
No, this can’t be true.
It’s September.
Happy late April Fools?
Say it, Charlotte.
Charlotte stares innocently at him.
This is Fontaine, the masquerade of the guilty… a land of drama and twisted tales. Say he’s not dead.
How can Freminet be dead?
How can the most adept diver in all of Teyvat drown?
Here was the thing that Lyney knew just as well as Charlotte knew the city– Charlotte would kill herself for the truth. She’d put herself in death’s way many times for a breaking news story. To bring light to a murder. Rat out kitchen scandals. She moved across the country for a few months because of the threats directed towards her.
“This is the truth,” the journalist says. “And I am so, so, sorry for your loss.” She pauses, her voice hesitant,“I loved him too.”
Lynette’s face falls, and she turns her head slightly “How could you have loved him?”
Charlotte shakes her head. “I don’t mean romantically. We’ve had a few conversations here and there.” She puts a hand on Lynette’s shoulder.
“You two should go home and rest. It’s getting rather late.”
But Father doesn’t like it when children cry.

Chapter Text

The Thing About Family Dinners

Lyney used to like family dinners. It was the only time everyone would return from their busy days and gather around the family table, close to the light of the hearth.
The table is made of dark oak, draped in a heavy white tablecloth, intricately woven in another nation, the seams picked lose by anxious children. Food is carried to them via silver platters, which gleam in the low light. The glasses clink together, and the children wait for Father’s direction as the food steams in front of them.
Tonight, there is no one at the table. Lyney and Lynette missed dinner. It is just Father, sitting with her hands crossed, the flickering light of the fire hauntingly casting a shadow over her face. Her hair, along with her cloak, is white like a swan, the undersides and insides dyed black. Father tiredly runs her crimson red claws over her forehead, her eyes shut as the twins approach.
They always sit right next to Father, Lyney at her right hand, Freminet next to him, and Lynette across from him. The two twins stand in front of her now, waiting for direction.
Good evening, Father.
“Good evening, Father.” Lynette bows, and so does Lyney, and Father gestures with one hand for them to sit down. She usually gestures with two. The children sit.
“Freminet is dead,” Lynette murmurs.
“I know.” Father’s voice is a deep and silky one, and she opens her blackened eyes, a red cross in between the middle of them. “He is resting in his room now. The children are filing in and out to pay their respects.”
Lyney and Lynette gulp. The dish in front of them is their favorite fish dish, perfectly cut and seasoned, their favorite sauce in a bowl in the middle. There are slices of brownies right next to it, and a bottle of cherry wine in the middle of three empty cups.
Lynette skips the fish, uncorks the cherry wine, and pours a full glass for each person. Lyney watches his cup with disinterest, and Father takes the stem and spins it around on the table, straightening her back.
“Father,” Lynette asks, “Could he really have drowned?”
“No.”
“Then what was it?” Lynette asks meekly, softly, taking a sip of her wine. Her ears and tail stiffen and gently sniffs the cup.
Father shakes his head. “Freminet was weak.”
Freminet was not weak. He was one of the strongest people Lyney knew.
“What do you think happened then?” Lynette rests her hand on her head again, waiting for some response.
For once, Father doesn’t correct her posture.
More moments of silence, and it’s as if Father doesn’t know.
But Father knows best, right?
“He wanted to disappear.” Father tips the wine to her lips ever so slightly, and Lyney wonders if he should do the same. He’s never drunk before.
Lynette rests her head on the table, and Father snaps her fingers.
Lyney and Lynette are dismissed.

Chapter Text

The Thing About Bedrooms

Bedrooms say things about a person that they do not say.
Freminet’s bedroom is a sea blue, the ceiling painted swirling purples and pinks, splattered with stars that Lyney can trace with his hands. There’s the constellation of Peter Pan, a flying boy who never grew old. There was the big dipper, the little dipper, the big and small bear, Princess Marcotte, and a very special snow-winged goose.
Lyney is surprised he remembers more than three of them.
Perhaps it is because he spent so much time laying down on Freminet’s bed that is a crab claw ship, rocking back in forth under the light of the pretend stars, listening to his little brother recite fairytale stories in his soft yet tentative voice. Freminet talked about all of the constellations, and everything that lay deep in the sea. His little penguin, Pers, would sit on his nightstand, seemingly listening in as well.
Pers was named after a fairytale creature, the snow-winged goose in particular. Lynette slowly sits down in the corner rocking chair, and Lyney walks over to the little nightstand, where the little clockwork penguin sits silently. He opens the drawer which creaks, and Lyney looks at the bed, thinking Freminet will wake up.
It’s a habit.
No one was supposed to know about Freminet’s little fairytale collection. Probably. Lyney decided to snoop around his little brother’s room one day, to figure out what to get for his birthday, opened the nightstand, and the fairytales spilled out. No wonder Freminet could recite each story in such a fairytale fashion. He had memorized the picture books.
“Lyney, what are you doing?” Lynette puts her hands on the rocking chair, preparing to stand, but Lyney takes the book from the top of the pile, probably the last book Freminet read. Lynette blinks. “The Tale of the Snow-Winged Goose? The goose named Pers?”
Yeah. Lyney hands the book to Lynette.
Lynette usually wasn’t the person reading. She would make dry side comments or try and inspire the two of them by doing shadow puppets with her hands. As Lyney’s assistant, she was the person who enhanced the performance and diverted the audience’s attention when need be. She was a good listener, the person who everyone confided in. But ask her to pick what story to read, and she would simply stare at the pile... then ask her brothers what they would like, which would always be what she would like...
It was awkward.
Now, Lynette holds the Tale of the Snow-Winged Goose, and takes a deep breath, the book cover cracking as she turns the page open.
She pauses.
“Dedicated to Furina de Fontaine.”
The twins’ eyes scrunch.
Neither of them had paid attention to the dedication until now. Furina de Fontaine is- or rather—was, Fontaine’s archon. She attended every single one of Lyney and Lynette’s magic shows, including the ones they had on the street whenever she was passing by. Why would the book be dedicated to her?
“Anyway...” Lynette murmurs and turns to the first page.
Freminet would usually lay his head on one of Lyney’s shoulders at this point and nestle Pers comfortably in his lap. Lynette visibly winces, grabbing and clasping the edges of the book, and she squeezes her eyes shut.
Lyney puts a hand on her shoulder.
Freminet has his hands on his chest, his eyes closed.
“I can’t do this,” she murmurs, stands from the rocking chair, and puts the book down.
And walks out.
Lyney stands there for a moment.
When the story was done, the two of them- if they hadn’t fallen asleep as well- would tuck Freminet tightly into bed and turn the lampshade off.
They can’t do that now, can they?
Lyney walks out of the room, slowly, silently, as if Freminet has just fallen asleep.

Chapter Text

The Thing About Rehearsal

Everyone knows it’s hard to wake up in the morning.
Lyney finds himself asleep, then awake, the light of the early morning pouring through the single window in the twins’ room. Lynette is sitting with her head down at the desk, her hair in braids, the cold light hitting her forehead.
Her brother takes a blanket, drapes it around her shoulders, and continues on with his day.
Lyney faces the mirror in the bathroom, and this is when the rehearsal begins.
Good morning, Father. Good morning, siblings.
Guide Lynette to the teacups, let her have space. She’ll playfully slap him if he gets too close. Sometimes not too playful. She might hit him even harder today. Or she might not hit him at all.
Lyney takes a rubber band, braids the side of his head, and ties it off.
Good morning, cats.
They have such watchful eyes. Some people say that Lyney and Lynette’s eyes bother them. The magician that raised the two of them outside the House of the Hearth had a wife that was deeply disturbed by the color of their purple eyes. She acted so paranoid around Lynette, and Lynette reasoned that it was probably because Lynette had cat ears and could hear whatever she was saying. By the way, the wife was really a terrible person...
What is he going to wear today? He goes back to the bedroom, finds a white collared shirt, a black sweater vest, black pants, set out by Father. Today, she has also decided to add a black bowtie and black diamond earrings, which jingle softly as Lyney picks them up.
Today is not the day of Freminet’s funeral. His birthday is in a few days. Sunday.
Perhaps Father knew Lyney wasn’t up for colors. She’s incredibly thoughtful.
Today is rehearsal. For what?
What was supposed to be Freminet’s birthday gift.
A one-man show, composed of Lyney and Lyney alone, with an audience of just Freminet, and maybe a few family members, perhaps Father...
He didn’t really think it out. Lynette just spontaneously tossed him a script and thought it would be a good idea, and so they were going to have it on Sunday.
Aw, shoot, they don’t even have a venue yet...
Lyney has been practicing in an alleyway. Yes, an alleyway. Behind the House of the Hearth, between a few orphanages, there is a space where no one goes. Lyney’s pretty sure it’s a place only the children know about, and only the can squeeze towards.
He’s wrong.
As he approaches the place, notebook and pen in hand, he hears footsteps.
Last time he heard footsteps, Father was walking slowly down the hallways. Something she always does when she’s deep in thought.
“Excuse me, Lyney?” A bubbly voice cuts through the silence, and Lyney turns around.
Furina de Fontaine?
She had gone missing, for months, after leaving the Opera Epiclese in search of a new life... she had only recently returned as a director for a struggling troupe’s final play, The Little Oceanid. That was the last play Freminet saw. Lyney and several members of his family had gone to see it.
Their archon was jolly as ever, and that performance was so captivating... her singing had captured the attention of the gods, and it was at that moment she earned her Hydro Vision...
“Is this a bad time?” Furina sounds hoarse, almost not like Furina- but when she removes the hood over her head, Lyney sees a familiar face. Her white curls are threaded with blue streaks the color of shallow waters, and Furina takes great care in tucking the hair behind her ears. “I’m... sorry. For your loss. For Freminet.” She lowers her voice even more. “He meant a lot to me.”
Lyney tilts his head.
Freminet was always muttering about how scared he was of Furina. But he also said he was... more intrigued by her silences than her moments of great pride. He would often bring up her eyes, the right one a shade of light blue and the left a shade of dark blue. He referred to them as a deep ocean, hiding a secret, scared of letting anyone in...
“It’s on the front of the newspaper. Freminet was someone everyone in Fontaine saw from time to time, but never actually knew him. I bet it’s overwhelming to see strangers walking into a place with barely any visitors, huh?” The girl leans on a wall, and Lyney gestures for her to come inside.
In the back of the alleyway, there are boxes. Lyney has no idea if they’re full or not, but the two sit on them anyways. Furina folds her arms around her knees, and Lyney listens to her, positioned on a lower crate.
“We talked to each other about the sea, by the sea. A lot.” Furina seems hesitant, putting her hands in her pockets. “I was always out looking at it, and he was always popping his head out of the water. So we had a few conversations, he insisted I go first. I couldn’t tell him about anything. I talked to him about how much I adore the little crabs and seahorses and octopi. He, in return, told me about the romaritime flowers and the tidalga, who wouldn’t judge him if he cried.” She sighs heavily, burying her face in her kneecaps now. “I want to do everything to honor his life. Charlotte mentioned you were working on something for his birthday, so...”
That journalist can’t keep her mouth shut, Lyney thinks to himself, and opens the notepad by his side.
For Freminet’s birthday, an untitled, unfinished script. He’s barely even made an outline. People have told Lyney that he has a way of words, but honestly, he doesn’t even know what those are half the time...
Furina looks over the paper, skims it, and looks at Lyney with kneaded eyebrows. “There are quite a few roles to fill, and you’re planning to perform this on your own? In a few days?”
He knows what she’s going to say.
The girl was also an actress. The best one Lyney knew. Her shows, before and after the prophecy had been fulfilled, sold tickets at the most outrageous prices Lyney had ever seen- even the standing tickets were quadruple the prices of Lyney and Lynette’s front seat show tickets. And people bought them all, every single time. She worked one-woman plays; she participated in the classics and more modern roles... specifically fairytales.
“Could I help you? You need a venue- I know Freminet wouldn’t have wanted the entire Opera Epiclese help out, but I could pull a few strings, set up something on the seaside, hire crews of people to put it together...” Furina murmurs, counting things off on her fingers. “Of course, only if that’s something you would like?”
Lyney nods.
He’ll need all the help he can get.
“Great. I won’t invite people to the project unless need be.” She winks and stands up to walk out. But then, she turns, a sudden and grave look plastered on her face.
“Hey, one last thing about Freminet,” she clears her throat, and wraps her hands around her sides. “I don’t think he drowned. It couldn’t have been.” She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and looks Lyney in the eyes. “I don’t think he could have drowned.”
The pit in Lyney’s stomach grows.

Chapter Text

The Thing About Bells

Lyney likes the sound of things chiming. He likes the sound of children and their silver bells on their scooters. He likes the sound of jewelry clinking together. He adores the tiny bells on kitty cat collars, and he admires the deep chimes of the big bells that ring through the city when the clock strikes twelve. He loves cuckoo clocks, and the little birds that come out of them and sing when the time is right.
He likes the sound of cheery little things, the music in the background that makes everything sound a little more whole.
Among the things Freminet liked to listen to were the sounds of water, the sound it makes when you’re diving. He didn’t mind the breathing that came with wearing a diving helmet or snorkel. But he marveled at the sound of whales calling, and the sound of fish when they swam in pods.
His diving helmet wasn’t with him when he supposedly drowned.
Lyney is walking past The Steambird’s main office, where the chief editor Euphrasie paces at the billboard, reading the front paper. “Freminet...” she murmurs under her breath. “He was always taking up commissions. Anything he could do to help...”
“Hey, Lyney,” someone touches his shoulder, and Lyney turns around. He’s met by journalist Charlotte, except it looks like she isn’t on duty. “I wanted to ask you something.”
Ask away, he listens.
Charlotte clears her throat. “What about personally investigating Freminet’s case?” She looks unsure. Everyone is unsure about something. “Oh, also. I heard from Lynette that you were planning something for his birthday? Is that still going on in his memory? Can I help in any way on Sunday?”
Lyney blinks.
And I am so, so, sorry for your loss.” Lyney recalls Charlotte’s words. “I loved him too.”
“He did a lot for The Steambird, so I figured I might as well come over and help you out. He was a kind and noble soul.” She brushes a few pieces of hair behind her ears, which are pink in the midday light.
You can. Lyney nods.
“When are you free? We can start the investigation... maybe this afternoon?”
He’s free any time. Father let the children mourn for each other, and so they did, no missions attached.
“Let Arlecchino- your Father- know then. I understand that the both of you are very close.” She smiles and wanders off with a cheery goodbye- but whirls back around, her eyes glinting in the light of the high sun, some inconceivable wonder attached to their sparkle. “By the way, I know you don’t do interviews, but you did save my skin a few times from crooks and criminals. I was going to ask Fr- you and your sister if you would like to go out for some cherry wine? As a thank you?”
In all honesty, Lyney would like to sit down and dine for once and make a fancy out of soft white tablecloths and the ribbons people wear on their hats and heads.
But then he remembers the color of it, the sickness it brings to his stomach. What was once a beautiful hue new disturbs him, and he shivers at the thought of the acidic smell racing through his lungs.
Despite all this, he gives Charlotte a small nod, and they part ways.
The thing about Lyney is that he really likes the sound of Charlotte’s bells on her little camera. They remind him of winter, of the bells on ornaments and sleighs racing through the snow. The little camera has a name, something along the lines of verity or truth, and its casing was specially designed by an expensive jewelry store owner.
Oh, she made Freminet’s clothing.
Lyney turns his head a bit to the left and finds himself rapidly approaching Chioria Boutique. The owner stands inside, sewing a sleeve busily at the window, a line of customers formed outside. Each one of them carries a different piece of clothing, and Lyney recognizes many children from the House, carrying black gowns and dress shirts. He can only imagine what those are for as the sky grows darker.
In the blink of an eye, the seamstress appears at her front door, bells ringing as it swings open. She stands in front, and instead of crossing her arms in the proud way she does, she peeps out from behind a pillar, her face half concealed by the brown hair streaking across her face. Chiori eyes Lyney, and before she can approach, Lyney skitters silently away.

Chapter Text

The Thing About Shadows

What day of the week is it?
It’s afternoon today, and he hasn’t really bothered to look at the date.
But it’s been one day since you died.
Nothing’s been the same.
Lyney can tell. Today it is crisp and cool, and people talk excitedly in the streets. As he enters a small cafe in the corner, the glass door opening with a satisfying click, he can tell the energy today only matches one other day of the week.
The cafe is one of those places decorated with mountains of plants. The floor is made of silky brown planks, water runs in the mini fountain displays off to the side, and all the lights are gentle, flickering candles inside of golden-colored lanterns. It smells strongly like coffee and a sincere hint of cherry, the smell throwing Lyney off a bit as his eyes search for the strawberry-haired girl.
Away from the dusty sun rays is a booth in the corner, wrapped comfily between a blanket of green leaves and vines that sway in the invisible wind. A girl sits at the table, her pen in hand, her notepad on the marble surface, a slick of double chocolate cheesecake next to it.
Across from her is a girl with white hair, threaded with blue like the ocean waves, nibbling at the whipped cream on her silver fork, its light bouncing off of a third girl’s face as she wrinkles her nose in amusement or disgust.
She sits quietly next to the white-haired girl, a stack of three small plates she pushes to the edge of the table, wiped completely clean except for the hint of strawberry juice on them. Her expression is placid as her cat ears twitch, and she turns to the boy who has been observing him from afar.
“Oh, Lyney, we’ve been waiting for you!” Charlotte exclaims immediately, her red-colored hat bouncing on her head as she scoots over for him. Furina and Lynette turn around, sympathetic smiles on both of their faces.
Lyney feels like those smiles are the only kinds of smiles he will ever see from now on.
“You’re late,” Lynette crosses her arms, and raises her head jauntily.
Actually, there was never a specified time for us to come. Charlotte just said afternoon, and so they all came around four…
“It’s six o’clock. Practically dinner time,” Lynette says to herself, but nods to her brother, “Are you going to get anything?”
Lyney shakes his head. To be a performer is to maintain your figure at all times- all the people at the table know this very well. And Lyney knows that the three people sitting in front of him right now have a deadly sweet tooth. Who knows how many cakes Lynette has had in the past few hours?
“Take some of mine.” Lyney’s sister scoops some cake for him and promptly puts it in his mouth. The sweet, artificial taste of strawberries awakens his mouth, and he sits there for a little while, basking in the richness of its flavor.
Charlotte traces an invisible circle with her finger on the table, leaving some sort of misty coffee ring with the heat of her hands. Looking back at it now, Lyney didn’t realize how nervous or fidgety she really was. “About Freminet. I had the head of the Spina di Rosula, Miss Navia, investigate where they found him this morning. He washed up on the shore close to the Opera Epiclese, as still and as pale as could be. He was where the water lies- the place where the tide rises and falls, where the whitewater recedes and receives "There were no tracks, no sign of any human interaction.”
A pause, and Furina clears her throat. “Which is why we assume whoever or whatever ended his life came from the water. Maybe it was a Clearwater Jellyfish, or perhaps it was some kind of accident...”
“But he would know to stay away from those,” Lynette doubtfully stares into Furina’s blue eyes. “He knows the sea better than anyone in this entire world.”
Charlotte leans forward. “Then what do you think happened?”
“Well... well I don’t know.” Lynette folds back in the booth, crossing her arms around herself. “Our only clues were that he was pale, his lungs were filled with water, and that he was bruised in some places.”
“Bruises?” Furina asks innocently.
They’re from Father’s training, Lyney and Lynette lock eyes at once. Their Father would often tell Freminet to do better. She would tell Freminet that she taught him better, that his attacks were pitiless, and that his form was weak. When the children of the House of the Hearth dueled with each other every now and then, there were always bruises.
“As expected, they were everywhere, and in sensitive places. His arm, his ba- ack, his- his stomach,” Lynette begins to choke, and Lyney finds his hand fallen on hers. “They had no mercy on him.”
Lyney raises his head, to look for Father, but there is no sign of her. Father is probably back home, having dinner with the rest of the children. She may as well be out of earshot, but it still feels oppressive to even mention her at a conversation like this. Charlotte’s eyes widen with concern, and Furina looks anxiously away, the tiramisu in front of her suddenly not as attractive.
The group’s hypothesis is eerily clear, but no one says anything out loud.

Chapter Text

The Thing About Words
Lynette

Lynette thinks to herself.
Words are something that Lyney has; he’s one of those people gifted with the ability to sweep anyone off their feet, with the wink of an eye or the flick of his hand. People fall in love with the poems that seem to come from the strings of his heart, and how he seemingly weaves them to form an illusion of affection in thin air—oh, and then they are tricked, but they come to their shows again and again, his voice the water to their gardens of delusion.
Words were something that Lyney had.
Lynette watched him slowly fold into himself. Lyney first lost his voice, and then his posture. And then it was his smile. And his charisma. His interest in magic. His interest in grinning children.
The Lyney she knew was suddenly hovering over an old script. She didn’t know if he was the one haunting it, or if it was the one haunting him.
Lynette’s tail flicks anxiously behind her as she looks at her own reflection in the window, the ice cream in front of her beginning to melt.
Freminet has been dead since April, buried that same week. Lyney still wants to celebrate his life, one last time, on the birthday their brother never reached.
Her ears sink.
She doesn’t understand.
For the first time in her life, she doesn’t seem to know her brother at all.

Chapter Text

The Things They Say
Charlotte

Many psychiatrists, psychologists, and ancient creatures across Teyvat agree that the humans, elves, melusines, and all residents of our earth and in between universes are subject to one thing: grief.
People will tell me: “Charlotte, there are creatures who cannot even dream of being sad,” using the Aranara of legend for example.
Let me assure you that even the children of the Varanara cannot hide from the nightmares. When I met them, I saw the sadness in their eyes when they talked about their Great Creator; sadness that others may mistake for wonder and admiration as they gawk at the thought of their god who had cradled their kind once and never again.
When I asked them what they thought– one sweet fairy told me that “even though we have forgotten their face, their voice, and their name– we are overjoyed with the fact that we are their children. The fact that our Creator loved us and we were theirs is more than enough love for an entire lifetime.”
And what a kind thought it was, coming from a creature barely taller than my boot. Many will say that I was taking mythical creatures and using them to my advantage, even to satisfy my own delusions– I can only tell you that it is in fact true. So many legends about mindlessly happy creatures exist because we as a universe all know grief– nearly all of us enter it begging to retreat to the warmth of our creator’s womb. At the same time, there is somewhat of a beauty in it– we exist to suffer, but that suffering is what makes happiness so important.
But before the Aranara, there was someone who had introduced the truth to me.
I remember we met on the seashore. Under a cliffside there was a line of rocks that extended out into the sea and over the water. Perhaps it was an attempt to connect one shore with the other across the bay, perhaps it was the start of a city that was never built. Whatever it was, I sat at the edge of it, thinking about what purpose it could have served. I wondered if the rocks saw people often; I came here often and noticed that they were covered in splashes, ones that couldn’t have been done by seagulls or the water itself. My answer came in the form of bubbles, a trail that slowly emerged from the still waters and the sunset ahead– those bubbles approached me rapidly, almost hungrily.
Even though my life should be at stake, though I should run and hide, I found that trail so compelling. And out of the water appeared a boy, his hair the color of stirred seafoam and sand, his eyes as hard and cold as snow. He had a freckled face that reminded me of the constellations, and something in the way he looked that made me feel comfortable.
His name was Freminet, of course, and we had seen each other before. I had waltzed around the Court of Fontaine many times and bumped into him on those occasions– I’d ask him about his dives and the state of the ecosystem. He wouldn’t say much, politely shake his head or hands and dash away in sort of a girly way, literally on his tiptoes on some occasions. I’d say hi to him on the way to the aquabus and occasionally watch the back of his head in the audience of the Opera Epiclese, but I didn’t know much about him other than the fact that he was regarded as a cold and mysterious Fatui.
But sitting down with him that night– though he didn’t say much, and quite frankly, talked in riddles, I had never felt more understood.
And we saw each other maybe every other night. I don’t know how it was. Sometimes I would come to the end of the line and wait for the trail, waiting for him to rise like a glimmer of hope. It was like a moth drawn to a flame, me drawn to him. Though it wasn’t really in a romantic way, I loved him from that point forward. He was so gentle and kind. He continued to be, and he never seemed to be troubled, not until I began to read between the lines.
One night, he came and he asked me if his siblings would notice if he was gone. I replied, “Of course they would notice,” for Lyney and Lynette have keen eyes.
He said

The letter ends here, the end of it torn in somewhat of a jagged shape, plateauing into the ripped bottom you now see. It looks almost intentional, as if someone had folded the paper back and forth and ripped it. None of the other letters are like this.
Then again…

Chapter Text

Trigger Warnings Apply

The Thing About Mysteries

Lyney has always enjoyed shows focused on crime and forensics– for example, Who killed the Fair Lady? About the disappearance of a Harbinger is one of his favorites, though he refuses to acknowledge it because the death of a Fatui could be the death of him should he make fun of it. But there are so many intricate things to the crime– not just how it took place and who was involved, but the motive behind it. There are some people who do things just for the heck of it, and then there are those with a heart of revenge, vengeance, and arguably corrupt justice. While Lynette has a smug look on her face as she points out revealing cues in people’s true feelings, Lyney likes to find out why people committed the crime they did in the first place.
But then again…
It is evening, and the children of the House decide that they want to see a show together. It is one that Furina used to star in, but now that she has withdrawn, one of the Hearth members has snuck into place. Father has revealed to Lyney that she is also on the mission; one of the people in the theatre could pose a threat to a Family, and she is out to find him. That’s Father’s motive, but Lyney wonders what the person who poses a threat to the Hearth may be thinking as well. What are they working for?
Why did…
Why did Freminet die?
Sitting in the dark corner of the theatre, Lyney feels his heart ache.
He hasn’t felt anything in a while.
But asking himself that question another time, he can’t not look for the answer any more.
If someone killed Freminet, then why were they after him? And if Freminet ended his own life then…
Why?
Lyney’s throat tightens–
“Lyney?” Lynette peeps, whispering in his ear, her hand over her mouth, “What are you thinking about?
Lyney looks at her, blinks, and looks away. His sister presses her lips together in hard thought, squeezing her eyes shut as she turns away, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
She’s going into detachment mode any time now, isn’t she? Lyney thinks to himself. The last time Lynette went into detachment mode, she left the water on in the bathtub and didn’t return for at least three hours. When her siblings came back, they of course found water seeping out of the bathroom. Lynette was sitting on the counter, on a towel wearing her undergarments and petticoat, her tail flicking as bottles in its path fell to the ground. Someone eventually got her to blink, the children cleaned up the mess, and Lynette fell asleep in the tub.
That someone was… was…
Lyney scrunches his eyebrows. He doesn’t understand why it’s so hard to remember who–
Ah, Freminet.
It was
Him.
But why was that so hard to remember?
After the show, the Children congratulate their sister with big smiles, saying that she should have earned a vision during her performance. There is something strange about something in the air tonight, something strange about what has all just occurred. What has… not occurred? Where is Lyney right now?
A hand rests on his, and Lyney pulls away, his eyes meeting a pair just like his, a soft yet pensive face looking over him. “Lyney…” Lynette’s tail flicks nervously in the air behind them; Lyney shakes his head and looks for the exit.
“We have to get back to doing shows soon, you know. Father will be angry,” his sister continues under her breath, dancing a finger along the bristles of her long lashes. “You need to quit it with the attitude, Lyney,” She pushes his arm a little and walks a little bit ahead, her ears pressed down and outwards in what must be annoyance.
Lyney draws more into himself, his head down and his hand over his other hand.
Maybe he is being too selfish.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:00

There are things that Lyney wishes he wouldn’t do to himself.
Things he regrets doing sitting in the dark corners of the room.
Glasses glimmer in the faint light of the moon, and the curtains billow gently in the late summer wind. Yet there is nothing romantic about the things rolling down his arm, the shine of metal close to skin.
Lyney cries.

▶︎ •။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊ ။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌၊ ။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊• 0:01

At dawn, Lynette rises, briskly taps on her brother’s door before entering, and presses it forward to allow herself inside. The room is peaceful– new sunlight pours through the windows. The surface of Lyney’s prop-filled desk is already warm from daylight’s kisses; Lynette finds herself at Rosseland’s side, watching the cat’s body rise and fall like the gentle waves.
Lyney watches all of this in complete silence, his hands folded under the sheets of his bed.
“Morning,” his sister says apathetically, staring off into the distance, “We’re going out. Get up.”
Lyney heaves himself to rest on his shoulder, though his arms sting with pain.
“Furina is treating us to breakfast at the cafe. We’ll talk a little bit, and then we’ll meet with Navia, head of the Spina.”
Another helping hand?
“I know, there’s at least five of us now, but we’ll need all the help we can get.”
We don’t need help.
“I know what you’re thinking. C’mon,” Lynette flicks her tail somewhat playfully at her brother’s face, smiling faintly at him before leaving the room. She pauses at the door, her tail spiking when two of their siblings get in her face, their heads darting left and right until Lynette grabs both of their ears.
“Lynette, is Lyney okay?”
“We want to show him something!”
“That’s enough, you two,” Lynette shakes them a little.
One of them wails, “but Lyney is always out of the House! He never talks to us anymore!”
“He’s been busy, alright? Stop yelling or you’ll wake Father,” Lynette’s ears flatten, and she quickly moves her hand from a child’s ear to the door and pulls them away, Lyney’s room going completely silent.
Lyney hears something being squeezed in from under the door, and it’s a uniform, picked for him just like any other day. He kicks himself out of bed. And sits. He looks hesitantly, his eyes shifting blankly from the door to the clothes and to his bare feet, which hide halfway in the strands of thick carpet from his feet.
Rosseland meows, a bell rings, and Lyney finds himself seated in the same seat as yesterday, looking out the window as Lynette and Navia squeeze in next to each other, across from the other two. In front of him is the same strawberry cake and tea. He scoops a strawberry and dollop of cream in his fork, and waits for the flavor to hit him.
It doesn’t.
“So, Lyney, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Navia looks expectantly at him, her eyes shining as clear as shallows of the sea.
Lyney stares back.
“Uh, earth to Lyney?” Navia waves her gloved hand in front of him, but Lyney barely flinches.
Please, get that out of my face.
He feels sick to his stomach.
Furina tries to redirect the conversation. “Navia, did you bring some of your maca–”
“Well of course I did, Lady Furina!” Out from under the table, Navia smashes her suitcase on the table, causing the plates to jump with excitement. Upon opening there is a rainbow assortment of desserts, Charlotte’s eyes lighting up as her hand instinctively reaches for the camera at her hip.
“It– it’s Furina now,” Furina corrects her, and the group laughs nervously.
Lyney listens to as much as he can. Charlotte talks about how people at the Steambird are trying to change the logo, while Navia rambles on about her most recent adventure. But Lyney’s stomach is empty and dropped. His eyes feel heavy– he wonders if he has eyebags– I hate myself. Why did I do that? Why did I do that? You’re pathetic, Lyney, how could you–
“Freminet,” someone says, and the table falls silent. All eyes fall on the golden-haired Navia, who leans back on the chair with a cup of coffee filled with cream propped daintily in her hand, “As a young girl, my Father would take me to the Fleuve Cendre and find things to do. I used to think it was a waste of time, but I quickly understood why I was there. I spent quite a bit of my free time chatting and assisting people in the neighborhood, including Freminet’s mother.”
His real mother? Lyney’s eyes widen, and he looks at Lynette, who is mainly focused on Navia.
“Yes. She was always looking for little trinkets, and I’d kept a small stash of things above and below ground, and eventually I found out it was for her son. I figured out that her son was Freminet when I was cleaning up the mess left after her house was destroyed. I found a little music box, smaller than my thumb, and gave it to the Fatui stationed there. Years later, I recognized Freminet’s face because of the music box and the fact that he looked so much like his mother. I never told him, but I was always trying to keep an eye on him when I could,” She lowers her eyes with a look that Lyney recognizes– the mysterious look of guilt.
She wishes she could have told him, doesn’t she?
Navia… I understand.
There were a lot of things I never told him.
Things I wish I did.
Is it too late now?
“Freminet’s mother was very kind, and she often encouraged me in my worst. I owe her something, and that is to make sure her son was delivered justice,” Satisfied, she takes a sip of her coffee, and places her cup back on the saucer.
“What do you think happened to him?” Charlotte asks.
“I think he was murdered. Then again, no one has been to the scene of his death since they found him,” she shakes her head. “It’s a grave mistake. Who knows if we lost the weapon? It’s been days,” She murmurs.
All the bruises, the pain, the discoloration of his skin, the location… Freminet.
“We’ll visit the place of death today,” Charlotte slaps her fist in her palm, looking determined up at the others. “Let’s catch this killer.”
Furina claps a little, Lynette nods, and Lyney blinks once more.
We’re going to solve this mystery.
For Freminet.

Chapter Text

The Thing in the Waters

His stomach knotted and his throat tight, Lyney holds the door for the ladies that file out of the cafe. He’s not sure exactly how his door reached the handle; perhaps Lynette was the one who placed it there. Or perhaps this is a way to account for his sins the night before.
Lyney’s heart shrivels in his chest. It takes every bit of his strength to keep a straight face.
Should I ask for help…?
Furina smiles and thanks him as she passes by, her eyes barely meeting his.
She’s something,
not asking for help for five hundred years.
I heard the archons compared her strength to that of gods themselves.
Could I do that too?
As soon as Lyney steps out of the room, a curtain of clouds covers the sun. He stares up at the sky, squinting as the bright white clouds dim the entire court. He knows that clouds are made up of water and particles, some of which can be poisonous and cause acid rain. For a moment he entertains the thought of a sour smell in the air, green running through the sewers, and he wonders–
Nevermind.
Lynette’s tail flicks him, and the two of them walk to catch the group, who has just vanished behind the marble walls of the aquabus station. “We’ll take the Navia line to the Opera Epiclese,” Navia declares, waving to the melusine present at her stand. Furina shyly hands the creature a ticket, and the creature tilts her head slightly, eyes full of curiosity. She looks uneasy, sitting down next to Lyney. With a rumble of the engine and the sound of bubbles gurgling beneath them, the aquabus takes off, its only passengers being the five acquaintances riding off into the distance.
“When’s your next show going to be, Lyney?” Navia asks, staring right at him.
A moment of silence passes.
“We don’t really know when we’ll be going back to the Epiclese,” Lynette shakes her head. Seeing Furina’s mouth open to speak, Lynette clears her throat and says, “We’re here for my little brother right? What do we already know?”
Navia brings out a notepad from her small bag, folding through its tattered pages gently. “We already know that he was found close to the Opera Epiclese, and we know that his body was covered in bruises and scratches. I guess the first question is… was there anything else found on his body?”
Charlotte raises her hand politely, and with Navia’s nod of approval, folds her hands in her lap and lowers her eyes, the sky darkening like the light in her eyes. “I visited the hospital the other day–the Knave gave me permission to look over the autopsy as long as I swore to secrecy, and I have permission to share with you now,” She swallows.
Why did Father operate behind our backs?
Did she think we couldn’t handle it?
Lynette and I have seen plenty of things, I’m sure we would have been alright…
“He had water in his lungs, many of his cuts were deep, and he also had a concussion. They found out he had been lying on the beach for at least an hour or two before a child found him… he probably washed up there in the afternoon,” Charlotte sucks the air in through her teeth, and rubs under her glasses with her fingers. “Cause of death? It could have been a murder. But Freminet was discovered with his swimsuit on, and his helmet was found shattered up the beach.” Grimly, the reporter pulls out photos from the scene and pictures from the autopsy, paired with reports and letters that scramble inside of Lyney’s head. Possibility of Drowning… murder… unknown… head…
Who would have murdered such a sweet boy? What did Freminet do wrong? Lyney gawks in horror, and Lynette squeezes her eyes shut, as if to wring out the pain.
“We asked the Knave what he was doing in his final days. She wouldn’t give us a statement,” Charlotte shakes her head. Thunder cracks and echoes across the stormy sea.
Soon, the sky grows misty, and it begins to drizzle, cold smoke wisping around Lyney’s boot as frigid water begins to run down his back.
“So… Lyney, Lynette? Do either of you know what he was doing before he died?” Navia leans forward, and the two siblings look away from each other, a sick feeling again pooling into Lyney’s stomach, like the venom of a viper seeping through his veins. He watched Lynette silently trace her hand across the edge of her velvet seat, catching the now pooling rainwater and drops on her fingers, and watching them drip down her glossy nails.
I can’t… I can’t remember… Lyney rubs his damp eyes, and then tucks his hair behind his head, covering his hands with his ears as if to defend himself from something. Charlotte broke the news to us… Father returned from an expedition… Lynette and I ate lunch together…
It feels as though the memory is on the tip of his tongue, but the panging on the walls of Lyney’s head refuses to let it out. His sister with eyes as keen as a cat lowers her ears and stares at him with complete… disappointment.
“A few days before, Freminet and Lyney had an argument. I had to take the children in the House somewhere else for the day…” Lynette takes a long gasp, and exhales even longer; “We didn’t come back until sunset. And the House was dark and covered in dust.”
Charlotte covers her mouth, Navia looks away, and Furina continues to stare. All of them had seen the inside of the House at least once–it was as if dust was scared of being in the House itself.
She hasn’t said anything for a while.
Her behavior is mirrored to that of the courtroom, sitting still and watching from the distance; her hand is on her chin and her legs are crossed one over the other, and thoughts behind her eyes are completely unreadable.
“What happened after the fight?” A small voice rings out, and Furina’s head has finally shifted towards them.
Lynette shakes her head with dismay, “Freminet said that Father assigned him a mission later than evening. When he asked, he said that it was confidential.”
“Arlecchino, huh…” Navia shakes her head, and the rain goes quiet–they have entered under an archway, the silver beams of Marcotte Station shining in the misting light, “So what you’re suggesting is that…”
“In no way is Father a prime suspect,” Lynette picks up her head, “She never could be. She is good to the children, she is good to us, and she–”
The bus stops, and the horn sounds. Golden mora clinks into a water-filled jar, and an umbrella pops open, its shade covering the matted hair of four individuals.
“Lyney?” Charlotte reaches out her hand, gesturing for him to join their collective warmth, each of their faces covered in shadow under the brim that protects their heads.
Lyney shakes his head.
I’ll be fine.

▶︎ •။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊ ။‌‌‌‌‌||။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌၊ ။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊• 0:02

Lyney has always liked the sound of clicking heels on a stone passageway. According to the melusines, the roads and buildings of Fontaine were built on a strong, obsidian-like stone that appeared 500 years ago, after the war had torn the nation apart. Without it, and the discovery of the energies pneuma and ousia, there would never be the Fontaine that exists today. It’s a miracle, Lyney thinks. A technological wonder among the Seven Nations of Teyvat.
Is the distraction working?
Not really.
Lyney shivers, looking at the girls next to him, bundled closely together, leaving a space for him to squeeze in should he ever want to.
I’ll be ok, Lyney holds onto the brim of his hat as if that will keep the water out of his eyes. I’ll get over this at some point. I’ll be fine. I don’t want to bother pushing them out of the umbrella. I’m the man in this case anyway.
The space left for him eventually closes up, and they find their way towards to beach where Freminet died. Tracks in the sand have been filled with rain water. Pebbles of the beach are pulled into the waves while little rivers of tears flow from the steep slopes towards the lake, carrying with them little sticks and bugs.
“I doubt we’ll find anything in this weather,” Navia mumbles, and when she reaches a single marking on the beach, she stops. It’s a small red flag lazily pitted into the sand, leaning over as if it is about to fall into the waves.
Other than the flag, no person could have guessed where the crime scene took place.
“This isn’t any help,” Charlotte states the obvious, scribbling something completely different in her notebook while she looks at the flag, as if she wants it to tell her more.
“We’re not going to find anything here. Not after several days and not after the storm,” Furina hesitantly adds, “this was the perfect crime scene.”
“Then there must be something in the water,” Lynette suggests confidently, gesturing to the ever-wilder growing waves.
Lyney shivers.
Freminet had an underwater base of operations–though Lyney himself wasn’t sure where it was.
“What a great observation, Lynette,” a chilling voice approaches them from behind, and Lyney finds himself in the shadow of his Father’s shadow. Charlotte’s eyes light up and she nearly drops her pen. Navia turns her body to fully face her. Furina wraps her arms around her stomach. Lynette gazes at Father with emotionless eyes, her tail standing straight with clear anxiety. “Hello, Lyney. And greetings to you three as well.”
Furina audibly gulps.
“You showed them the photos, Charlotte?”
“Yes,” she nods.
“And what do you all conclude from them?” Father shifts from standing straight to leaning more on one of her legs, one hand along her waist and the other close to the side of her face, brushing a single drop of water away from her face.
“We conclude that…” Navia begins.
“Murder,” Charlotte declares with complete confidence, and Lyney’s heart rate soars. He feels Lynette step towards him, and does his best not to jerk away when her hand grabs his arm, almost trembling, “I suspect that he was stabbed to death and was tossed into the water, where he drowned.”
Dead silence. Rain bounces off the umbrella.
“The detectives’ conclusion, exactly,” Father nods, “But I wouldn’t call it correct.”
She says it as if she knows something more. “Wh-what’s the correct answer then?” Furina’s small and trembling voice asks.
“I’m not sure. They found glass shards and stone shards lodged into his cuts. His boots had marks pressed into them where his feet were, as if he was squeezing into his shoes. Do any of you have a map?”
Charlotte nods, pulling one out from seemingly thin air, and the Knave gathers them all in a small circle, Navia’s umbrella protecting the piece of paper from being dampened. “They also discovered that he had swallowed bits of paper and pebbles and also sea life including bits of tidalga, the fin of an endangered yellow fish, romaritime flowers in full bloom and deep-root seaweed.”
“Could we use the bits he swallowed to track where he went?” Lynette asks.
Navia starts, “But how would we–”
They begin to argue amongst themselves, and Lyney swallows nervously.
I haven’t done anything to help them. Or help Freminet.
I have to…
I want to.
Slowly, Lyney extends his hand, and the arguing ceases.
“Do you… want the pen?” Charlotte holds her pen up to him, and he takes it, uncapping it and putting his hand under the map to draw a line from the shoreline to the waters.
The pebbles likely came from where we’re standing now–they’re light enough to float in the water and small enough to get caught in someone’s throat.
Not far off shore, there’s a species of yellow fish which was declared endangered a while ago. It’s the only endangered yellow fish in Fontaine. Freminet loved them too.
Freminet…
His favorite flower was the romaritime flower… there’s a giant patch around here, and it tracks all the way… there…
He also loved tidalga. The photos from the investigation showed that they were scarlet and magenta, a kind only found in the region here, at the base of the biggest kelp forest…
Lyney lifts the pen from the page and finds a clear path from the surface all the way to a deep and dense forest, one which he knows nothing about, one that Freminet would mention often.
“Impressive,” Charlotte comments.
“Freminet’s base is located in the heart of the forest,” Father chimes in, her long finger pointing to the blob on the map, “You need to go there.”
“Father, if I may…” Lynette waits for Father to give her a nod, “Were there any people who knew of the base’s location?”
“We built it ourselves,” She says, “And the government is well aware of it’s location. They only visit once a year–randomly–and not more than that, since it is owned by the Fatui. Oh, and the person who has access to it is the Maison Gardiennage’s Special Special Security and Surveillance time, Miss Chevreuse.”
Miss Chevreuse? She wouldn’t kill him… would she?
“Then we’ll be on our way,” Navia says, turning towards the Knave. “Thank you for pointing those out to us. We’ll bring the House justice.”
“I know you will,” she says quietly. “Farewell. Tell me what you find later,” she turns the opposite way, her sharp heels punching holes into the sand, like the way Freminet was cut—
Lyney grabs Lynette’s arm, and she turns to him, absolutely stunned.
“We need to go. And we need to go now,” Furina’s voice is full once more, and she follows in the Knave’s footsteps, “There’s a swimming gear rental spot just at the docks. Then we can follow the map into the location of the base.”
“It’s all thanks to Lyney,” Charlotte pats him on the shoulder, and Navia ruffles his wet hair, repeating her thanks as well. Furina offers a smile. Lynette gives his hand a small squeeze.
For a moment, there is warmth, and Lyney tries to give them a smile–but all he feels is his face curving into a frown, and follows them silently, the wet soles of his shoes filled with water.

Chapter Text

The Thing We Had
Furina

Lyney.
I want to know what’s going on inside of his head, Furina decides, though she’s not quite sure how to approach it.
She can’t quite tell if the weather is getting better–She remembers the first day she met Freminet. It was something like this, the showers growing heavier and lighter, the skies clearing and threatening to pour for the entire day. The streets of Fontaine were kissed by a blanket of mist, not a single speck of life present on the street except for the phony god, alone, umbrella dragging across the stone.
The few days after being freed from being the Hydro Archon were filled with rain. The floodwaters cleared, of course, but that didn’t mean that the storm was over. That day, Furina made her way to Elynas, and found herself at the top of the cliff there, overlooking the entire nation.
She wasn’t sure where or not she wanted to jump. She just wanted to be alone. Soaking in the grass and dangling her legs over the edge, she waited. Her gloves were dirtied by mud and her face was a mix of tears and the sorrow of the Hydro Dragon, and she wondered if any drop of his sympathy was for her.
And after a while there was a noise, a click and a snap, and suddenly her face wasn’t cold. It was shadowed from the wind and only sprayed with water–her own umbrella covered her head, and holding it were a pair of small and scarred hands, shaking and trembling as if the wielder had held too much coffee.
The person, of course, was Freminet.
“Why are you here?” He asked in his frigid, husky voice–Furina had always been a little scared of it, though at the same time, the gentle rumbling undertones calmed her.
“I should be asking you the same thing,” she said after a while, and felt something come up.
Furina sneezes, covering her face with the crest of her arm, fumbling with embarrassment as snot created a rope that connected her to her clothing. “I apologize.”
Freminet tilts his head. “Bless you.”
“Thank you.”
Quiet. Furina’s stomach drops.
“It’s dangerous dangling like that, you know. How about sitting cross-legged instead?” He suggests gently, adding, “I’d like to sit with you, if you don’t mind.”
Furina couldn’t say no, pulled back, and he joined her, the umbrella planted between their legs.
“So, why are you here?” Furina asks.
Freminet shrugs. “I just felt like coming up here.”
“Did you?”
“Just a feeling.”
Huh, Furina thinks to herself.
“What about you, Lady Furina?”
“It’s Furina now,” she says uncomfortably, because that’s about all she’s said to people the past few days.
“Sorry…” Freminet goes quiet, “But what are you doing here?”
“I’m… just… here, I suppose,” Furina murmurs under her breath, knowing the real answer might be too much for someone like him.
“I’m assuming we’re here for the same reason then,” he huffs, a small cloud of steam puffing from his mouth, and they sit in complete silence.
What a strange conversation.
“Do you think the stars get lonely?” Furina suddenly blurts. It’s a line from the last play she performed, but it’s been on the front of her mind for days.
Freminet blinks. “I think… I think they do get lonely sometimes. I heard that they’re not as close to each other as they appear.”
“That’s true…” Furina folds her hands in her laps, “What do you think the stars do about it?”
“I don’t… know…” Freminet tilts his head to the sky, still covered by clouds, “I heard Lyney once say that they were jealous of humans because humans are so close, and they are so far away.”
“That’s a nice way to look at it I suppose,” Furina replies, though I do feel horrible for the stars. Is there any way I could help them, too?
They sit there for a while, and the rain eventually ceases, a humid air wrapping them in a thick haze. Furina’s hair sticks to her forehead, as does Freminet’s to his cheek, as the two of them watch the monsters begin to gather from the shadows below their feet. “I should go before Father starts to wonder where I am.”
“May I walk home with you?” Furina asks, her voice cracking, yet hopeful.
“Uhm…” Freminet pauses, shifting his feet.
Furina assures him that everything will be okay, but Freminet eventually shakes her head and agrees to walk together–water dripping off the sides of his clumping bangs. He’s such a delicate person. I don’t know much about him compared to Lyney and Lynette, but the fact that he came here at such an hour, and decided to help me regardless? She bites her lip, it’s almost as if I’m dreaming right now.
They pass rift hounds. Cross over ravines. They wait for the special ferry in the dim street lights of Poisson, since they ended up stopping over for some food. And when they arrived home, it was Furina who followed Freminet back to the House of the Hearth, where the twins had been bickering on the doormat for hours.
Lynette is the first to notice the two approaching while her brother tugs at the pieces of his hair, nervously tapping his feet on the ground and panicking like a little boy. Lynette tilts her head back, almost with sarchasm, a dead look behind her long lashes. Lyney stops grabbing her, his jaw drops, and he makes a sound of awe and shock and sadness and relief that Furina can’t quite describe.
“F-Freminet! Where have you been? Do you know what time it is?” The boy scolds.
“I–I’m sorry, Lyney…”
Lynette shakes her head, her hands on her hips as she leans to the side. “We were about to start a search party for you. You had us all very worried, Freminet.”
“I’m–I’m sorry to you too, Lynette…!”
The two siblings look at each other, and with open arms, run to embrace their brother–who has hidden his face in his hands and doesn’t notice them coming. “I–I–” Freminet is stuttering.
Lyney huffs, “We forgive you, Freminet. But seriously, never do that again!”
Freminet starts crying, rambling on about how embarrassing this is to do this on their back porch, and Lynette eyes Furina down, her thoughts indecipherable until she asks:
“Will you be safe walking home alone?”
“Y-yes,” Furina also stutters, and with a quick bow she runs off, treading down the staircase and into the darkness. Midway down the street, close to the cafe, she turns to see the siblings together–leaning on the railings, arms around each other, watching her go. On any other day, Furina would have thought that they were stalking her. But when she watches Freminet wipe a tear from his eyes, she grimaces, and turns away, eyes stinging.

Chapter Text

The Thing in the Bottle

Cold. It’s so cold down here.
Lyney leads the group of divers down into the depths of the sea, far beyond the point where light rays can reach. Behind him is Navia, keeping a close eye on surroundings, and further back is Furina, her hands glowing blue, preparing to strike at any thing that might come their way. Charlotte and Lynette are together in the back, saying something to each other Lyney can’t hear.
There’s the kelp forest, Lyney points his flashlight towards something in the distance, guarded by a rock arch composed of two towers and a single bridge in between them.
“Stop,” Navia’s muffled voice calls out, and the group stops where they are. “Look at the seagrass right before that kelp–see that fish over there?” It’s a bright red, and everyone nods.
Lyney locks his eyes on it, and suddenly the fish is swept from it’s safe place behind the grass and rocks and into some invisible current, seemingly sending it flying in a completely different direction, Charlotte turning her entire body to watch where it goes, her hands grasping for her underwater camera, even though it wouldn’t take anyone skilled to know that not even the fastest camera would catch something that fast.
How are we supposed to get through something like this–? Lyney shakes his head, and then a terrifying thought makes him forget he’s breathing–and how did Freminet’s body make it through any of this…? Unless he was alive…?
No one knew Fontaine’s complex hydrosystems and mechanics better than Freminet himself, Lyney was convinced. The only other things Freminet would willingly read that didn’t involve fantasy were technical books about marine biology and the Steambird, if he found anything interesting. Did Charlotte know that…? He loved her writing style…
Lynette is somewhere off, holding a flower in her hands with one or two less petals than there should be, and Lyney is sickly reminded of the petals found inside of his brother.
“Well, are we just going to sit around? If there’s any evidence it’s bound to get swept away–we need to hurry,” Furina looks around with determination, her eyes focused on the direction of the current, “If Freminet’s base is here, then he would have been able to swim to it somehow, without causing him much stress–” she presses her hands together, which begin to glow a brilliant blue.
Furina gently opens her hands as if she was cupping a small thing between them, and the water around them grows dark, and some areas even lighter–the distinction becomes clear, white trails and rainbow trails everywhere, weaving their way around the green forest like the tight and tangled branches of a tumbleweed. “Please, please, please…” she murmurs under her breath, and the colors then make sense–reds. Some purples, and some blues.
“What… is this…?” Charlotte starts clicking away, her little beams of flashing light pale in comparison to the light of the weaving currents.
“It’s a temperature map of the currents. They circulate around all of Fontaine and Teyvat, but currents can exist in smaller bundles called rip currents. I’m guessing the different colors are different temperatures and different corrections of the currents…”
Furina nods, her face beaming, though her pride seems to be hiding something bottled up inside.
Lyney can see now what they mean. In the face of the seaweed there are different twists and turns, each of them aligning with a mini-current of some kind. And there! He sees a clear zone against a small and rocky cliff, where the colors of the currents meet and fade. He makes his way downward, and soon they follow in a single file line, down into a now clear path between the seaweed close to a small romaritime reef.
Down here–it is cool. Still quiet. Was this what Freminet’s last moments were like? No… no… was he in pain? Lyney can only hear the nightmares in his head and the sound of his hands pushing the water around him… Charlotte mutters something under her breath, and Navia accidentally touches the heel of his diving fins. The deeper they get, the clearer a path between the seaweed appears, an arch small enough for the boy and his packages to swim through hugging the sides of Lyney’s skin. It doesn’t look like anyone was–
“What–what’s this…” Charlotte’s hands and voice shake as she picks up a giant piece of glass, caught between the seaweed.
Lynette’s voice follows her shortly, “Look over here… it’s an entry from the Steambird. The date was… a week before Freminet died.”
How long has it been since his brother died?
But… what’s an entry of the Steambird doing all the way down here. We must be close by, but I wonder what that has to do with…
“Lyney, stop!” Navia grabs his calf before Lyney can propel himself forward. Lyney lifts his eyes from the dark sands on the seafloor to the sight above him–
…
Oh no.
Where does he even begin? The debris is sparse, the furthest being tangled in the weeds and the rest floating as close as they can get to the surface, blocked by a covering of more weeds and plants. Closer to the epicenter, there are giant stone bricks, the kind made during the five-hundred years, once thought unbreakable shattered; pieces of paper flimsy and drifting mindlessly, hundreds of gears and metal bits and bobs, and glass which peppers the scene in a dangerous glitter. A snow globe in the sea.
Would it be right to assume that this paper and this glass and this stone were the ones found in…. Him?
“I–” Navia starts, Furina and Charlotte cover their mouths, Lynette is silent.
“What–what happened? An explosion?”
Lyney suddenly feels sick.
“Freminet exploded something? Or did someone explode him? Or–”
“I–I can’t believe it…”
“Was he really murdered? By who? Or was this an accident…”
Sick, sick, sick.
Furina shakes her head, “Could the explosion have been seen above water? And if Freminet was inside, shouldn’t he have been blown to bits if he was inside?”
“That’s enough, everyone,” the Captain of the Spina’s voice rings clear, and they all fall silent, “I need pictures. I need some papers gathered. I need a map made. We need to find out when this happened, what caused it, and why. It’s an explosion–considering how almost everything stayed inside of here, the thing that caused it must be in here,” she notices Lyney, “And, twins… I’m going to need you to sit down.”
That’s not… a problem… Lyney finds himself sitting on the floor, misty bits rising as Lynette paddles over, her fins generating a whirlwind around her, the two sitting in silence for a long while.
I need to talk to her. But he isn’t even sure where to start. As Charlotte loops the scene, Lyney hides his face by simply turning, the dim reflection of the camera flashing reflecting on his sister’s constantly watching face.
“I have something to confess,” she murmurs when Furina swims away, steering clear of the perimeter and finding herself out of auditory range. Lyney turns towards his sister, “I don’t think it was a murder.”
I thought we all knew that from the start, Lyney silently admits, keeping his gaze on his sister’s shifting eyes.
“Everyone!” A voice full of despair calls, and Furina waves her hands in the air, in the other gripping a bottle, barely even cracked. The bottle glimmers, and inside holds a paper, rolled tightly and sealed with a thin rope.
Freminet had a habit of collecting ships in a bottle. Lyney passes one on his way to Furina’s place in the underwater glade, staring at the torn sails, singed slightly by a quickly dimmed flame. There was a time in the past where they came across a ship-in-a-bottle stand, and there was an unbreakable sort of glass called… well, Lyney didn’t know what it was called, though he had written the formula for it down somewhere… and there were ones where they had some kind of jiggly, artificial water, and the boat wouldn’t sink or get damaged.
Regardless, he was sure this bottle was one Freminet had collected, and he wasn’t sure why he was so confident until he noticed a small misshaping of the bottle’s mouth–a little dip where there shouldn’t be one–and he gulps.
The bottle Freminet gave him.
“I saw this laying in the sand right there,” Furina points to a now-collapsing hole, filled with grains.
“It looks intentional… or maybe it got planted in there when the lab exploded?”
Charlotte clears her throat. “I’ve finished taking photos. If you want to surface…”
They nod in unison and slowly make their way through the pathway, through the way they came, and surface on a small island in the middle of the lake–home to a tree, a few bushes, and a single stump where they gather, breathing deeply together. Lyney wipes water from his face, though it clings to the hairs of his skin. The skies ahead are still dark, threatening to pour at the slightest poke of their fluffy surfaces.
They agree on Furina opening the bottle, and with Navia’s help, they open it with a satisfying pop. Lyney curls into himself as the letter is laid bare on the tree stump, the bottle now insignificant rolling off of the roots.
To be quite honest, Lyney didn’t know what he was expecting. Maybe everyone was expecting a decoration, or some kind of report, maybe a time capsule…
But deep down, he knew, and everyone probably did too–
That whoever had written the note had written it intentionally.
But what sort of ending were they wishing for?

Chapter Text

To Whoever Finds This Letter,

I am so, so sorry.
By the time you discover this, I assume you know that I am dead, and not by other hands except my own.
I’m not sure where to begin and where to end, but I do know that I can’t keep living like this anymore. Not in the House, not in Teyvat–I do not belong here and that is the truth. I don’t want to live. I don’t want to die. But I know for certain I would be doing everyone a favor if I simply ended things quickly and quietly in the deep dark sea.
I plan to explode the laboratory. The House of the Hearth has no use for it and I won’t be using it anymore. Anything anyone might find useful, such as my journals, have been hidden throughout my bedroom. They might throw all my things out, they might not. I wouldn’t know. But they are hidden, and if anyone cares enough to find them, they will.
When the laboratory explodes, the still surface waters may be broken. I hope that someone will mistake it for a whale taking a breath in which I take my final. And even if someone does suspect something else, I doubt they will take the time to report it to the guard. And even if people were to begin searching for me, I will be far gone, at peace in another place.
To Father, I’m sorry I have failed you. But there are many talented children in our House. I’m sure they will serve much more use than me.
To my friends in the Court of Fontaine, including Furina de Fontaine, the journalist from the Steambird Charlotte, Captain of the Spina Navia, I’ve failed to accept your invitations to plays, interviews, and countless tea parties. I am a bad person. And I know you will never forgive me for neglecting to say it to your faces.
And to my dearest Lyney and Lynette, I wish I was as talented as the both of you. I wish I didn’t stumble over my words, I wish I could say no. I wish I could perform and I wish I could be a good brother to you, but instead I find myself retreating into the sea to cry. I am puny. I am nothing. I am not enough for the both of you. I’m sorry, and I wish you a life full of family and love–one that I could not give you myself.
I am doing this, not for myself, but because I love you all. I don’t want to burden you any further.
I love you. Farewell.
-Freminet

Chapter Text

The Thing We Lost

We found his last words. His last wishes.
The things we were searching for.
In his writing, with his penmanship, in his laboratory in a bottle at the bottom of the sea.
Freminet.
The salty winds blow. The waves grow high. Lightning flashes across the sky.
A drip. A drop.
And then it begins to pour.
Rain, sharp as nails, cuts through Lyney’s skin. But he doesn’t move.
He can’t.
Why would he?
It was finished.
It was done.
Freminet had taken his own life.
A shadow cast over him, the rain’s beating is blocked by Navia’s frilly parasol, though a single drop lands on Lyney’s cheek. It is warm for a moment, and Lyney looks up to see Navia staring at the messy whitewater, her lips pursed tightly together.
Navia. Crying.
He turns to his left to see Charlotte, her hands once tight fists now resting in the grass at her sides, both open, her expression void of anything. Yet tears stream down her pale face silently, her body trembling.
Charlotte. Sniffing.
Lyney turns his head to see Furina, lips quivering, her arms wrapped around her waist so tightly she falls to her knees, and covers her face with her hands, her wet hair with white waves and blue streaks like rivers and seafoam flowing, collecting dirt from the ground, collecting her tears.
Furina. Mourning.
Lyney brings his eyes to Lynette, who is squeezing her brother’s hand so tightly, Lyney can barely feel it. She, too, has her face small and body curled together. Shaking water building up at the corners of her eyes.
“Did–did we not–” she says between hiccups– “How could we not have noticed?”
Lynette, sobbing. The first to speak. Critical as ever.
Furina buries her face deeper into her hands, Charlotte makes a sound, a sharp and high pitched sound–the turns into a wail. “I should have noticed!” She slams her fists into the ground, grabs grass, uproots it, and begins sobbing into the plants. “He–he always met me at the edge of the shoreline, at the edge of the rocks and during the darkest hours of the night–he–he asked me once if his siblings would notice he was gone. I said no, but I should have said something–to someone at least!” She screams hysterically, “GODS!”
Lyney covers his mouth, and the palm of his hands and the tips of his fingers feel something familiar and incredibly warm.
Tears.
His eyes sting, his chest grows tight, and his stomach twists like wringing the water out of a towel. He blinks, the water caught in his lashes beginning to blur his view.
“I–I didn’t say anything either, Charlotte,” Furina’s voice is that small voice, the sound cracked and so quiet it reminded Lyney of Freminet’s, the voice that appeared when he was scared. “I was on the edge of the cliff at Elynas one day, and he came, and he talked to me… he stayed with me for hours, and we talked about the stars being lonely…”
“And how lucky we were to be mankind…” Charlotte finishes, and the two of them go quiet.
Freminet–
So that's how he knew those two? Could seeing random people be part of the reason he was coming home so late with little reason?
Lyney trembles.
Navia cuts in, “You can’t do anything about it now–”
“But we could have!” Charlotte interjects, clawing the sides of her arms in such a way that Lyney can almost feel his own nails digging into the side of his skin, “We could have!”
“But you didn’t know…” Navia’s voice falters.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Lynette tears up, and with a single defiant push, she leaves the shade of Navia’s umbrella and leaps into the water, headed towards the Court of Fontaine.
And Lyney leaps after her, his heart racing. He tries screaming his sister’s name.
Nothing comes out.

▶︎ •။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊ ။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌၊ ။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊• 1:11

Lynette. Please.
Lyney trails his sister from the small island to the shores of the Opera Epiclese. Lyney follows her up the docks, past the shop, and runs with her inside the Opera House.
He follows her through the courtroom, where an active case is being held–Monsieur Neuvillette stares from his high throne, but lets the siblings pass in silence to the back wing.
Lynette runs again– down the hall, around the back of the stage, and behind the curtain, to the spiraling staircase.
Lynette, wait for me…!
The spiraling staircase connects to the upper levels and the roof of the Opera House, to which Lynette runs, panting.
Lyney had performed stunts off of the roof of this building. He sat here with Freminet and Lynette in the late evenings. Scarcely had he been scared of it’s height. But now, with the roaring winds and his dashing sister, his legs shake as she begins to run for the very edge of the building, barely slowing.
Lynette! Lyney fails to scream again, his mouth opening and barely squeaking. With all his strength, he reaches for her hand and grabs it, a moment of shock causing her to stop and whip around.
“Lyney?!” She sounds surprised.
I thought she noticed I was behind her the whole time.
“I wasn’t going to jump–”
She barely even stopped.
“-if that’s what you were thinking! Just–I–I–” she shakes her head and collapses on the edge of the Opera house, her legs halfway over the edge like they always are. She lets them dangle dangerously, and Lyney pulls her back over before sitting down right next to her, his heart pounding so rapidly he can barely hear the sounds of the speakers below them, bellowing the judgement of Fontane’s Iudex.
“I should have known! It was the weeks before all of this–he said that he wasn’t sure he wanted to live anymore. He said that he didn’t know what to do! And he said Father might beat him if he were to say a word!” She violently points at herself with her thumb, her hand so quick to her chest Lyney thought for a moment she might stab herself in the heart. “You know who told her brother that he should sleep and the feelings would go away? I did. I did, Lyney!” She breaks down into sobs, suddenly throwing herself onto him, graping to him so tightly that Lyney can barely breathe.
“You saw him those final days–he was so quiet–he gave so many of his things away–he was so gentle with the siblings and so generous with his offers that I thought he was improving…” her voice is muffled against his chest, “I should have seen the signs, I should have said something…”
Lyney doesn’t know what to say. He wraps his arms around her and places his head on hers, keeping watch over the stormy horizon, as if the flood waters would begin to rise.
Lynette cried, and cried more, her sobs and shivers mixing. Lyney did his best to hold her tight, not to let go.
I wish I knew what to say. I wish I knew how to say things at all.
“You don’t talk to anyone anymore, Lyney,” Lynette’s small whine is followed by her ears sinking low and her grip tightening, “You don’t say a word. Not even to me. Your sister. I know you don’t hate me, but could you at least say something?” She raises her head to look at her brother, who opens his mouth.
Nothing. Still nothing.
Lyney can’t think.
“I miss the sound of your voice, Lyney. As much as I told you to shut up, Charlotte and Furina and Navia needed you back there. And I needed you, Lyney,” she shakes her head with utter dismay, her tears pouring down her face, “Please. Please, Lyney. Anything.”
But Lyney feels nothing at all.

▶︎ •။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊ ။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌၊ ။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊• 1:11

Pain.
Why couldn’t I get the words out of my mouth?! Stupid, stupid, stupid!
For each word there is a stroke, a drop, and a cry muffled into a pillow. Guilt fills his stomach, he feels dizzy.
Freminet.
Dear, Freminet.
You never failed me. It was me who failed you.

Chapter Text

The Thing About That Day

Lyney remembers it now.
The skies were clear–not a single cloud. The only things filling the skies were whoops of laughter and excitement. The sun eventually set, the skies grew purple, and the humid air was almost suffocating. But amidst the late summer heat, there was Freminet, tapping Lyney’s shoulder.
“Can we talk?”
“Not now, Frem,” Lyney shakes his head and turns back to his siblings, who are waiting for him to summon a cat out of his hat.
“Lyney, please,” Freminet begs as Lyney lets Rosseland pop out on his own, and his siblings cheer for the hundredth time.
“Alright, alright,” the magician finally agrees, following Freminet into their house, the front of his head beginning to pang. It had been a long day–and he wished he had done something like Lynette, which was sit and listen to laughter and get some work done.
When Freminet closed the door to his brother’s room and sat his brother down on the opposite side of his cherry red-covered bed, there was a silence that almost annoyed Lyney, though he couldn’t help wondering what was wrong. “Freminet?” he asked, and then wondered if he should wash his face before they continue with their conversation, maybe it would clear his head…
“Is there something wrong, Lyney?” Freminet’s voice is husky and soft, even slightly melodic. He looks up at his brother, one hand on his elbow and the other playing with his mechanical penguin Pers at the bedside.
Lyney blinks, “No?” I don’t think anything is wrong… did I leave my clothes in the dryer? Or maybe I left something of his at the opera house? Is there something I forgot to tell him or…
Freminet shakes his head, “You’re acting strange, Lyney–you’ve been acting strange. Outside of you shows you barely even smile. Or talk to me. Is something going on?”
Lyney’s throat feels tight, but he shakes his head some more, “I’m doing quite fine, Freminet! You don’t need to worry so much,” he forces a smile, though it fades quickly.
The sound of laughter from outside has all but faded, and the curtains billow gently in the wind. Someone passes them in the hallway, panting loudly, and comes back dragging some sort of small cart behind him, one that rolls off the floor loudly. The smell of barbecue and smoke hangs with the silence in the air, the charred wood smell faint and then strong when Father refills her furnace. But Lyney and Freminet sit in silence.
“Why don’t we go back downstairs and try some of the tender beef with sweet chili sauce?” the big brother grins, swiping his rosy-blonde hair over his eyes.
But Freminet tucks his blonde hair behind his ears and huffs, “I’m not leaving.”
Lyney’s eyes widen, and his heart pounds.
All I’ve been feeling recently is this emptiness that feeds me inside. Or perhaps my isolation is me sitting at the top of a tower of my own pride, far away from everything else.
But Freminet doesn’t need to hear that.
And he shouldn’t mention it.
“Even if there is something wrong, I’m mature enough to handle it myself,” Lyney crosses his arms and his legs, his nose twisting.
“See? There is something wrong, and I’m not leaving until you tell me,” Freminet folds his arms in return and narrows his eyes, which are covered by his pale and long lashes. “I know you Lyney, so–”
“So stop assuming how I feel all the time,” Lyney snarls and pushes himself violently off the bed, walking to the mirror with heavy steps and shaking out his hair so that it fluffs up.
“Stop treating me like a baby,” Freminet retorts, standing up in the mirror behind him, “I’m old enough to know how I feel about this and I–I just can’t let it continue!” He cries, then chases Lyney as his brother angrily makes his way towards the nightstand, eyebrows wrinkled. “Don’t you know how worried we are about you?”
Lyney freezes, his hand hovering over the deck of cards fanned out on the countertop.
People–I’ve worried people?
Lyney hasn’t kept his poker face as good as he thought. Have I let myself slide? Freminet’s worried about me–I knew I wasn’t hiding it well enough! His teeth clench together.
“The little children want to fight with you, the cats want to play with you–Father isn’t even sure how to deal with you yet. And Lynette–she was the first to notice something was up. She’s been watching you for months now–and I’ve noticed that you don’t even hum your little songs anymore,” Freminet shakes his head.
“Huh?”
“Forget about it. You’re not okay–stop putting on a brace face and talk to us, Lyney!” the little boy taps his brother’s shoulder, only to be brushed off like a speak of dust.
“I don’t want to talk right now Freminet,” Lyney’s voice is low and aggressive, but also… tired. He let it slip, but he can’t even care right now. I can’t worry him even more. If there’s something wrong with me, that’s not his problem.
Freminet begs, “You’re my family, Lyney. You can come to me with anything.”
“I said no, Freminet,” Lyney warns him.
“Lyney, please–”
“I said no!”
Lyney thunders, his fists slamming on his vanity, a crack resounding through the entire room. The brothers see a divide in the mirror, one that runs up the center, between Lyney and Freminet, a tree branching out to the ends of the dark frame.
“No, Freminet. No!” Lyney shakes his head, and feels hot tears pouring down his face.
I wish, I wish, I wish.
But I can’t do this to you.
“You’re–you’re pushing me away, Lyney,” Freminet shakes his head.
“So? Go! Does it look like I want to be talked to right now?” Lyney turns and full on screams: “Go away!”
Total silence. Lyney’s ears are bleeding, cards have spilled on the floor, and parts of the mirror fall onto the vanity and shatter into smaller pieces on the floor.
Freminet makes a small sound, a little cry–his eyes water and bubble and pour, and he too is frozen, his hands hiding his face defensively.
Is he really not going to leave?
“Go, Freminet! We’re not talking about this again!” Lyney scolds, and Freminet turns slowly–then bolts, a sea of hiccups and soft cries erupting from his trembling body. Lynette appears in the doorway, Freminet shoving her aside on his way out.
“Lyney? Lyney, what did you say to him?!” She demands, her voice high and sharp, and she raises her head with defiance.
Lyney doesn’t say anything.
I just yelled at my brother.
I just hurt his feelings.
It’s for the better… it’s for the better isn’t it?
“Did you tell him to go?”
I did tell him to go.
“That’s your brother, Lyney! Go apologize. Now,” Her tail flicks the way it does when she’s annoyed.
But Lyney can’t move. He collapses on his knees where he stands, and Lynette yells something–runs over to him, and holds his body in her hands, breathing harshly.
All Lyney remembers is thinking I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Freminet.
That night Freminet was assigned a mission by Father. He was meant to come back tomorrow night.
But tomorrow night never came for Freminet.
It’s all your fault.
It’s all your fault.
I deserve to bleed.

Chapter Text

The Thing About Blame
Lynette

Humans, when they choose to blame, often direct it at others and rarely towards themselves.
But there is a specific kind of person who only frames themselves. It is their fault every single time.
Freminet was that kind of person.
Lynette stands in the room now, surrounded by blue, little stars across the ceiling shaping the constellations in the ever-rotating night sky. She wonders how long those feelings of misery had lasted. How long her brothers had suffered in silence.
You can’t blame yourself for everything.
But I hate myself for not stepping in where I could have.
As children, when Lynette was kidnapped by those big men, it was Father who stepped in to save her. On the streets, it was Lyney who covered her when their tricks went wrong or their scars showed, and it was him who kept her so warm at night. It was Furina giving her entire life and being to save someone like Lynette, who went from being rather melodramatic to soft spoken and kind. It was Freminet who went and talked to Lyney that final night when Lynette had been too hesitant.
Maybe some things were meant to happen, maybe some things she couldn’t change or things she couldn’t help–but she had lost Freminet already.
She couldn’t lose Lyney. Not now.
But how do I help a person when I’m not even sure what is wrong?

Chapter Text

The Thing About After
Navia

The Spina di Rosula’s headquarters in the Fleuve Cendre–later that evening, the streets are quiet and dim, as if they too were mourning the loss of a child. The three are the only ones strolling the perimeter other than the guards, which is unusual–usually there are people drinking at the bar. But tonight it is just them, and soon just the guards as they enter Navia’s small office.
“I’ll have to send these over for closer inspection… did you want me to take a picture of the letter too?”
“That’s fine,” Navia’s golden curls still bounce despite their dampness, and she brushes them over her shoulder deliberately, “Any time you get them done is fine, but the sooner the better.”
Charlotte nods, gesturing to Furina, who holds the bottle in her hands, “Furina?” The pink-haired girl asks gently.
Furina has no response, her gaze empty.
Navia taps the lady’s shoulder, “Furina, could we borrow the bottle?”
“Bottle? Bottle, ah…” she murmurs under her breath, and holds it over. Where her hands once were, the bottle is warm, and Navia strokes it momentarily before handing it to Charlotte, who sets it on the table and takes photos from each angle with extreme care.
Thunder still rumbles, the old and rusty pieces of metal that form sidewalks over the sewer water creaking outside. The light overhead flickers, and in response the fly clinging to it zooms away, somewhere out of sight and out of mind.
Out of all the cases I’ve ever cracked, I think this one might be the most… extreme? Memorable? This one might be the most memorable case I’ve ever encountered, Navia shakes her head and removes her hat, revealing her hair matted with sweat and frizzing. She’ll have to do something about that when her guests leave.
The door rattles with three taps that Navia recognizes–one of her advisors. She opens it and finds him with his hands crossed, shaking his head. “Demoiselle. It’s not safe to be down here right now. A flood barrier on the east side of the city just broke and the Fleuve runs the risk of being flooded,” He gestures to the fast moving water, which harbors a cold mist above it now, “It’s best we find somewhere else to stay in case of any emergency.”
“I agree,” Navia nods, “Make sure everyone down here knows where their safe place is in case they don’t want to spend the night. I’ll set up a patrol or two, and perhaps join them…” she trails off, and for a moment her eyelids draw to a close and she feels as though she might collapse.
“Demoiselle, there is no need to push yourself,” the man says.
But there might be people who need me tonight–what if something bad happens…! What if the Fleuve Cendre floods, and what if—
“Navia, you’re worrying again,” Charlotte’s voice echoes from the back of the room, “You should rest. It’s been at least a decade since the underground flooded last. I’m sure that everything will be alright,” she offers a convincing and rosy smile.
Furina pipes in. “If-If we’re really worried about the flooding, then how about the two of you come to my house for the evening? It’s really not that clean and I can’t offer anything other than spaghetti but…”
“Spaghetti sounds great,” Charlotte says enthusiastically, taking her things and in one wide sweep, she cradles her folders in her hands.
“That’s kind of you, Furina,” Navia smiles, a small weight lifted off of her shoulders. Even though the Spina di Rosula was doing well, they didn’t have enough money for things like a hotel or a rental, and it certainly wasn’t in Navia’s interest to take space in the survival center when she could go somewhere else…
The man at the door clears his throat, “Demoiselle. Sometimes you’re so hard on yourself, especially when you’re tired. Please, rest. You can handle it in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Navia nods, and soon the three are off, under the shade of Navia’s ribbon-adorned parasol, among the school of people making their way towards the surface.

▶︎ •။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊ ။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌၊ ။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊• 1:11

Soaked and cold they arrive the apartment, every window dark and every curtain drawn, Furina twisting her keys anxiously in the lock of her door before finally getting it open. Her movements are janky. I wonder if it’s the idea of flooding that’s making her worry so much, Navia shakes her head, feeling guilty. She really hopes she isn’t bothering anyone. Stop thinking like that, Navia. It was just an advisory and a watch. Nothing serious.
She remembered when she first met Freminet.
The flood waters were rising. Her father was screaming her name.
But she had pulled a woman and her son from the debris-clouded water. It was one of her first rescue missions, and those two were the first people she had ever saved. After the wreckage, she brought them food and warm clothes. Even bought some handmade clockwork made by the little boy. She remembered his frigid eyes and his gentle freckles, his pale skin and frail body. When she didn’t see either of them for a very long time, she thought they had died–but Freminet’s mother had been murdered and her son was now a member of the House of the Hearth.
Navia had only ever spoken to Freminet’s mother, and never him before. The first time they spoke was when he thanked Navia for being so warm and generous, especially for saving his siblings. He had been so scared and small that day–Navia decided that maybe they should talk more. Maybe he would want to know some more things about his mother? How much she really loved him?
The conversation over macaroons never happened. Navia wished it did, but Freminet always seemed to have something going on. Those three-they were always so busy, arguably busier than her. How much rest did they get?
She sighs, sitting down on the couch in a comfy robe.
Sweet Freminet.
Everyone seemed to notice the signs, but she felt that out of all of them, she barely knew him at all. Was it right of her to cry back there? Was is still right for her to keep being involved in the case? Should she stick around? What could she do?
“Miss Navia? Dinner’s ready,” Furina calls in a singsong voice, and the three of them eat their buttery fettuccine in silence.
What could she do, what could she do, what could she do… Navia wonders the entire time.
It didn’t feel right to just drop the case, but what could she do? Even if the three of them were to submit their files and close the case, what about after that? She knew Lyney was planning to host some kind of ceremony for his brother, but still…
The rain gently pitter-patters on the window, the misty mornings blending into one another, the hours blurring into days which blurred into cold, colorless months.

Chapter Text

The Thing Is…
Lynette

Autumn.
Dry leaves get caught in the zephyrs of wind that creep across the streets of the Court, spinning in their mini cyclones and dancing across well-walked passageways, stirring at Lynette’s feet. Her boots click on the ground behind her as she strides slowly towards the door of the office, labeled with a number plaque, the paint beginning to fade. She bites her lip gloved hands pausing as she reaches delicately for the ring of the door.
A quick breath–she grips the hook tight and knocks the door three times, bold and quick, and then she pulls back, hands folded in her lap. She can hear footsteps in the room behind, though they are very slow. When the door finally opens, Lynette gasps and scoots back–a thick stack of papers leaning against it pours out, cascading at the toes of her boots.
The girl at the door gulps, her eyes down. She swallows deeply. “I wasn’t expecting you,” she says quietly.
Lynette purses her lips together.
Furina’s eyelashes flutter as she lifts her head, giving Lynette a brief moment to study her face. It is pale, glowing, and her eyes seem to be bulging out of her skull. Her hair is matted and oily, and she reeks of oil and tomatoes.
“I’m so sorry about the–the mess–” she begins, but Lynette bends down to the ground, scoops the papers flooding the hallway up, and meets Furina’s eyes.
“I don’t mind. Could we talk?” She holds the papers hopefully. Furina nods, a croak in her throat, and opens the door with a creak for her visitor.
The curtains to the room are slightly opened and the dim light of fall peeps in; wintery light reveals the dusty walls and the yellowing floor, the holes in the wood and the spiderwebs strung in dusty corners.
“How did you find out where I lived?” Furina asks, leaning on the edge of her counter. What’s left on the edge, at least–every spot of the counter is occupied by paper plates and bags of trash.
Lynette looks for a place to sit, and ends up leaning against the wall, answering “I asked Navia.”
“Navia…” Furina seems lost in thought… “How is she? I haven’t seen her since…”
“She’s doing well,” Lynette nods, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, “And so is Charlotte.”
“How is Lyney?” Furina’s words are like a knife, piercing through the air.
Lynette wraps her arms around her waist.
“How are you, Furina?” she questions, lifting her head. By the looks of it… she hasn’t left her house for a while. Lynette, waiting for a response, looks down at the letters in her hands. This date was from two weeks ago…
“I–I’m really hungry.”
“Then let’s get food.”
“I have to wash…”
“Okay. I’ll wait.”

▶︎ •။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊ ။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌၊ ။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊• 11:42

Same cafe. Same booth. Same waiter.
The same tiramisu, the same strawberry cake.
Not things Lynette would remember on the average day, but the days up to Freminet’s death she could remember as if they had just happened. Every day since that, well…. She couldn’t remember.
“Thank you,” Furina says quietly, sitting on the opposite side of the booth. Instead of poking at her cake with uncertainty (like Lynette thought she would), she began to eat, stuffing her face full. When the waiter passes by, Lynette signals for him to bring another cake.
“About why I wanted to talk to you,” Lynette begins, clearing her throat, “The… the thing is that I’m not sure what to do.”
Furina tilts her head.
“It’s just that…” she trails off, “We haven’t done anything. We know Freminet died, but after that I just… we did nothing.”
Lynette never thought she could speak so much in one go, but she began to talk about what she had noticed. Navia was back to helping with the Spina di Rosula, nodding at her when they brushed shoulders on the streets, but they had never had a conversation. She had also seen Charlotte multiple times at some of her solo shows and big banquets… this was stuff she wouldn’t normally care for but…
“Hey, Furina, didn’t you play for the Little Oceanid a while ago?” Lynette stops.
“I–I did,” Furina coughs, “But it took a lot of energy. It’s hard to… you know, get back into it. Even if I did have a good time.”
Lynette nods.
“I do plan on coming back. Maybe directing some shows. Helping others shine.”
“Right,” Lynette feels something aching in the back of her throat.
Furina’s being really genuine right now.
A door bell rings as some customers make their way out, leaving the two of them as the only people in the cafe. Lynette braces herself.
“You asked about Lyney. The truth is he’s not doing very well. He’s ill, you could say,” she shifts uncomfortably. The front of my head is already feeling so weird… I’ve talked too much…
But she keeps going anyway.
The days went something like this: they found Freminet’s suicide note and sent it in the next day. Two days of testing after and the case for his death was closed. Long overdue, on the same day, his funeral was held. Lynette can’t remember it well. And then the days passed. She returned to the Epiclese alone. Came as a guest star on other shows. People wanted her to be an actor, and so she joined a play for a little bit. She was on her own for hours each day, and came home and barely said anything. Her complicated missions were now being passed down to the other children at the Hearth. Father had begun to whisper her name behind her back. Lyney, all the while, remained in his room.
“I came in a few times,” Lynette recalls quietly, “And he was hiding under his sheets. I sat on the floor for hours. I could–I could smell something vaguely metallic. It must have been blood. And I just…” she pipes her head up.
Did–did Furina just touch my cheek?!
In truth, Lynette had barely been paying attention, and Furina had certainly not reached out to her. Instead her eyes reflected Lynette, her face with tears.
Archons. She didn’t even realize she was crying.
Her eyes seemed to burn, like a cold fire spreading across her face until she couldn’t even feel her pounding heart in her chest.
“I… I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t even know what to say to him. My own brother,” she folds, her forehead on the cold marble of the table, her knees pressed tightly together.
Lynette hears the chair in front of her puff out air, as if the person had gotten off of it, and she feels heat next to her–she can see Furina out of the corner of her eye, looking at her.
“I’ve never… comforted someone before, um… so… would you like a hug?”
Lynette nods, and Furina wraps her arms around her loosely. Yet it doesn’t feel awkward. It feels delicate. Lynette begins to sob, and Furina holds her a little tighter, for a lot longer.
“You know…” Furina says once Lynette’s hiccups have ceased, “Freminet’s birthday is coming up in a little bit. We should honor him and celebrate his life,” she adds after taking a deep breath, “He wouldn’t have wanted to see his dear sister like this. He would want you to get back on your feet, Lynette. Lyney too.”
She’s right.
Lynette lifts her head, her face hot from the embarrassment, her body quivering, her chest tightening. She has a suggestion.
“Let’s go find Navia and Charlotte.”

Chapter Text

The Thing About Rain
Lynette

Pouring, again.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have an umbrella,” Lynette looks up at the sky through her long lashes. The rain drips off the heavy outdoor umbrellas, dropping on her boots.
Furina peeps, also standing next to her. “It’s okay to get rained on sometimes. It’s a reminder of why umbrellas are so important…” she trails off.
There sure is a lot of water…
“Heavy,” the gusts only get stronger, “Do you think it’s enough to cause a flood?” the lady’s voice quivers, and Furina looks at Lynette with wide eyes.
“No, of course not,” the cat shakes her head and looks from the left to the right. People on the streets are yelling at each other, hauling boxes of fruits and shelves of light novels out of the open and under their booths, which are mere pieces of fabric that don’t cover the sides enough to protect anything from the rain. A little girl hovers over her dog. Thunder booms. The dog barks.
If it were raining in the middle of the week and I was wanting to find a nosy journalist… uhm… I’d want to go back to the office and get some work done over a warm cup of cocoa, Lynette turns in the direction of the Steambird offices and gestures for Furina to come along, and the two walk silently side by side.
Before Freminet’s death, Lynette knew next to nothing about Furina other than the fact that she was the former archon. Her behavior was… to say the least, hard to explain. It was a little neurotic, a bit dramatic… Lynette could barely get anything useful out of her. If anything, she thought Furina was playing an act, but she thought that was because she wanted to appear as an all-powerful god. Well, Furina did do just that, but not for the reason anyone had expected. Not even Lynette herself.
The impact a five-hundred-year act must have on a person… Lynette could still barely hold herself together for a night of performances, and she had been doing so her entire life. Pain. I only imagine pain. And many tears. I wonder how something like that was arranged in the first place…?
Best not to ask, she closes her eyes, though the curiosity pricks at her.
“Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don’t cry…”
Lynette’s ears perk up and she looks towards Furina, her hands folded at her chest as if in prayer.
“You know, Freminet used to say that all the time,” Lynette barely smiles, the thought of her brother drawing dragons on the shower mirror racing through her mind.
Furina purses her lips together, “Did he really?”
“Yes.”
“He struck me as the type to like fairytales.”
“He does–did,” Lynette corrects herself quickly, clearing her throat, “He kept a secret stash by his bed. In the drawer of his nightstand we found storybooks from ages ago–about the snow-winged goose and the princess in the shell… boar princesses and imaginary theatres… oh, on his birthday every year, he’d take Lyney and I to his favorite place under the sea and told us a whole bunch of stories using shadow puppets.”
“Really?” Furina chuckles, a hand over her mouth like a lady as she smiles at her companion sweetly.
For the first time Lynette feels something she hasn’t felt in a while. It’s as if she’s made the perfect tea and let it sit in her hands for a while, cats at her feet and her siblings by her side. A feeling of warmth.
“One of his birthdays when we were much younger, we escaped to the undersea area and Freminet was telling us the story about a little barnacle at the bottom of the sea, watching the world go by. And there was this exciting rushing noise I’d call it, and a giant school of fish alongside Fontanian creatures like blubber fish and jellyfish erupted from the darkness and circled around us. It felt like the entire ocean was dancing with him and listening to his voice,” Lynette feels the need to spin on the street, and so she does, putting her hands behind her and swirling delicately, as if onstage with her brothers, “Maybe he couldn’t find it within him to perform for people, but he certainly delivered for us,” she smiles.
The blue-eyed girl stops, “I wish I could have been there. Known him better.”
Lynette’s fluttering heart begins to descend, and her light and airy feet are suddenly grounded, “What do you mean?”
“I… I’ve seen him in the Epiclese a thousand more times than I’ve spoken to him. The first time I bumped into him on the way out of a trial where he was bringing things in for a show, and the other time was randomly in the wilderness…”
She tilts her head slightly.
“I mean… he barely talked to me. The first time he was so awkward–we ended up stuck in the back room for a little while. He was sorting out some magical contraption and I asked him to explain it to me. I believe it was some sort of thing you were going to use for your show, and explained that it was probably best he didn’t since it would ruin the surprise. And then he left.”
He was never good with people, Lynette shakes her head, but the familiarity of it stings. When Furina doesn’t continue, Lynette asks, “So what about the other time?”
Furina doesn’t talk.
Doesn’t matter. Under one of the golden streetlights before them is Charlotte, also without an umbrella, tapping her foot as she holds a copy of the Steambird above her head. Her eyes widen when she sees Lynette and Furina, and Lynette watches her hesitate before waving at them with her open hand. “Hey!” her voice is drowned out by the thunder, but she continues to call, “How are you?”
Lynette expects Furina to respond, but she doesn’t say anything, and the two approach Charlotte with an awkward silence.
“Good, thank you,” Lynette ends up bowing respectfully. Furina offers a kind look.
“Euphrasie–oh, she’s my coworker–said that I could go home early today. I’m gonna make the most amazing tea and… wait, you guys should come over!”
“Actually, uhm… we were looking to talk to you,” Lynette clears her throat, “Thank you for the kind offer, but…”
“I insist. You both look cold and miserable,” she shakes her head, and rubs her foggy monocle with her wet sleeve.
Furina puts her hand to her lips. “I don’t have anywhere I need to be.”
“I don’t have anything either,” Lynette adds.
“Please, come with me then!” Charlotte gestures to the empty street in front of them, and skips across it with utmost delight, splashing in the puddles. Furina and Lynette wait hesitantly at the streetlamp, while Charlotte hops onto the next corner.
I… is all Lynette can think, watching the journalist’s mouth move while no sound comes out of it.
Furina grabs Lynette’s arm gently and begins to pull her over, over to the other side, where that bright-eyed girl is enthusiastically waiting.

▶︎ •။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊ ။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌၊ ။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊• 5:55

Charlotte lives in a small apartment only a few streets down from the House of the Hearth, the Steambird might be clear from her giant window if the day was a lot clearer. Her unit is shiny and clean and smells slightly of lavender and Fonta, emitting from the small machine bubbling in the corner of her tiny white kitchen with a dining table that also serves as an island. She plops down on the red and slightly-worn couch in the living room, sighing loudly–and jumps back up so fast Lynette wonders if she got whiplash.
“Can I get you anything? Water or a small snack?”
Lynette and Furina both shake their heads, though Lynette feels her mouth drying as she takes a seat in one of the armchairs next to the fireplace, above which sits a little kettle. The former archon, however, finds herself sitting on a pillow she pulled from next a bin in the corner and makes herself… comfortable, if you could call it that, curled up on the floor.
“Lynette?”
Lynette turns her head to look at Furina, her head peeking out of her folded arms, “Does the House of the Hearth actually have a fireplace inside of it?”
“Yes.”
“Forgive me for… asking so much… but is it like… big?” Furina opens her hands and cringes, her pearly white teeth in a half-smile and half disappointed stare.
Lynette matches her, trying to figure out the sizing of the place herself. “Well… It’s the same size as Charlotte’s fireplace, I’d guess,” she opens her hands to about the size of three people squishing next to each other, and just a little bit more, narrowing her eyes, “Something like that.”
The girl’s bright blue eyes glimmer with the curiosity of a little child, and Lynette supposes there isn’t any harm in telling the details.
“It’s the center wall in this hexagon-shaped room, surrounded by two arching and intricately designed windows that the cats like lounging on. We have a record player on one side that Lyney and Freminet often fought over… and there’s a tea table where tea and games are always waiting. Lyney and I usually sat on the middle couch facing the fireplace while Freminet sat on the edge of the one on the right, and we’d share stories super late at night when the other kids had gone to bed. Father had an armchair way behind us, and I’m not sure why she liked it so much…” Lynette shrugs. Even though the heart was the smallest part of the House, it seemed to bring everyone together.
From a young age, children gathered ato play round the Hearth; and as Lyney and Lynette got older it turned into a place for storytelling and for Father to listen. “Tea and biscuits! Oh, and some tuna sandwiches… hopefully that’s not too much sauce for either of you,” Charlotte smiles, and they eventually dig in.
Lynette does like fish… however, the tuna is a little saucy for her liking… Furina, however, gobbles it up in an instant. She struck me as the type of person to be super picky with food… All I could smell around her house was dust and cooked pasta, Lynette quietly sips, Charlotte’s fingers anxiously twitching in the direction of the radio behind them as the silence ate at them too.
“So… Lynette. What did you wanna talk about?” The journalist sets down her plate, crosses one leg over the other, and focuses her emerald eyes directly on her.
“Freminet. We wanted to do something for him, since his birthday is coming up soon,” Lynette nods.
“Oh, I see. I think Furina mentioned at some point that Lyney was writing something and she felt compelled to be a part of it…” Charlotte takes her invisible pen and taps it on the side of her face, nodding to herself, “Did you remember what it was about perchance?”
“It was the tale of the Snow-Winged Goose,” she confirms with a slight nod, “The one where the penguins were from space…”
The journalist exclaims, clapping her hands together, “Ah! That one! The one he named Pers after! He used to tell me about it all the time! F-Freminet, I mean.”
He did, huh? He never talked about books with any of our siblings unless they asked… Did something happen between him and Charlotte?
I want to know.
“The only problem is that… if we’re going to carry out any sort of play, we need a script. And the writer is currently… Lyney. How is he?” The journalist again feels more like an interrogator than a friend, and Lynette’s heart pangs inside her chest.
What is she supposed to tell them?
That she hasn’t seen him in a month?
A month.
A month is a long time not to see someone you share a house with.
She feels her ears droop and her tail swishes nervously behind her.
The door. Locked. The keys–not even she could find them. The smell. The smell from the room was like dust and something else laced in, like a dark poison that ran through her nostrils and pricked the hairs of her skin. A smell she couldn’t label, but a smell so familiar at the same time…
“Is he… alive?” Charlotte asks weakly.
Lightning flashes. The swinging light above them flashes.
Is he alive? Lynette wonders to herself, falling deeper into the rabbit hole of her own mind. No, no–if Lyney were alive then Father would have said something by now. And I’m sure I’d be able to tell if he wasn’t… her heart is stabbed again, Though the plates from his room come out barely touched. Just what keeps him alive in there? Does he ever leave?
Her eyes fill with a distinct screeching sound, as if she has been clanged in the head by some pot or pan. Nausea all over her body, Lynette leans back in her chair, watching dark shadows fill the edges of her vision until she feels them cover it completely, and she closes her eyes and hears the fading sound of yelling, panicking, and someone yelling for Lady Arlecchino.

▶︎ •။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊ ။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌၊ ။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊• 8:88

No, don’t call–!
Quietly hunched over Lynette’s paralyzed body is a woman with red cross eyes, narrowed and partly covered by her swan-like hair. Her face is pale and her lips are even darker of a red, one of her long claws–claws, Lynette thinks, are more fitting than fingernails–graces the edges of her cheek.
…Father.
She sinks deeper into the mattress of whatever she’s laying in now, which is against a blank white sort of ceiling.
“She’s awake. Charlotte, if you would get her some water.”
Quick and padded footsteps, followed by the sound of clinking ice and trickling water.
I passed out, Lynette begins to pull herself up from her sleeping position, but Father lays a heavy hand on her shoulder and gives her a stern look. “Keep laying down. It’ll help you feel better.”
Her heart is going fast, her stomach is twisted, her chest feels as though it has been filled with gas and stone weights have been pressed onto it. “Am I…”
“Rest,” Father pushes a finger to Lynette’s lips, and the two others present crowd over her. Father pushes them back to give Lynette some space.
“You passed out talking about Lyney, correct?” she shuffles uneasily, which is a first that makes Lynette feel as though she has woken up in some liminal space or parallel universe. Father leans in, “Lynette.”
She nods briskly.
“He isn’t well.”
Father hasn’t necessarily ever been good with words.
Sometimes I wish she would mince them.
Furina’s eyes darting and fingertips shaking more than anyone has in Father’s presence makes Lynette nervous herself. Did something happen while she was out? Yet she stays and opens her mouth to ask, “Is he alright?”
“I think,” Father answers.
“You think, Lady Arlecchino?” Charlotte is caught in her bewilderment, and so is Lynette. Not because of Lyney for a moment, but because of her almost indecisive answer.
“I think that you should stop asking questions. Lynette, you should head home now. It’s getting late,” Father shakes her head, “You have a show tomorrow, and I suggest you get some rest.”
Father’s suggestions aren’t really suggestions. They’re commands, Lynette has learned as she brings herself shakily to her feet with Charlotte supporting her from behind, her eyes lingering on the condensating glass with untouched water as Father’s heels click across the floor.
“Goodnight, Ladies. Sorry for all the trouble. And thank you for taking care of my daughter,” Father clenches the door knob and leaves without another word, then closes it almost in a rush and begins walking Lynette to the stairwell.
Hot tears fill her eyes once more, and Lynette dares to speak at a time like this.
“Father, if I may,” she stops in the middle of the hallway. It’s embarrassing. Her tears drip on the stained carpet and she feels as if she is asking the attention of gods themselves.
Father barely turns around.
“When will I get to see my brother again?”

Chapter Text

Extreme Trigger Warnings Apply

The Thing About Lyney
Lynette

Pouring, still.
The question of whether or not she will be able to see those two–or anyone for that matter–plagues Lynette’s mind as she digs her nails into her arm, and she lowers her head with shame as the drops continue to hammer her back. They’re like pebbles of rough stones and arrowheads, fiery tears or perhaps acid rain, and she shakes her head with pure guilt.
“Do you want to see your brother again?” Was all Father had asked, but Lynette could not say yes or no. She didn’t know if she wanted to–she couldn’t really decide–would the sight be too much for her? But at the same time…
They reach the misted doors of the House, Father rings the doorbell and one of the children comes to answer, letting the door come open on it’s own as if to avoid the rain. “Lynette, where have–”
Lynette barely hears the way Father scolds the child as they make their way into the sickening humidity of the House, her clothing sticking her like a piece of paper in a puddle of water. What kind of example am I setting out for these kids… Lynette barely finishes asking the question as she is guided into her room and into clothes already set out for her, alongside a cup of cocoa that’s still somewhat warm. A tradition for some of the kids in the House is to show hospitality to siblings. Lynette gulps down, though she isn’t sure if the warmness inside makes her feel better either.
Will she be punished? Assigned a mission? Sent off?
A rap on her door and Father enters as Lynette finishes buttoning up her shirt, one off the top and bottom left undone so it’s a little easier for her to breathe–despite the shirt being a size up. There’s a little stool next to Lynette’s messy vanity; and Father picks up one of the fallen lipsticks, rightly named something like blood red. The thought of blood makes Lynette sick. How ironic, she thinks to herself as she sits on the edge of her bed, Father’s silent judgement falling over her.
“Your quietness is your strength.”
What’s the point in saying that, Father? Lynette avoids her iron gaze by looking at the floor, which has collected some crumbs over time.
“Lyney needs you.”
Lynette looks up. “Huh?”
From seemingly thin air, Father pulls a key out from behind her and extends it to Lynette, her eyes lowered as if almost ashamed. “Your new mission is to take care of your brother.”
“My brother?”
“Your brother.”
Lynette’s throat swell, and her heart throbs in her chest once more.
“Go,” Father says, gently now, and Lynette takes the key from her hands hesitantly, turning it over in her fingers.
But… what am I supposed to do with it? Her tails flicks with anxiety, and she turns the key over again, as if it’s going to tell her something she doesn’t already know.
For the first time in her life, she realizes.
She is scared.
But she doesn’t quite know why.

▶︎ •။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊ ။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌၊ ။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊• 09:88

“No, Lyney needs to focus right now. That’s why his door is locked,” Father puts the key into the door in front of the little girl.
“But I made him cookies!” She protests, “And I swear–”
“That is enough,” Father’s cold voice strikes fear in the hearts of everyone around them, “Lyney is busy. He will play with you later.”
“Lyney! We miss you!” Protests the little girl before Father begins to shout at the children, and all of them disperse. Lynette is frozen, her tail tucked under her leg as Father’s eyes land on her.
Later, they’re in one of the side rooms in the house. Father sits cross legged at the table, stiff as a stone. Lynette stands beneath a painting of orchids on the wall, her head bowed in respect.
Father reveals to her that Lyney has chosen to lock himself in his room. The only person allowed in is Father, to check him and to feed him and maintain on his health.
“What? But did Lyney talk to you?” Lynette stares in utter disbelief, feeling that something has gone terribly wrong.
“No,” Father shakes her head plainly, and exhales deeply, “The only thing he does is stare at the wall. You will not ask to enter his room.”
“Yes, Father.”
Lynette’s eyes lower. First Freminet, and then her own brother. The only two people she could trust with almost anything. Why do I have to lose them? Why is it just me now? She dips her head with respect and makes her way out, the heavy door shutting as she drags it behind her.
Hurts. It all hurts. She retreats to her bedside. She won’t shower tonight. She doesn’t feel like eating. I’m tired. I just want to sleep.
But of course, she can’t.
Lynette usually didn’t do any of the talking. Or working. It was always Lyney who made her orders at the cafe, always Lyney who played with the other kids in his spare time. It was always Freminet fixing the machine for the cats, always Freminet telling stories and coming home late smelling like smoke, metal, and oil. She missed it now–the gentle smell of something sweet, the smell of sea salt in the wind.
At first, it was the smell of her brothers she missed. Then tea. Then cake. And she lost track from there.
She could say that life returned to normal, but really, it didn’t.
All the shows.
All the acting. And being mistaken for a puppet.
Asked to participate in shows.
Performing without a hand to hold.
Being the center of attention.
Constantly asked the question, “Where is Lyney?”
Trading glances with old acquaintances on the street.
Eating alone.
Groceries alone.
Missions alone.
Alone.
Lynette remembers collapsing on her bed after another long day of–of everything happening. Her jaw felt numb. Her limbs were sore. It was as if color didn’t exist anymore–and she forgot what it was like to taste anything other than bitterness, tiredness, guilt.
What could she have done differently?
Often times, Lynette would lean against the wall she shared with her brother, pressing her ear to it as if to hear him shuffling. She remembered after a week of being locked up–or maybe it was two–there were cries. And sniffs. And that was all for a while, and then one night she decided she’d hum him to sleep. The lullaby seemed to extend into the night, and she would fall asleep when her voice had given out and her eyes had given up–hoping and praying that he heard.
He was somewhere in there. On the other side of the wall.
She knew he was.
She just couldn’t feel it. Or bring herself to imagine what was happening.
That’s what she was scared of, she realized and forgot and realized again.
A life without the person she loves most would not be a life at all.

▶︎ •။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊ ။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌၊ ။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊• 3:21

As she stands at the door of Lyney’s room, she struggles to put the key into the lock and holds a hand to her chest, which aches and longs and aches again.
He needs me, doesn’t he?
Doesn’t he need me?
Does he?
Lynette hesitates to twist.
I want to help him.
And… and Freminet would want to as well. He tried. It’s my turn.
“I’m coming, Lyney,” she twists the key, then the handle, and pushes through the door–quietly, as if entering the room of someone sleeping.
Lynette didn’t know what she was expecting.
But she wasn’t expecting this.
Lyney’s room is barely touched and reeks of rot and dust and odor. Papers are scattered across the floor, mingled in between them kamera pictures from years past, some flipped upside down and others drawn on. Letters are thrown everywhere, marked but never sent; food sits untouched in the corner.
Something gleams by the bed. An unmistakable gleam that slips under the cover of darkness.
And by it is Lyney, sat crossed on his bed and beginning to lay down, his eyes lowered. His hair has lost it’s shine, little fringes he used to make a fuss about pertruding from his matted bangs which seem to cling to his face. His hands are lame at his side. His arms are thin and scrawny, his head tilted towards his shoulder as if a rag doll, his face is ghostly in the light of a waning candle.
Lynette swallows.
Hard.
Slowly she tiptoes towards him. He slips under the blanket in protest. Does he realize that I’m here…? She squints and feels the sickness rising in her chest, the nausea in her stomach, the want to vomit. As she faces him head on, she gets to her knees and lands her two hands on the edge of his bed, prepping her face on them delicately.
She studies him.
Lyney’s once strawberry red and meaty face is so thin she can see his cheekbones rising, like steep mountains amidst a translucent plane. Lynette covers her mouth when she gets close to him.
No.
No it can’t be, she tells herself, I don’t believe it.
“Lyney…?” she beckons him, her voice soft. She looks at his lips. Pale. She looks down–Lyney is fully covered by the blanket, his hands gripping the edge of the sheets tightly. They’re almost shaking. And Lyney’s breathing is heaving, and so invisible Lynette’s only hint that he was alive would be that he was moving in his bed.
Lyney.
Oh, archons.
What did I do to you?
Freminet. This is the sight that must have run through his mind when he confronted Lyney, the reason he got so scared. Lynette couldn’t see it at the time, but now that it was in front of her–she understood now that she couldn’t accept it then.
But it had been shoved down her throat now.
“Lyney, I…” she starts, and stops.
The thought of the gleam.
What should she do?
With delicacy, she moves her hand under Lyney’s pillow, which he lays his head on. It’s unusually hard to lift.
Am I going to regret this…? Lynette suddenly shoves her hand under, grabs something, and yanks the thing out.
A knife.
The edges are sharp, so sharp Lynette didn’t realize she cut a bit of her finger on it. She stares at the blood, and then at Lyney.
Wide eyed. But there is no light in those lavender eyes.
“Lyney… have you been hurting yourself?” The words spill out with the tears, and Lynette grabs the edge of his blanket with much hesitation, and Lyney lets her pull it with no fighting back. He’s wearing his pajamas, shorts and a button-up shirt.
But his thighs and his arms are covered in them.
Cuts. His wrists are streaked with them. Blood drips onto the bed.
Lyney’s mouth opens. His eyes are wide. Yet he cannot speak.
Lynette stares at the stain as it melds with the bedsheets, coloring the white a crimson red.
Did Father know? How long has this been happening? How come–how come I never noticed? Lynette finds herself retracing her steps, back to months ago when Lyney wore long sleeves in the middle of summer, when it was the extreme heat that bothered him so much. To when there was a smell that was familiar and unfamiliar until she didn’t know what it was at all. To when he stopped talking. In between there, it was something then.
And she did notice.
But she never did anything about it.
I… I’m an awful person– “Lyney, I’m so sorry I–I didn’t do anything sooner…” Lynette can barely speak as she falls to her knees, grasping her brother’s hurt wrists in her hands with no intention other than to hold them. To hold him again.
How long? How long was he in this silent agony? Lynette’s head falls to the bed, and she wonders–what sort of guilt had Lyney been feeling? Her brother moves slowly now, pursing his lips together and slowly curling into his own body, avoiding Lynette completely.
She wishes Freminet were here.
If Freminet were here… what would Freminet do…
Freminet has never been able to speak for himself. The one time he did speak, it was partly for Lynette because she couldn’t bring herself to talk to Lyney about his facade. She still had no reason why. She chose not to take action and it had led tothis?
Lynette sobs, and through her cloudy tears, she lifts her eyes to look at her brother. He stares at her, a tear of his own running down his face.
“Lyney…” she locks eyes with him, the words scrambling in her head until they pour out of her mouth.
“Can-can we– can I hug you?” She cries, and regrets it. What sort of person would want a hug after clearly implying that a hug is the last thing they would want–?
A gentle touch. Lyney holds her hands now, and the two of them stare at each other, as if people meeting for the first time once more. “Lyney…” is all Lynette can muster as she herself pulls him into a hug, clenching him tightly around his back as she buries her face into his shoulder, the lingering sweetness of honey left in his hair and the vanilla wrapping Lynette hangs in the space between them.
Freminet has never been able to speak for himself. So he let his actions speak for him.
Hugs.
Their little brother somehow weaved his way into Lyney and Lynette’s arms every single time.
When Lyney grasps Lynette tighter, she bites back her words and shakes her head, only relieved that her brother is still alive. “Lyney, I love you,” No response, and eventually Lynette lets go, staring at her brother once more with sadness in her eyes.
What can she do for him now?
“Would it be okay if I helped you clean up?”
Lyney nods, and gratefully, Lynette helps him to his feet and brings him into their bathroom.

▶︎ •။‌‌‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊ ။‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊။‌‌‌၊။‌‌‌‌‌၊ ။‌‌‌‌‌ ၊• 3:51

Father, for the first time, cleaned a child’s room. She adjusted furniture, folded papers together and set them neatly on top of each other. It was Lynette who sat Lyney down on a chair, fixed his bed, and searched for anything particularly sharp or dangerous. And they together moved the boy to his bed, tucked the blanket to his neck but under his gauze-wrapped shoulders, and wished him well.
“I’ll give you another minute,” Father leaves the room quietly, and Lynette isn’t quite sure if that means taking a genuine minute or leaving as soon as possible to meet in the hallway, but then that doesn’t matter. Lyney turns towards Lynette.
His eye bags. They’re so heavy despite the amount of sleep the Director said he was getting each night. Lynette sits on the edge of his bed, and Lyney reaches out to hold one of her hands.
As if to say “Don’t go.”
Freminet did the same thing,
We’re lucky he lasted so long if anything… Lynette tells herself, stroking his fingers as if petting a cat. She puts his hand down and assures him, “I’ll be right back, okay? I’m outside.”
He blinks as if to say I know, and Lynette gets up hesitantly, debating as to whether or not she should close the door.
Considering the time she allows a sliver of light to seep through as she meets Father, who strokes a rose with narrowed eyes.
“I did not know he was a danger to himself,” are Father’s first words, and Lynette goes quiet, and Lynette sees remorse that turns into frustration in her eyes, “How did such a thing slip right through my fingers?”
“It happened to me as well, Father,” Lynette unwillingly confesses and grips her own arm, “And… and I wasn’t sure what you wanted me to do about it.”
Father’s eyes widen, and she comes over Lynette, her shadow swallowing her child’s as she approaches. She reaches out her hand and tucks one of Lynette’s free-flowing pieces of hair behind her ears and leaves it there, observing her face and the rest of her body.
“What do you think you should do, Lynette?” Father no longer sounds condescending. Instead of giving demands, she listens, and Lynette’s mind goes completely blank.
Is there an answer she’s looking for, or does she really want my opinion…? Lynette squeezes her eyes.
Lyney, if anything, feels guilt right now.
He might even feel judged.
Knowing how creative he can be with his tools and how quickly his mind gets to him… Lynette shakes her head, “Father, I don’t know if this is possible, but… would it be okay for me to sleep in his room tonight?”
Father blinks, though she is understanding. Lynette, for a brief moment, is glad that she doesn’t have to explain to her. “Ask him if it’s alright. Pull yourself a mattress and if not then I’ll be keeping an eye on him.”
Lyney doesn’t seem to have a negative response to the idea when Lynette walks in–he’s clearly been eavesdropping, based on the way he lays on his side. It’s not long before his sister has moved in, and Lyney studies her, pretending to look away when she glances at him.
I wonder what’s going through his head…
Countless apologies, I assume.
I am as well… Lynette bites her bottom lip and burrows into her blanket facing toward her brother.
The rain outside has slowed to the occasional pitter-patter on the window, and a cold mist has set over the night. Father’s echoing footsteps indicate that she’s gone to the master bedroom, and Lynette locks eyes with Lyney.
Tears, she feels, and she tries to blink them away.
“Lyney, I promise you that I understand,” she murmurs, and her brother turns the other way.
Lynette sighs, taking a deep breath before speaking, “It’s not your fault, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
He stops breathing.
Lynette does too.
Have I said too much?
But it’s true. He never meant to hurt Freminet when they fought. I know him, and the thing about Lyney is that he wouldn’t hurt the people he cared about. Especially his family, Lynette searches deep inside her aching heart. He’ll blame himself for this because he thinks the guilt and punishment should be his own, shouldn’t he? Finally, Lynette finds the words to say.
“I hope you know that I love you. No matter what state of life you’re living, I’m here for you. Not just because I’m your sister, but because I choose to be. You aren’t a burden to me. Not in the slightest,” Lynette faintly smiles when her brother turns around, and she whispers, “I love you. Goodnight.”
Lyney, without another word, closes his eyes and drifts into the land of dreams.
Lynette silently prays that they are places of golden hour, starlight, and magic. If anything, peace.

Chapter Text

Does it Rain in Hell?
Furina

After Lynette and the Harbinger leave, Furina realizes.
It is still raining.
And she can feel it coming. No, no, no. Not here. Not now.
But… I want to know the water level–how high is it? Furina makes her way towards Charlotte’s window and grips the curtains, and suddenly beads of sweat run down her forehead. Furina. She shakes.
But the water… so frigid… so deep… she lowers her head and shakes it, but I need to know, I need–
“Furina, you should head home. You look ill,” Charlotte adds, “Is everything ok?”
The girl trembles, and all she can squeeze out is, “The flood. It’s going to flood. I can’t go out there, I’ll–
“I’ll walk you home, how does that sound?” the journalist suggests.
But Furina violently whips around with her hands in the air and begs, “No, Charlotte, you– I— we can’t go out there. The waters will get us, we can’t–” she refuses, “We can’t go out there! The water levels are rising!” The light overhead flickers, and Furina can only imagine little rivers dribbling through the cracks in the apartment wall, and then the building breaking like a dam that leads to–
“Furina. Breathe–you’re starting to lose control over yourself!” Charlotte grabs her shoulders with two hard hands, and Furina stops right in her tracks. Her heart skips a beat and her mouth is agape.
Charlotte, with her eyes narrowed, realizes what has happened. Her gaze softens. “Lady Furina, I–” she stutters, but the damage has been done.
Furina chuckles, plastering a smile on her face that she can barely hold together. Her cheeks hurt as she says, “I apologize that you have to see me like this. And please, just Furina is fine, Charlotte,” she nods, and nods quickly, and the water shakes out of her eyes.
Charlotte stares, her hands falling off her shoulders and into her lap. The light flickers and shuts off.
They are left in the dark.
Furina can’t swallow the saliva in her own mouth. Impending doom looms over her like the shadows cast by the arch window. Her entire body feels light. As if floating. Floating over the water. Bodies, lifeless, gliding on the surface of smooth waves. She gasps for air, but each gasp begins feeling more shallow than the last, and she feels as though she is drowning. The light is fading.
Panic.
Yet she remains frozen on the floor. Hunched over, vulnerable.
“I’m sorry, Furina,” Charlotte murmurs, and the journalist dips her head to meet her at eye level.
But Furina can’t talk.
I was getting out of control.
I’m so dramatic.
Fontaine isn’t going to flood again.
Is it?
Her heart is shot through, impaled, and speared again. Her ears ring.
In front of Charlotte.
Soon, I’ll be the front cover of the newspaper.
“Furina,” Charlotte calls her again, “Is there any way I can help you?”
She is met with silence.
The rain only grows louder. Or perhaps it is growing stronger. Buckets have tipped over and started to drift along the streets, and the water is creeping under doors… I can’t breathe…
“Furina,” Charlotte says again, this time tucking a pillow behind the back wall, “Can you turn yourself around? Maybe laying back will allow you to relax…?”
A gentle hold, and Furina is leaning against the pillow, her mind racing it feels almost empty. She doesn’t notice Charlotte leaves until she comes back, carrying a bouquet of lavender flowers in her hand. “Here,” the pink-haired girl says, “There was a small study done once that lavender oil calms panic attacks,” she says slowly, “And I don’t have any oil right now… so I’m hoping this will help. I’ll hold it for you. Focus on recovering now, alright?”
Charlotte…
Guilty.
“Charlotte…” Furina squeezes out, “The papers…”
“The–no, no m’lady,” Charlotte shakes her head, and her eyes widen, “I’m sorry, I mean no, Furina. What happens here is none of the public’s business.”
I suppose that’s what Charlotte means when she says… says that nothing will be mentioned… what exactly was it that she said…? Furina looks at the girl, who watches her with steady eyes. She’s never taken the time to look at Charlotte’s eyes–they’re a pretty shade of green, like the color of a rare species of tidalga or the type of algae you’d see climbing along a cave wall.
Freminet would know.
Freminet.
“Furina, if I may,” Charlotte pulls a handkerchief from her pocket and reaches for her friend’s face, catching the tears rolling down.
“I’m right here,” she reassures her again, and it’s all Furina needs. Her chest is tight. Her body feels limp. She’s still struggling to breathe.
But Charlotte holds the gentle bouquet to her nose, sitting criss-cross next to Furina, watching the sky and then looking back at her.
Perhaps it is alright to rest, Furina convinces herself and closes her eyes.

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:00

When she opens them again, Charlotte is sitting on a pillow and holding the bouquet loosely, her fingers tangled in one of the ribbons as if she was playing with it. The clock ticks in the kitchen, and the untouched glass of water remains on the table. The streaks along the glass remind Furina of rivers that stretch across the landscape of Teyvat, and the rest of the cup seems to be covered in countless glittering diamonds, illuminated by a cool light from outside.
Furina turns her head, and it is the moon up high–she breathes a sigh of relief, and it seems the weight of the world has been lifted.
And she’s still here, she thinks, and Charlotte turns to face her as if perfectly scripted, and Furina smiles back. After a moment of silence, Charlotte giggles and says, “Glad you’re back. How do you feel?”
“A little dizzy…” Furina admits, and Charlotte grabs the cup of water from the table and holds it in her hands, little ice cubes forming in it before she hands it to Furina. It’s kinda strange how visions and elemental magic are so normalized around Teyvat that even I tend to forget about them… she takes a sip of the water, and it’s very sweet of Charlotte to remember that I don’t like room temperature water.
There was an interview once, between the two of them. Furina didn’t know how long ago it was, but at that time Charlotte wore her hair in braids more often than not and was less persistent than she was now. Even so, it was about a festival going on in Fontaine… something about film and something about food… Furina remembered the moment that journalist asked her about Escoffier’s cooking, and that Furina started talking a little bit too much about the flavors when she insisted they never really meant much to her. It was kind of embarrassing–but Charlotte seemed to listen with the brightest eyes and seemed to lean in each time Furina took a breath.
Admittedly, Charlotte that random day was the first time she had opened about anything.
“Could I… ask you about something a little personal, uhm… related to this?” Charlotte asks after a long while of silence, “And it’s completely alright if not.”
Furina bites her lip. Should I really? For a moment, it seems like she can’t. But there’s a little nudge deep down telling Furina that she could.
She swallows.
Hard.
“What is it?”
Charlotte turns to face her completely again, folding and fiddling with her hands in her lap. “Do you panic like this often?”
Furina blinks, and nods her head only so slightly. “I get… anxious when it rains. And rains a lot,” an image of a flooded Fontaine fills her mind, the seats of the theatre swept under a blue tide; and there are people carried away left and right, wailing and disappearing in a cloud of seafoam. She shivers.
“Mm. I think about that a lot too,” Charlotte hums to herself for a moment before opening her mouth to say something, “Want to hear something good?”
“What is it?” Furina tugs nervously at a curl of her hair.
“Fontaine will never flood again. The prophecy has been fulfilled, right?” She smiles just a little.
I… well I know it won’t but… the thought that it could, for some other reason, Furina worries to herself, and whispers, “But what if it rains so hard that the water comes over the wall so high that it takes us all? Or what if–what if–”
“Shh, don’t think about it right now. That will only cause you to worry more about it,” Charlotte closes her eyes and puts a hand on Furina’s shoulder, a gentle one. “But right now, the storm is coming to a close. All the water is going into the drains and no one has been hurt, see?” She gestures to the window, and Furina peeks ovoer her shoulder for herself.
It’s true. The streets are shining, and there is only a light mist in the air.
Furina’s pounding heart slows, and she turns back to Charlotte, who stares back at her eagerly. “You’re right,” she murmurs. And for a minute it feels true. The flood could have come tonight. But it didn’t.
Charlotte nods proudly, and turns back the other way, smiling at Furina. “We should talk about it sometime. Maybe we can find ways to help you calm down?”
“I’d love that,” Furina nods, and smiles back, “Thank you.”
Charlotte puts her head on Furina’s shoulder, and waits there a little while, closing her eyes. Furina does too.