Chapter Text
Remember, your true challenge will not be pursuing “divinity,” but contending against “humanity.”
⟡
Golden rays filter through the curtains from where she is lying.
Furina stares at it, her eyes growing heavy with tiredness. There is a silence that she is yet to grow used to; the morning beam casting a thin, vertical line of light onto the bed, illuminating a narrow strip of the white sheet that is barely visible on the floor. The sun’s already rising and she hadn’t gotten much sleep at all, finding herself too busy listening to the sounds of the outside world reverberating through the thin walls of her apartment.
Rest has long since stopped coming easy for her ever since she moved out of the Palais Mermonia. She had woken in the middle of the night with a jerk of her fingers, clutching against the bed where they tangled amidst the blankets. A nightmare? She doesn’t quite remember. She stopped trying to recall her dreams a long time ago. Repeatedly, she had tossed and turned in attempt to find a pleasant spot before eventually settling on the space that had her facing the starry sky on her side, watching the moon slowly sink into the horizon.
She could feel every ridge and bump of the mattress below her, hear every hiss of the breeze blowing gently through her open window, and smell the faint scent of fresh linens mingling with the lingering aroma of the lavender-scented candle that she had left burning on her bedside table, the fire having long since died out.
She felt. The air that greeted her lungs was too cold, the sheets pooling around her waist a little too heavy. She felt it all. The weight of the silence pressed down on her like a physical force, swallowing her whole. The emptiness of her bedroom seemed to expand in the darkness until dawn began to break, painting the room in shades of gold and amber. It was almost too much.
She listens for the distant sounds of the city beginning to wake: the soft hum of shops coming back to life, the occasional chirp of a bird, the murmur of voices rising and falling like the ebb and flow of the tide. It all felt so far away, so disconnected from the cocoon of stillness that enveloped her.
It feels so odd to wake up to nothing but silence.
Furina blinks, and she looks back to the sliver of light passing through the slightly parted gap of the baby blue fabric covering her windows, watching as silent grains spin like snowflakes under the soft glow of dawn.
At least there was the sun.
It’s days like these that easily lull her into such a deep and frozen state of rumination, not because she wants to, but because the quiet noise always tucks her back into her own thoughts so early before sunrise, when she feels the most vulnerable and exhausted from straying away elusively from the small remnants of sleep she barely managed throughout the night.
As if on cue, the old grandfather clock down the hall chimes faintly in the background to signify that it was far past the usual hour she used to rise back in her old quarters and start her morning. Now, the minutes and seconds bled together, indistinct, each day melding into the next without the structured rhythm she once knew.
Sighing, Furina made very little attempts to leave the confines of her blankets. She hears the distinct noise of metal clashing against metal from Beaumont Workshop right across the street outside her building, and it bangs against her eardrums. Forcing herself, she shifts to look for a more comfortable position —— but really, how comfortable could she get? she’s been lying on her shoulder and elbow for hours now, and she is very sure that her neck is sore as well, with her constant peering into the darkness until she was the first to greet daylight.
Begrudgingly, she eventually decides to move. Her body aching as she swings her legs over to the side of her bed, muscles hot and sore, bones impossibly stiff. On slightly shaky legs, she rises from her mattress and pushes the door open, the wood screeching underneath as she does so.
It’s cool and damp inside the four walls of her small apartment; the air sticky with disuse and humid from the flood. The auroral breath of the sunrise outside brushes an almost dark and cool lavender blush against the walls, making everything feel somewhat familiar and melancholic —— the cobwebs forming on the corner of her ceiling, the ache beneath her skin, the crescent moons hanging desperately beneath her eyes, the empty bookshelf that was already there before her move —— All in place, in order, vacant and still; just like every other morning.
Stepping further inside, she finds her living room blanketed in a similar dimly state; save for the bit of light seeping past the kitchen curtains, traveling its slow and lazy descent from the top counter and to the varnished flooring below.
There were very little furniture, with some boxes all piled up in one corner near the door that contained all her important belongings, most of them being sealed, still. Resting atop one of them, a letter sits with the blue wax seal broken and pressed in between the pages of the only book she had taken with her when she left: Madame Bovary. The envelope had been opened with a carefulness, the edges of it folded back and smoothed out. She barely even managed to finish reading half of its contents before having to abruptly stop and place it back in its sheath, never to be picked up again.
Wherever you decide to go, The Court of Fontaine will always have a place for you.
Furina stands still for a moment, scanning the almost empty apartment with a blank gaze and a sinking weight inside her stomach, dragging her down.
The mirror she has kept over the years from her old quarters stand covered, leaning against one of the walls, a white sheet draped over its surface —— untouched. She hasn’t looked at her reflection in weeks.
Almost mindlessly, she takes a few steps closer, finding herself trudging against the floorboards, all old and creaky. Blinding beams of sunshine immediately flood through the kitchen and living area as she reaches out to tug the curtains open, the rays highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air and the clutter on the counter.
It’s almost peaceful. She stands with her hands gripping the unused sink for a long time, before the silence that has settled around her becomes too much and she lets out a deep breath, shaking her head and using her right hand to wipe over her face in frustration. Fuck.
You’ll come home to yourself one day. I believe you will.
Come home where?
She closes her eyes and tries not to hurt.
She closes her eyes and pictures the gilded light passing through the navy surface of the sea around her, so far from reach —— dreams of water currents sweeping her into its embrace of sapphire blue, kissing her lungs and dominating all her senses, the echo of her people’s desperate cries, all far beyond her now, gurgling as they dissipate into the slow cascadence of water on water, becoming one with death. Darkness quickly closing in on her in a hurry, hungry for her touch; the sins of her progenitor freezing through all her limbs and slipping through all her crevices, punishing her, every edge and seam of her delicate skin being shredded against the frothing foam. She pictures the clear nights, the stars and the bright moon, the way it shone over the dampness of her face and her wet eyes. Forgive me, forgive me.
Full seats, chanting and the sound of someone yelling out - ‘guilty!’, disappointed looks, visions of packed bags, fraud, fraud, fraud, ink on parchment, windowsills, solemn eyes, saying goodbyes, unspoken words and silver goblets filled with water instead of wine. If you need anything, anything at all, let me know. And—
Fear turns to grief; when she opens her eyes, the sun is high in the sky, shimmering off the water.
Fair skin, long pearly white hair that is almost blinding underneath the spotlight, piercing eyes so scrutinizing yet warm, all of it is unmistakable. The way the light shimmers and bounces off the gold accents of her dress, the way the blue highlights of her locks completely accentuates the ivory as it falls down past her back. Mismatched windows of ocean pools so similar to her own; soft fingers, an even softer smile, hair like silk, grasping hands, warm, warm palms— wiping away her tears, You are real.
Her eyes begin to sting before she could even catch to notice the trickling dampness of rivers forming down her face, her vision having turned into shattered and bleary surfaces of swirling ponds. Outside, the noise is getting louder —— The Court of Fontaine having woken from its slumber. She can feel herself quaking.
“No—“
No?
More tears spring into her eyes before she can stop them, her mouth tasting like vile sandpaper. She moves to wipe them away, and the feeling of them hot and fresh on her palms nearly makes her wince.
No.
She can’t breathe.
She needs to get out.
“Will that be all, madame?”
“Oui, merci.”
The world is a gleaming pearl and the sun is high up into the ivory painted canvas of a sky the exact moment that Furina reaches out to take the white plastic bag from Arouet’s hands, feeling for the coins she pocketed on her way out of her apartment and leaving them on the counter as payment. She always makes a point to come here early whenever she can, always ordering the exact same thing on the menu.
Arouet, the kind man who works behind the counter, greets her as he usually does every single day for the past month and asks her for her order. It’s the same routine every single time. Eight o’clock, get up. Half past eight, go outside, walk the steps leading out of Quartier Lyonnais, passing the lovely flower vendor on her way out —— the same woman, with withering hands and kind eyes, asking the same question everyday to Furina, “Good morning, lass, care to look at some of the fresh blooms for this month?” and everyday, every single day for the past month —— Furina responds with nothing more than a nod and a smile. She’s never said a word to her, not a single one. Not even to the woman she would occasionally brush shoulders with in line to Café Lutece. She remembers her red hair and the golden pin on her midnight-colored blouse; her rogue lips. She’s always there during Saturdays and Wednesdays, but Furina doesn’t even know her name.
She thinks it’s better this way. She hasn’t spoken much of anything to anyone ever since the last few months have happened —— well, what was there to say, even? she’s stopped introducing herself. She hasn’t even said her own name in a while. Overtime, the papers have gotten sick of mentioning her too. And Furina finds that she doesn’t care.
Every day is the exact same.
She’s up and dressed and circling the city with no clear destination in mind, blending in with the crowd effortlessly as she walks and walks and walks, the baguette she’s holding already half-eaten as she blurs by sleepless and cruel Fontaine, morning sky blending quartz white buildings into the puddles of sin that can never be scrubbed clean; all as much a part of the skin when you’re Fontainian.
So she drifts by.
She knows her feet are carrying her past the ticket station just outside of The Court and towards where the harbor is. She makes no move to stop herself the exact moment she feels the salty air on her exposed wrists and neck, listening to the loud ringing of bells as they signal the arrival of ships, slinking through the crowd of multiple people moving on and about, the boats all lined up against the docks. The sun is beating down against the salty sea across the bricked path and reflecting off the surface of the water vessels, pressing them down into the shimmering blue. It’s just as busy as it is on the aquabus terminals, Furina thinks, but she has no desire to look at the ocean from the clouds today.
Turning her gaze, she spots a man by one of the boats, and he’s tall, taller than Furina could ever be, especially from his place on the deck from where he was standing, the hull labeled in a rusty colored blue paint swirling to form the words Le Vent d'Avril. His hair is so pale underneath the sun that it looks almost a silvery-white, the sea-green of his eyes colored emerald and wise, lined with salt-crusted wrinkles of experience as he drops himself down onto the dock, wiping his hands with a dirty, damp rag.
“Excuse me,” Furina asks, grimacing slightly at how lost she sounds. She could see the man’s face twitch in surprise, now suddenly aware of her existence as he turns towards her.
“Bonjour miss, can I help you?” he asks once the initial fluster has left, his voice gruff and unsure. Furina’s feet shift beneath her.
“Bonjour, I was just hoping to ask where the next boat headed for Poisson is?”
The man lifts an incredulous eyebrow. “Poisson?”
Furina breathes. “Yes, Poisson,”
“Just you headed over there?”
She fingers the ends of her sash. “Yes, just me,”
“You got mora on you, miss?”
“I have enough,”
The man pauses in contemplation, considering her answer; and shamefully, Furina averts her gaze, as if expecting to be rejected or thrown out. But then she hears a soft sigh, then shuffling ——
“Well come on, then,”
She lifts her chin, blinking as she watches the man climb over the boat. “You’re taking me?”
“Wouldn’t be asking you to come along if I wasn’t,” he answered, his feet landing against the deck. Furina takes a hesitant step forward, her nerves still frayed. The man gives her a reassuring nod, and she slowly begins to climb aboard, careful not to stumble.
“Watch your step,”
“I got it.”
With unsteady movements, Furina moves over to reach for the slippery metal ladder beside the boat, lurching as the ferry bobs back and forth, swinging itself towards the structure and then back out again tauntingly before finally hauling herself up, the engine starting no sooner than after she takes her seat on a wooden bench.
“You visitin’ a relative?” the man asks through the splashes of water and the quiet roar of the boat as he begins to distance them from the wharf.
Furina bites the inside of her cheek. “Something of the sort.” a lie.
“I see, don’t see much people coming in or out of Poisson anymore, especially after the flood.” Furina looks away in shame, trying not to wince. She doesn’t say anything. “Where you from, miss?”
“The Court.” she answers curtly, her eyes focused as she watches the singing cliffs of the Beryl Region over the fair distance, dotted by a cluster of trees, green and overhanging, surrounded by the sea on all sides.
“You always from there?”
“All my life.”
“Never been outside of Fontaine either, I’m guessin’?”
She hears the waves gurgling, feels the gentle push of them against the ferry. “Never.”
“Well, winter’s just around the corner with the holidays approaching, perfect time to go sightseeing. Heard Liyue’s a pretty sight this time of the year.”
Furina tries to remember what Fontaine is like during the holidays, but finds that she cannot remember much at all. And it’s strange, really, because she should be able to recount them with ease —— she has spent centuries overseeing most of them, with half the festivals being in her name, but it seemed as if everything for her was becoming a blur, because try as she may, she cannot bring herself to recall even a single detail. The knowledge of that has her feeling something heavy sit like a deadweight in the deepest pit of her stomach. Her throat tightens. “I’m sure.”
Poisson’s shoreline is smaller, much more like a crescent than the broad band that was The Court’s by the time its harbor comes into view; nestled perfectly at the center of its curve. Long strips of white sand stretching along the shoreline, damp grains tangling with rocks and shreds of seaweed, glinting and gleaming in the late afternoon sun. Ahead of their small boat, a low wooden pier stretches out from the beach where the ships are anchored, multiple men and women lined up against the port, hauling in nets of fish and algae. She can almost smell it as they approach the wharf, the stench of the ocean strong as voices and fishermen —— sailors, all scurry about.
“Here we are,” announced the captain as he began to edge the ship towards the docks. “Merci.” Furina muttered as she stood up, ready to leave —— but not before handing in her payment. Reaching for her pocket and giving the man a small bag of mora, Furina gives her thanks again before stepping off and landing onto the creaking wooden pier.
And almost immediately, an overbearing smell of chum and fish wafts up from everywhere, embracing the multiple bodies moving on and about. Half-stumbling and muttering apologies whenever she would bump into anyone, Furina sinks into herself and quickens her pace, feeling her heart thump inside her, her fingers shaking and sweating, flinching everytime the ocean would roar softly and dive against the wood beneath, the seafoam exploding with a hiss before simmering back down. She hopes she doesn’t seem as lost as she looks, but she knows she likely does.
She instinctively moves her gaze down to her feet as she passes through the crowd, but even with her head ducked down like this, she feels uncomfortably out of place. It would take no less than a few seconds for a local to realize that she’s clearly not from here with her midnight-blue coat and gilded brooches, all sewn into her clothes with intricate designs befitting that of a high-born noble. She hears the villagers mutter to themselves as she passes by, busy with their own tasks —— unloading the day’s catch, mending nets, and preparing for the evening. Her gaze catches the sight of a group of children playing near the shore, their laughter mingling with the cries of seagulls overhead. Already, she can feel the salt stinging around her eyes.
“Furina?”
She looks up and sees pairs of blue windows looking down at her; bold and curious, a young woman’s, with long golden hair glimmering underneath the sunshine.
“Navia,” she breathes out, barely above a whisper amidst the yelling and commotion around them.
Navia grins, “Well aren’t you in a state,” she says, taking a step closer to her. Furina almost has the half-instinct to step back, but she doesn’t, only teetering awkwardly as she manages an unsure smile. Navia seems to notice this, watching her like an owl with her bright eyes; tilting her head to the side. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Furina responds, moving a hand up to rub against her arm in a soothing gesture to calm her nerves as she averts her gaze. “I was just passing through.”
“I see,” Navia muses curiously. There is an awkward silence for a moment, where it feels as though Furina was being stripped apart by the blonde, her gaze piercing yet not unkind. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, the unfamiliar surroundings pressing in on her with every second of silence; until the blonde continued —— “Do you want to come in? I could make us some tea.”
Furina winces, “No— I, I couldn’t. I would hate to bother.”
“Nonsense. You’re not bothering in any way at all. But if you’d rather stay here, then at least let me accompany you.” Navia smiled, cutting her off with a toothed, but welcoming grin; letting the former Archon know that it was an offer she can’t refuse.
Breathing in and left with no choice, Furina meekly murmurs, “Okay,” and they begin to walk around the wharf, with Navia leading them on a clumsy stroll through the chum and muck on the ground and barrels smelling of the briny odor of the sea; past the fishermen and villagers pushing past them as she awkwardly moves through, taking care not to make direct eye contact and looking away skittishly when she does; feeling the glares and sneers throughout her body, making her feel smaller than she already is.
Navia notices her tense posture and gives her a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry, they’re not as unfriendly as they seem.” yet despite that, Furina keeps her gaze lowered until they’ve left the pier.
“Are you sure you’re not in need of any assistance? you can always let me know if you’ve been in any sort of trouble.” She hears the blonde ask her once their heels begin to cross the sand, and Furina blinks —— flustered. She pauses for a moment, unsure of what to say as she searches for her words.
“No- no, it’s nothing like that. I really am just passing by for a visit,” She manages out, cheeks tinted a shy shade of red.
“If you’re sure..” Navia replies, voice trailing off as if deciding whether to prod further or not, but decides ultimately on the latter as she averts her focus back on what’s ahead of them: the jagged earth and swooping hills over the distance, draped by clouds as tips of mountains hold the sky above.
And as they walk along the beach, Furina tries to hold back the unsaid words straining her throat of all the things she could say in this moment, of all the things she could blurt out. She observes the waves through the silence, her eyelashes soaked; the ends of her hair drooping, her exposed skin glittering with small pearls from the sea spray.
“How has.. Poisson been?” she begins slowly once the voices have begun to fade. She sees Navia’s eyes soften, a tinge of longing and anguish seeping past her usually bright demeanor.
“Changes are being made, things are improving slowly but surely.” she hears her answer. That’s good, Furina wants to say. But it’s not—— it’s not okay. It doesn’t feel fine. She knows it’s not.
“And.. the people? how are they?”
It’s then that a sigh comes through from the blonde. Furina knows the topic is still fresh, still ripe and wounded —— and she couldn’t help but chew the inside of her cheek as she nervously anticipated a response. “We’re all trying to make the most of what we have. It’s not easy, but everyone is slowly getting their spirits back up for the future.” Navia strains a hopeful smile, as if fighting back a wave of her own emotions. But she immediately picks herself up after, blinking away the gloss in her eyes as she turns to meet Furina’s gaze. “Clorinde makes a point to visit often too, and she’s been.. nice, she keeps me grounded so that I wouldn’t overwork myself too much.”
Furina smiles fondly, almost regretfully, as she thought of The Champion Duelist. She misses her; her perfectly calm demeanor, like that of a lake in the summer. She held herself boldly, bravely —— as if she were royalty, Furina thought. She has always liked Clorinde’s company, even when the latter didn’t have much to say. “That sounds like Clorinde, alright,” she says softly, reminiscent.
“Always the protector,” Navia mumbled; a certain fondness in her voice as she lifts her gaze upwards thoughtfully. “But she’s been of great help,” she adds. “Lyney too, and Lynette— and some of the other children from the Hearth. The Knave checked by some time ago as well with more supplies for the reconstruction. Everyone’s been really helpful.”
The mention of the Fatui causes Furina to bristle slightly, her eyebrows knitting curiously.
“The Knave… she’s still in Fontaine?”
“She was, I think,” Navia is saying as they pass by a clump of seaweed that had washed ashore, making sure to watch where she steps, “But she had to leave for a.. business trip of sorts? not too long ago, so she might still be in Snezhnaya,”
“Oh,” Furina muttered, thoughtful. She looks away. “Well, I’m.. glad to know that things are looking up for everyone.”
“And you? how have things been?”
The former Archon perks her head up, brows furrowing slightly, “..Me?”
“Yes, you. Everyone’s been wondering where you went, you know?” Navia scoffed, as if offended by the mere assumption that she would be indifferent to Furina’s whereabouts. Then she huffs, “I think Clorinde mentioned finding time to give you a visit when she passed by the other day. I was going to ask her for your address so I could give you some of the macarons from this new recipe I’ve been trying.”
At her words, Furina feels herself beginning to soften; a warmth blooming within her chest, named something along the lines of guilt and the feeling of belonging, two emotions she hadn’t felt in what seemed like centuries, a delicate ache ringing itself within the hollow confines of her ribcage for disappearing without a word. She hadn’t realized how selfish she’d been as of late, hiding away to find comfort in her own grief, while everyone has been moving forward with what they can. “You really don’t have to do that,” she says quietly.
Navia shrugs. “I want to,” she replied, voice softer still. “Where are you staying? if you don’t mind me asking.”
Furina breathes in, unsure whether she wanted to answer that or not, her eyes deflecting to look at the footprints they’ve made in the sand. Then she swallows her hesitation, trying to will it all away. Her eyes blaze back to Navia’s. “I found a place somewhere in Vasari Passage, you- you know the one in front of the smith?”
The blonde’s eyes light up in recognition, “I’m familiar,” Navia smiled, “I pass by sometimes whenever I have a new order to pick up from Estelle, I didn’t know you stayed there?”
“Well, I can’t exactly keep staying in my old quarters anymore at the Palais Mermonia, so I have to make do somehow.” Furina joked.
Navia hums thoughtfully. “No, I suppose you can’t,”
They don’t speak for a moment as they pass by the small slope where the graveyard was; and it’s almost morbid how they do, really. In her peripherals, Furina can only hear the sound of the waves and the occasional squawk from seagulls. The silence that settles between them as they walk feels heavy, filled with unspoken words and unresolved thoughts. She keeps her gaze forward, trying to focus on the path ahead rather than the thoughts swirling in her mind.
“Are you alright?”
Furina blinks. The question is so sudden and out of the blue that she has to make sure that she even heard them correctly.
She lifts her head, looking at Navia who is staring down at her.
“What?”
“Nothing, I just felt like asking,” and then she smiled, “Was it too much? I’m sorry.”
Furina shakes her head almost immediately. “No— no, no, it wasn’t. It’s just,” she scours her mind, fumbling quickly for a response, “You caught me off guard, that’s all,” she laughs nervously. “So there’s no need to apologize.”
Navia studies her for a second too long, and Furina notices how her expression hasn’t changed at all; there’s still that look behind the back of Navia’s eyelids with every blink that she directs towards Furina’s way, and for a moment it seemed as if she was about to say something else, but she doesn’t.
Furina pretends not to notice the shame of being seen, the feeling of it prickling the back of her neck like needles.
“Okay, I’m glad,” Navia speaks, finally, drawing out the words as if to assure that they sounded right. “I didn’t want to offend you.”
“You didn’t,” Furina smiles reassuringly, more stiff and awkward rather than self assured, but genuine nonetheless. “I’ve been okay, just having some trouble adjusting. You know how things are.”
And it’s not exactly a lie, because she has been managing. She has been doing well —— or at least, trying, but the sentence feels foreign on her tongue, and Furina isn’t sure who exactly it was that she was attempting to convince with her words.
“I understand,” Navia barely murmured, pursing her lips. “At least I think I do.”
They stare out into the sea, listening to the gentle sounds of the water, Furina’s focus eventually drifting towards the distant sights of Fontaine’s tall buildings and marble white, drowning herself in the splendor of her surroundings. It’s quiet, calm, beautiful. She can hear the soft chittering of insects in the bushes behind them, the calls of the seagulls as they fly overhead. The gentle, quiet cries of the ocean. It smells like fish and chum but she doesn’t complain. Navia follows her gaze. “Are you sure you don’t want to come inside with me?” she asks after a while of silence; a gentle, teasing cadence. The water below them is kissing their feet, coaxing them into its embrace, and Furina shivers with every lap of the seafoam around her ankles. She grins sheepishly, letting out a small, hesitant laugh at the question.
“Maybe another time.”
The conversation shifts after that. They continue their walk, kicking shells and pointing at the occasional bird or fish that would hop out from the water. Navia speaks to her in a pace that is as easy and loose-lipped as the ocean waves, soothing and inviting yet nonetheless daunting as she attempts to keep her footing steady along the wet, sinking sand while Navia beside her laughs up a hurricane and talks too much and sometimes far too quickly to the point that she can hardly understand a word she’s saying, her verbs and letters all jumbled up and sewn together; half of them lost underneath the crashing waves and the beating heat. Behind them lies the rest of Poisson, hidden and tucked away in the gaping mouth in one of of the lower slopes of Mont Automnequi; the place being by no means big, with nothing more than just a single, thin strip of road leading right out past the hills across from it, a mere speck towards the observing eye.
By the time they’ve walked halfway across the sand, Furina can feel the air begin to stick against her skin, the moisture making itself a home in between her pores; her hair whipped back and slightly disheveled. The wind, somehow, appears to be more harsh and unforgiving the further they walk away from the mountain, and it feels as if she is standing still, even with every step that she takes forward.
All at once, they talk about everything and nothing. Rushing rivers and Rainbow Roses whisking back and forth against the wind and tide, they don’t mention the people they’ve lost, or the grief underneath their skin, still healing, still learning; Navia tells her stories of her and Clorinde, her favorite color, how she dreams to be just like her father one day, and that she wishes she were enough to save everyone around her. Furina thinks she understands all of this, her heart aching with remorse. “You’d make an amazing president to the Spina, Navia,” she says softly, “you love helping people.” Navia smiles, her eyes glistening under shades of gold and crystalline waters.
They continue to walk along the bank, slow and steady; marshy rivers and crisp forests, Navia asks her what she wants now that she’s free. Furina blinks. She doesn’t know yet. “I used to watch you up there, you know? you were a wonderful actress,” Navia admits out of the blue. Furina smiles, her vision bleary. She never liked acting, but she could still feel the rush of emotions form in the back of her throat upon hearing those words, because she was, wasn’t she. How many nights did she spend up there? how many shows have been sold?
“I was.”
Hours would pass like seconds before they eventually run out of words to discuss and the air becomes thick and quiet, blanketed by a comfortable silence; the sun being already halfway set and the moon beginning to peek itself out from the far-off horizon. All of it a tiger orange against a hazy blue backdrop, with splatters of red bleeding to reach the earth below.
Navia makes a point to guide Furina back to the harbor, making sure to see her out before she leaves; handing her a container full of bread and whatever other sweets that she insisted Furina take back with her —— and she does, tentatively. Leave it all to Navia Caspar to go overboard in making sure her guests are well taken care of.
“Be safe, alright?” the blonde murmurs softly as she walks her to the wharf. “and come back when you have the time, I still owe you that tea.”
“I will. Thank you for today, Navia.” Furina replied, holding the small plastic bag in one hand, while Navia takes the other into her own; silk against fabric, squeezing gently.
“I’ll tell Clorinde you came by,” she whispered. Furina doesn’t say anything, she only nods. Then she watches as she steps back, taking this as her cue to leave.
She looks over her shoulder one final time as she boards the boat, her eyes meeting Navia’s who is still standing by the deck, watching as she begins to depart.
You’ll come home to yourself one day.
——
When she gets home, it’s hardly a welcome one.
She opens the door and it does so with a shuddery, withdrawn creak that seems to echo throughout the entirety of its four walls, almost as if the house has become nothing more but a ghost of itself, that the mere movement of the door opening is enough to send tremors through its wooden planks, its glass panes, its floors, its very existence. Everything looks like it had been freshly clogged by water still, the once beautiful dark richness of it all stripped away to become nothing but muted colors and a cool chill.
Perhaps there was a time that this once felt like home to someone, but now this place is darkness, there is no light to flow through the windows, the bones of it hollow and slowly breaking apart, the veins having been frayed by the flood and yet it still survives.
The floorboards creak in her presence, shadows stirring in every corner as if taking its first breath in years.
Putting away the goods Navia had given her on one corner of her kitchen counter, Furina turns on the lightswitch —— allowing light to leak through the darkness and wash it all away.
Her eyes scan everything, momentarily, as if deciding what to do next. Then her eyes caught the rich, hardback cover of the book she pried off the shelves of Palais Mermonia, sitting in one corner, the spine slightly cracked and worn, the edges of it yellow.
She walks over to it, letting her hands brush away the dust it has collected after being untouched for so long, then opens it, her eyes darting to read the first page.
We were in class when the head-master came in, followed by a "new fellow," not wearing the school uniform, and a school servant carrying a large desk. Those who had been asleep woke up, and every one rose as if just surprised-
She flips to another.
Love, she thought, must come suddenly, with great outbursts and lightnings, — a hurricane of the skies, which falls upon life, revolutionizes it, roots up the will-
Love, she thought, must come suddenly, with great outbursts-
Love, she thought, must come suddenly-
Love, she thought-
Love-
Furina puts the book down, allowing herself to sit back and take in a deep breath, letting her shoulders slump from the weight she didn’t know she was carrying, yearning for the soft give and old ink of books like Fleurs du Mal that sits on the shelves of her old bedroom, before trying again and turning towards a random page, letting her fingers brush against the corner as she reads.
…Everything, even herself, was now unbearable to her. She wished that, taking her wings and spreading like a bird, she could fly somewhere, far away to regions of purity, and there grow young again.
——
“I had another dream yesterday.”
“Were you drowning again?”
“No. I was on my throne. It played exactly like the prophecy. There were ruins scattered everywhere and I was seated atop its precipice.”
“Were you afraid?”
“…I think —— no, I don’t think so. But I did remember feeling lonely. Empty. Trapped. I could breathe through the water but it felt a lot like I was drowning anyway. Everything felt heavy and I could barely feel my lungs.”
“What else do you remember?”
“In my dream, I failed. I opened my eyes and everything was dark and suffocating and there was no one else but me. It was everything I imagined The Capitolium would look like. How did that happen? How do I stop it? Why do I keep having these dreams?”
“You are afraid. It’s only natural with the burden set upon your shoulders. You are afraid to fail. That does not mean that you will.”
“That doesn’t answer my previous questions.”
“You will see, in time.”
“What will I see?”
“The moon.
The stars.
You will see a world without the loneliness engulfing you as it does at present.
You will see the sun hanging above the sky and hear the sound of bells as they chime to signify the beginning of a new tomorrow.
You will see a dove, flying across the painted clouds and feel the beam of freedom upon your skin.
You will see everything, you will feel everything. All at once, it will come forth. And you will no longer have to play your part.
Your mortal heart now will yearn for brighter days where you can make memories that will never fade; but until the flood has yet to come, keep me in your palm and treat this mirror like my grave.”
There are some days where she wakes up with a heart that feels as though it’s been submerged under the sea, left for the darkness. It hurts so much just to even breathe that she feels like the entire world has collapsed on her chest, leaving her lungs empty and her head full of the most awful things. The worst part is when these feelings come so suddenly, in waves so harsh she feels like she may drown in the depths of the ocean that is her own mind. She immediately mutters a string of curses under her breath as she tosses her blanket to the side and stumbles out onto the hallway, blinking against the dark spots in her vision, trying to push them all away as she steadies herself against the walls. Her eyes are wet before she could even begin to register the sensation, the haze of her peripherals slipping away into somewhere distant, to a place that was non-existent, where she didn’t belong. She allows herself one ragged, broken breath as she leans all her weight against the chipping paint behind her and ducks her head, pushing her thumb and forefinger into her eyes to stop the tears threatening to spill forth.
She can hardly recall anything, it’s hardly been a day yet she’s already beginning to waver again.
It’s always like this —— this constant pain. It’s just that today, it seems the most vivid.
Swallowing, she pushes herself back up, trying to regain some semblance of herself as she walks unsteadily. She moves her way to the kitchen, sniffling; soft yellow peeking through from behind the blinds as she turns the stove on. She tries to boil water in an attempt to distract herself from the hollow buzzing inside her head. The book she had been reading lay splayed out and open on the kitchen table, golden light cascading over the ink and pages.
The pot gurgles after a while, and she turns the heat down as she begins to prepare tea; her head and fingers moving on their own accord, autopilot. Clumsy, shaky. She becomes so focused that she almost doesn’t hear the sound of knocking rapping gently against her door.
She only flinches when she hears it again —— louder this time, shining with the sound of the pot whistling behind her. Cursing under her breath, she manages a strained “Coming!-“ as she wipes her face with her hand one last time, turning off the stove and inhaling a shaky breath before rushing towards the door.
A visitor? no— no one would pay her a visit. What was there to see? she knows that she remembered telling Navia where she lives, but ——
She swings the door open, and there, standing behind it, was none other than The Champion Duelist. Furina freezes, as if unsure at what she was staring at. The woman before her was clutching a basket in one hand, full of what she can assume were macarons wrapped in plastic, all dressed up for work —— her shoulder and posture stiff and rigid, as if holding her breath. She looked nothing like the reserved and powerful duelist that Furina knew her to be, her head ducked slightly in shame, holding her hunter’s cap to her chest.
They both don’t say anything, and Furina feels something tighten inside of her.
“Navia told me you visited her yesterday. I’ve been meaning to come by myself and see you, but I..” Clorinde began, voice trailing off; her eyes weighed by something that she knew far too well enough to recognize as a hint of guilt, buried beneath crystal pools of Vajrada Amethysts, staring back at her.
“I’m sorry.”
Furina pauses, looks into Clorinde’s tired eyes, the basket in her hands and the freshly baked macarons, studies the way Clorinde looks more uncomfortable and unsure than anything, as if expecting to have the door slammed shut on her any moment now.
And ——
“Do you want to come inside?”
——
There are certain nights where she doesn’t sleep at all. She stares at the pitch darkness that is her ceiling, the hope that she’ll be able to get some rest before the sun rises already slipping away from the back of her mind.
It’s nights like these when she has the unnerving urge to claw into herself and rip out her own skin to crawl underneath the blankets and hide from the moonlight. She curls her fingers into the sheets, staring into the empty nothingness outside, staring at the moon, breathing and being disgusted by the feeling of her lungs moving inside her. Exhaustion. Denial. Nightmares. Beauty. Human. Cursed.
She longs for the feeling of something sweet upon her tongue, to wash away the dirty darkness that has tainted it. Closing her eyes, she attempts to sleep.
——
It doesn’t take long for her to break.
The sky is dripping in shades of milky blue and watercolor pink, kissing the open water like paint against an open canvas; purples and lavenders mixing and melting into each other like morning tears and ‘goodbyes’.
Like every other sunrise, she would wake from the dark swell of a husky, murky dream before the sun could even begin to peek through in the sky, hands flailing over the blankets, unable to find her voice, blinking and confused, heart pounding in her chest until her surroundings became clear and a cold whistle blows past into her ears. She’s still sweaty and frozen down to her bones from the last remnants of her dream, blinking repeatedly as she tries to regain her vision. She turns to her side, the clock on her nightstand flashing 5:37 in the dimness of her room. Fontaine is a court that never sleeps, despite her early starts. There was always the hum of shops open, people wide awake, already going through the motions of another long day, even before it could begin.
She finds herself walking out of Fontaine, below the towering marble construct of The Navia Line, arms crossed protectively over herself as she moves away from the distant hustle and bustle, towards where the oceans and mountains were. The kisses of the wind push her along, the smell of the tide and early morning air filling her nostrils and tickling her lungs. The world is a little more quiet here. Her steps are slow and heavy, feet dragging and leaving indentations against the ground.
She walks up to the water’s edge, casting a gaze into the hazy morning fog surrounding the forests; the only light being from above and reflecting towards the water. If she were to squint her eyes enough, she can almost make out bright trails of crumbs sprinkled against the sky. Stars.
This early, the sun is nothing more but a shy coo in the sky, radiating clear-whites that weren’t quite as blinding during the mid-day, but still shining, nevertheless. The waves surge up against the shore, a gentle ebb and flow, the sound echoing through the air; a soft lullaby with each quiet ripple and splash, skimming soft blues in an attempt to cup the gentle yolk above.
Dawn yawned, breathing through Fontaine in a gentle murmur of a world awakening as it folded and whispered through the petals of flowers peering from the earth, gently rousing them into their daily stretches before falling back down to slumber. Furina feels a quiet pulse thrum through her veins, as if the world were taking a deep breath and sighing it back out. She huffs softly, letting her warm breath caress the cool breeze as she blinks through the moisture of the fog.
Standing still in the wet sand, a mere speck underneath the heavens, she can feel the sudden guilt and wave of sadness and loneliness wash over her like the tides she feared and watched. She wants nothing more than to reach out to the stars and pull them down, and it makes her want to cry, lost and desperate and casting glances over the water in front of her, towards the grays and blues, as if expecting to see a figure there, beautiful and wise; lady of the lake, rising to the surface to reach out and wipe away her tears, cradling her and only her. She yearns to feel; to find purpose, to make all of this pain and loss make sense. It’s what she’s convinced herself was what she needed, as she gets lost in the ghouls and swirling waters of everything around her the more she swallows down her grief.
And she likes to think —— in hindsight —— that this was always meant to happen. That things were never going to be as easy as she assumed everything to be.
And she didn’t ask for this, didn’t beg to feel all this suffering. She was just human.
She didn’t ask to live, she didn’t ask for that bloodied glory —— The raging chaos, the sleepless nights, the tears, the heartbreak, the begging, the torrents, the pain. She never asked to be created, never asked to be alive. And she thinks that’s what hurts the most, that despite all of what she went through, she’s still alive; she survived. But at what cost? she has ghosts now, ghosts she will never be able to put down or forget.
Furina looks at the ground beneath her, looks at the sand, the water and the rising sun behind it; thinks of stage lights and empty seats, slender fingers moving against her cheek, cooing, hushing.
Goodbye, goodbye. Don’t cry.
Surviving is an ache she could do without.
Surviving means being the only one left standing, being the one to tell stories of the ones who couldn’t, the ones left behind.
Surviving means living in constant guilt and agony, with no idea how to move forward.
Surviving ——
She sucks in a breath, reaching up to wipe tears that haven’t quite fallen yet.
‘Please live happily as a human,
just as I wished we could.’
She’ll be the one to remember. She always does.
——
“The usual, madame?”
“Yes please, and merci,”
Arouet wastes no time and immediately boxes up her order, to which Furina promptly takes and pays for as she mumbles out another ‘thank you,’.
It’s Saturday now, and almost a week has passed by. And there isn’t ever much to do on the weekends, the past few days having been a blur.
She’s started to go on more walks during the time of day where the sun has yet rise above the horizon, the streetlamps flickering to signify the beginning of the berry mauve sky as she steps out, the atmosphere all creamy and Lumidouce Bell blue as she takes in the silence that comes with early daybreak; heels clicking against the path. Fontaine really becomes nothing more than its opera plays and extensive seafront once you’ve seen it all. She only spends twenty minutes walking around and looking at the shops to take in her surroundings before she gets tired and feels entirely out of her own skin, like a ghost walking through an abandoned hallway.
She comes back home around noon after spending most of her morning aimlessly wandering around the harbor, turning on the lights and throwing her keys on top of the nearby drawer that Clorinde has so kindly given her; as well as a couple of other furniture that she insisted for her to take, making her small abode look and feel at least somewhat more homely.
Letting out a shaky sigh, she curls herself up on one corner of her apartment, trying to make herself seem as small as possible on the couch, looking around the empty space and listening to the constant tick, tick, tick of the clock in the background.
For a moment, she contemplates continuing to read. Her hand reaches out under the coffee table where she had left her copy of Madame Bovary, only for something to flutter out from between the pages as she takes hold of it. She recognizes the seal almost immediately, her breath hitching inside her throat, fingers trembling as she mindlessly reaches out.
‘Please don’t hold it against me.’, he mutters to her just as she was about to leave his office. They’ve both said their farewells, this is no place for her. Not anymore. Still, she doesn’t refuse when he hands her the letter, letting the smooth texture brush against her gloves as she looks up and meets his gaze. This is for the best, this is for the best.
She picks up the envelope and takes out the paper she’s been avoiding all this time, turning it in her hands, letting her thumb brush against it, feeling it burn against her fingertips.
Hesitating, she lets her eyes move through the ink —— elegant, smooth handwriting, each word etching into her mind as she reads, letting her chest shudder with each breath she inhales.
Your suffering was not in vain. I have pardoned the people’s sins, all of them. Please know that the courage it took for you to step down, to entrust the people with their own fates, as well as what you have endured, is not lost on me. Should you ever find yourself in need of somewhere to confide in, know that wherever you decide to go, The Court of Fontaine will always have a place for you.
The afternoon sun breaks through quickly with bleak colors of veiled gray trembling through the light. The silence has already begun to settle in her head again. She wishes she could become more, to be the angel at white dawn or the bird that spreads her wings and flies off towards new horizons to find gentle purity. But it’s not that easy; she doesn’t get to decide that. She doesn’t get to choose to become good. She doesn’t get to leave all this behind. The light from the window looks like it’s fading away with each brush of the wind against the curtains, whispering to her things that she can hardly comprehend. She closes her eyes and inhales, allowing the kisses of her tears to slip down her cheeks in broken promises and the muted sounds of the city.
‘Deep down, all the while, she was waiting for something to happen. Like a sailor in distress, she kept casting desperate glances over the solitary waters of her life, seeking some white sail in the distant mists of the horizon. She had no idea by what wind it would reach her, toward what shore it would bear her, or what kind of craft it would be – tiny boat or towering vessel, laden with heartbreaks or filled to the gunwales with rapture. But every morning when she awoke she hoped that today would be the day; she listened for every sound, gave sudden starts, was surprised when nothing happened; and then, sadder with each succeeding sunset, she would long for tomorrow.’
“You can’t just keep hiding away,” Navia tells her slowly the moment that she catches up to her, gently dropping her wrist when she was sure that Furina wouldn’t try to disappear and run off. The blonde’s voice was hushed, calm and delicate, like a lone flora amidst rain and fog, and she isn’t mad, really —— but every word still sting despite that fact, and they cut into Furina like a knife, twisting her open.
“It’s easier this way,” she responds, her voice airy and quiet. It’s the middle of November when Navia catches her lingering by the entrance of Poisson, pacing back and forth —— feeling no better than the dirt below her. “It makes it hurt less.”
Furina has no idea why she keeps coming here, perhaps she had hoped that the waters of Poisson could be the one to warm her, defrost the hummingbird of her breath from her lungs, of the guilt that still stain her hands; washing them all away to reborn her anew. Instead, it is Navia who comes and pulls her back up from the ocean of her own despair, like the sun casting away the darkness for humanity; so undeserving of its splendor.
“You always did enjoy running.” Navia remarks. It’s meant to be a joke and Furina laughs. She laughs because it’s true, and because it’s all that she’s ever done —— run; run from everything, from everyone, from herself, from the world.
“I know,” she croaks out, her words nothing more but a quiet whimper as she lifts her head up and lets out a sigh. “But it’s all that I’ve ever known, and it’s- it’s hard, you know? It’s not exactly easy moving on from something that’s been your entire life. And I have scars to prove it.” and she hates the way she sounds —— so small, so weak. She feels so defenseless and she despises it. She looks down at her hands, fidgeting with them as if she were a child that didn’t know better what to do with herself.
“Sometimes I wish I could just steal the sun’s warmth and hold it in my hands forever, so I never have to feel cold again.”
“I understand,” Navia murmured, her eyes full of sympathy; full of memories, moments, dreams, and cries of ocean waves that will never reach the shore; her voice is so soft that it hurts, and hearing it is no different compared to the pain of having your heart torn and split into two. “But you cannot capture the sun and hold it in place; you must revolve around her.” reaching down, she takes Furina’s palm —— the one with the scars from her trial, and squeezes it tightly. “You don’t have to keep running anymore,” she tells her as she intertwines their fingers and lifts their hands up for her to see, as if it could somehow save Furina from the darkness threatening to pull her down.
“You’re free now.”
Neither of them say anything after that. They stay silent for a while, watching the sun dip below the sky. And it isn’t until the moon begins to rise over the distant ruins of Fort Charybdis does Navia finally let go.
Furina is alone again and she feels cold but she doesn’t have it within her to move, so instead she sits on the sand with her knees up to her chest and counts the stars, knowing that everything has changed and that the prophecy was over, yet still unable to keep herself from drowning.
——
The rain and Furina never mingled well together. All her worst days of living were always accompanied by the harshest weather she’d ever endured. Drops of water would patter themselves on the roof and slide down the large glass-pane windows of her quarters in the Palais Mermonia, creating multiple rivers of droplets that spelled words like I can’t fail them, and how much longer? —— every single one leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.
When she was a few hundred years younger, she used to have an attendant. She was an older woman, and she would cook her meals and clean her quarters. Sometimes she would tell Furina stories, beliefs not even she knew or could comprehend. “I read somewhere once, about how The Remurians used to have a saying during storms like these,” she told her as she sat by the window, her voice soft and worn like the wood of an ancient ship. “That the rain is just the sky’s way of weeping for things it cannot change.”
Furina would look at the clear streaks trailing down the glass, feeling the weight of those words more than she would ever let on. “And what if the sky never stops?” she had asked.
The woman would only smile. “Then we learn to sail in its tears.”
The sound of water lapping against the wet ground scraped against her eardrums as she walked through the bank of the Liffey Region. Slowly, she begins to feel the humid air sticking to the pale marble of her face. The coldness in her hands were already rising up her skin, tinting it in the shade of lightly colored roses, her veins pumping and cells red; all collecting in a warm flood that rested underneath her cheeks and nose.
A light downpour had just passed over the nation, and it left the world covered in a gleaming coat of glistening waters underneath the star-filled sky.
Furina loves being secluded in her own chaos, and so does the world above. The soles of her feet felt cool against the sand she was walking on, the sudden chill of the grain against her flesh having become a sensation that she had accustomed herself to whenever she traversed north of the city. If she focused on each individual speck as they rubbed against the soft pads, then she could almost forget the world around her.
Her hair is messier than usual tonight, pearly white strands whisking back and forth with each gust of wind that blew through with every kiss of the atmosphere’s lips. She was every bit the definition of unkempt and windswept, but the sky would never judge her for that.
The world above is kind, Furina liked to imagine. It was always watching, yes, but never judging. It looked down at the world below with ever-changing brilliant eyes, sometimes bright and soft, and other times dark and foreboding. But it was never cruel. It merely was. It could be flat when it fancied, with puffs of hazy clouds lazily moving across the sea of blue —— but it could be fierce, too. It could be wild, restless, unforgiving. But never once did it leave.
And a lot of things in the world leave, Furina thinks. If there was anything that she had learned from being immortal, it’s that everything was bound for change and death. Flowers bloom and wilt, mountains erode as they begin to collapse underneath the inevitable force that is time, a song is played on the strings of a lyre before eventually coming to a halt. People leave, walk away, live, fulfill their dreams, die. Things leave, get cherished, get lost, get forgotten, decompose.
She’s always heard it before, plenty of times during the centuries that she’s walked the earth: it’s that in the few moments before your death, time slows down to a stop. You see your life flash before your eyes, being played out like a film for you to watch. And Furina, slowly, in that moment, she begins to feel everything around her change and shift into a new chapter… and she- she doesn’t want it to end. Not yet. Not ever. The things she’s known, the things she’s seen… she’s been trapped in a bubble of her own world for —— how long now? Time is slipping through her fingers much like the sifting sand of Sumeru’s desert, and she can no longer recall the day that things have begun to fall apart and when the years had become nothing more but numbers. She has become so used to everything changing, everything that she has loved disappearing and flying out of her reach, that the mere idea, the mere thought of a ghost of herself telling her that this is it, this is where it all ends, terrifies her. Slowly, her feet begin to carry her away from the water, away from the sand, away from Fontaine, away from the world.
She doesn’t know where she’s going, but she trusts the light of the moon flickering across the water to guide her anyhow. And she doesn’t stop, not once; despite each step feeling like the weight of her own body is pulling her down in an attempt to keep her in place; this is where you belong, it seemed to tell her, but she never did learn her lesson.
And Furina ——
She loved to run.
So that’s exactly what she does.
Salt suffocates the outdoor air and it moves forward to receive her, though she has never found it to be of a stifling nature. It doesn’t strangle her like the waters do in her dreams. It tastes of brine and wet granite and something else that she couldn’t quite name.
Furina stands just tip of the platform, heels standing before where the broken railings have bent themselves outwards towards the direction of the water, so much so that if she leant forward enough, if she loses her balance even for just a moment, she would easily topple over into the side of the cliff and hopefully be caught and swept under the tranquil waves.
Everything smells of raw salt and rain, of damp sand despite their distance from the shore. Another billowed gust blows past her, and it sweeps the white and loose strands away from her eyes. Furina’s eyelashes are wet and sticky, the lines of her face and neck having been damped by the post-shower air. The waterfall is roaring from the nearby distance, and she allows herself to be lost in between the reality of the sea and the ever expanding sky above.
She’s standing in the ruins east of Mont Esus now, where an old orphanage once rested, now broken and hardly anything more than debris; the moon painting her surroundings in pale silver. It was quiet, it was eerie, but the silence was enough to be akin to that of a lone cry echoing throughout a battle ground in hopes of honoring the dead and for all that it could have been, and she finds comfort in that idea.
There are gaps in the treeline here and there from where she is standing, places where a flatness and more scattered debris have found themselves a home. From the distance, she can clearly see The Research Institute and its barely standing limbs.
She’s so high up that it feels as though she can reach out and snatch small pieces of the clouds and feel the wetness of it graze her fingertips, if she wished.
She loses herself in the moment, drinking it all up, drowning in the blues and trails of life, glazed and distant as she stares at the stars, wishing she could stop time to pick herself up from the ground and just catch up with everyone; to put all her worries aside and run, run for the stars and towards the destiny she’s longed to follow.
But it wasn’t until she hears the subtle sound of footsteps did she startle, her reverie like shattered glass as she whips her head around, broken by the spell of the cold wind. “Who’s..”
Furina’s chest seizes when she meets pupils of bloody crosses, staring back at her through fissures of an empty, dark void; all agape and haunting, like the mouth of a dead beast. She feels a shiver run down her spine as she watches the wind blow past the strands of ivory partially curtained over them, the color a sharp contrast to the shadowy cloak of black, the silver lining on its edges glittering under the glow of the full moon.
“Miss Furina.”
She could recognize those eyes even from a foggy distance.
No, she could never forget that face. Never.
“You—“ Furina’s words start out shaky. Uncertain. “What are you doing here?” she asks, her knees twitching with the strong urge to step back.
The figure steps out from the shadow like a lurking ghoul no sooner than after her words had left her, giving Furina a clear view and the message that no, this isn’t just a figment of her imagination. She’s not alone. Not anymore.
“I feel that I might be more inclined to ask you that question, no?” The Knave probed quietly as she takes her approach. The voice is smooth, velvety, like a snake wrapping itself around its prey.
“Am I no longer allowed to go wherever I please?” She retorts, both somewhat insulted and on high alert. Furina can’t tell if it’s because of The Knave’s presence or from the moisture of the rain, but she shivers as a sudden cold chill runs down her body. It fills her insides with the urge to run, to depart, you shouldn’t be here, why are you here.
“I insinuated no such thing,” The Knave remarked with a slight tilt of her head as she studies the woman in front of her with a peculiar gaze. “Merely curious as to what might draw you to this particular place at this hour.”
Furina frowns, trying to put her foot down unabashedly. “And what business is it of yours?”
“It’s a question, Miss Furina.” the harbinger replied, taciturn as always. It grates against her nerves. “You do not have to answer me if you prefer not to.”
There is a momentary silence as Furina looks at The Knave as if she were a lone stranger that had wandered into her domain, almost as if she were ready to bare her claws and defend herself despite the odds. “You didn’t follow me here, did you?” she asks quietly, but there is a lilt to her question; an edge to her voice that was unmistakably present.
The harbinger smiles wryly. “No, Miss Furina. I did not.”
The silence is electric, and it presses in from all sides. Everything sounds so loud now from the ringing tension, the waterfall roaring too abrasively and crashing too quickly in the background that it begins to grate against her ears, the only other thing she can hear being her breathing as she stands before The Knave; bullets laced behind their throats, ready to aim, ready to fire. But when neither of them move, she blinks, shoulders relenting. Then she looks away. “I wanted to look at the moon,” Furina began, breathing out the words. her eyes moving to the celestial body above. “It’s brighter from out here compared to the city.”
Incredulously, The Knave lifts a questioning brow. “You came here to stargaze?”
Furina shuffles slightly at that. “I realized that I had too much time on my hands lately,” she answered almost uneasily, fumbling with her fingers as if trying to push out her embarrassment. “And it’s nice to be away from the clamor of The Court after a while.”
Intrigued, The Knave regards the former Archon with a look of silent curiosity as she begins to approach. “I sincerely hope you are aware of how dangerous it can be to wander alone at night.” she warns, “There are plenty of nefarious elements who would take advantage of a lone wanderer, even one of your stature.”
It doesn’t seem to faze Furina though, her dull gaze unwavering in a manner that was foreign from what she usually presented herself to be as.
She blinks upwards at The Knave through her eyelashes.
“Like you?”
Tension stills. It settles hotly between them, choking the atmosphere with a glare as the world holds its lungs.
The Knave pauses.
“I did not come here to hurt you, Miss Furina.”
“You could,” Furina responds, saying the words so casually. There wasn’t a hint of fear in her tone when she speaks, and it sounded almost strange, as if she were blurting out an inconsequential fact rather than a terrifying possibility. “You almost did once, you could try again.”
“I could.” The Knave doesn’t deny it. “But I will not. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have already done so.” And as if to further prove her point, she steps forward to take the empty space beside her.
Furina doesn’t say anything more, allowing the words to hang in the cool, moonlit air. Belatedly, she tilts her head to study the harbinger underneath the darkness, the shadows that were bouncing off her face making The Knave appear to be much older than what she is, when Furina is sure that she has lived centuries far longer than she had. The Knave’s skin is pale and her eyes are tired, but the atmosphere around her is like that of a burning flame and it is close to setting off something inside Furina. Close.
“You never told me why you’re out here.” she mumbled after a while, the sound of the sea being a distant echo from the surface that they were standing on.
The Knave does not reply, not instantly at least. It takes a second for her to collect the words to form a proper answer, but it flows out her mouth all the same, “I enjoy the silence; and the rain has a way of washing away the noise of the world, even if for a brief moment.” she waves a hand, curt and dismissive enough that Furina can tell that what she was saying was only half the truth. Briefly, she wonders if The Knave came here for a similar reason as she, but she pushes that thought aside as quickly as it had appeared in her head. She doubts the harbinger would ever reveal her reason for coming here —— and she isn’t really that interested in knowing, either.
“And you come here often?”
“Not often, no.”
“I see.”
She does not say anything after that, and neither does the woman beside her, a heavy silence reigning down on the shared space between them. It’s almost unnerving, Furina thinks. It’s quiet enough that she can feel the rattling of her ribs inside her chest as her heart thumps against its walls, pulsating and alive. She hasn’t been able to feel those tiny waves of vibrations in days, and the feeling of it festers quietly with the sound of her breathing.
And The Knave… she’s there. They’re both standing side by side, and it’s very difficult for Furina to ignore the strong looming presence of her figure, even though her gaze is fixed intently on the blur of the water’s surface beneath them. It’s the first time in a while since she has had anyone this close to her, and it is a strange feeling. Unfamiliar. She doesn’t know what to make of it.
The stillness between them is loud, unbearable; it is suffocating.
“I heard the papers were talking about you.” came the familiar voice from beside her once more, sudden and testing; an attempt to detonate the tense mood into a certain calmness.
It sounds so out of place when she speaks that Furina was hesitant to believe if the harbinger had even said anything in the first place. She blinks, casting a side glance. “What have they been saying?” it’s a question, although she doesn’t really care about the answer. She has long stopped concerning herself with how the public perceived her after the events of The Prophecy. She was sure that they didn’t care for her —— or that they hated her. It was always one of either.
“That you have renounced your position, and you are no longer their god.” she hears The Knave shift beside her to study the horizon. There was a smoothness to her expression, Furina muses silently, a brightness that swam beneath her skin that has been accentuated even further by the glow of the light above them. A sort of calm radiance that even she couldn’t pretend to have, couldn’t imitate. And whether it is out of envy or a deeper, unspoken sort of discomfort, Furina looks away, finding solace in the distant waves.
She is silent for a moment. “Do you believe them?”
“I do not spend my time pondering over baseless rumors,” The Knave’s tone is somewhat sarcastic, maybe even condescending when she retorts, “…But your lack of presence in the spotlight as of late has been.. undoubtedly noticeable.”
A casual observation, to be sure, but one that can easily be mistaken to be sinister in its intent, even more so in its delivery. Furina tries to make sense of each syllable, mulling them over between her teeth, weighing between their conversation and the veiled tension that seemed to drip from every word that leaves their lips. “I’m not sure what you want me to tell you.” she muttered, because really, what else can she say that wouldn’t betray her vulnerability or uncertainty? If she were to look up from beside her after she had let the question roll out her tongue, then maybe she would see that The Knave’s gaze was entirely fixed on her now. She does not though —— because her eyes are losing focus and she is too busy trying to reel herself back into reality.
“I suppose you could say that I’m curious to know if there’s any truth to it.” The Knave answered honestly.
Furina nearly scoffs. “And what if there is?”
“Then I would tell you that you are braver than most,” replied the harbinger. “To walk away from a throne is no small feat.”
Furina doesn’t know about that. It was never her throne to begin with. To live, she had been prepared to do anything —— acting had been her crutch and deception filled her belly with every word. It made her a pariah and a queen; a girl whose very existence seemed to bend and twist the laws of the universe. Yet even if she threw away the rules of Celestia, she was nothing more than a human with a curse shackling her down and away from what would be the claws of her doom; constantly dancing between the limbo of mortal and god but never anything close to becoming either. “They aren’t just rumors,” she finally gives in, her face wincing slightly at how vulnerable she sounds. “I.. left my position not too long ago.”
A hum. “I see. And where have you been residing afterwards, if not the Palais Mermonia?”
Furina shifts uncomfortably, trying to rake her mind for a response. “I managed to find a small place for myself in The Court. It works.”
“The Court..” The Knave drawls out thoughtfully. “For whatever reason, I did not think you would still be staying there. Usually people who retire tend to detach themselves from the hustle of the city life.”
She’d considered it before. The idea of settling down into a less populated area and away from the din of Fontaine’s ever busy streets and their prying eyes; It had crossed her mind at least more than once —— but Furina would have never lasted long in the silence. And she knew this. She is the type to think, think, think, and then think again; her thoughts always a culmination of things that both made sense and didn’t. If she is constantly moving, on the go, then she never has to worry about the voices inside her head. Furina wonders what it would be like if she were to remove every single discomfort and need inside her body and blend in with the crowd’s pleas once more. If she tried hard enough, then maybe she can even pretend to be someone that she’s not; so long as it would disrupt the quiet noise inside her head, really. Anything to block out the silence.
Anything.
“I could live quietly,” she murmured, blinking slowly; dull eyes highlighted by tints of blues and silver whites. “But I think I’ve gotten too used to drowning myself in the noise of Fontaine at this point that I fear I can no longer spend my days without it.”
The Knave merely nods. “Each person finds solace in different things, so I will not judge your reasoning. If this new life brings you even a modicum of peace, then that’s all that truly matters.”
“Yeah.” the words are quiet, and somehow it comes out more wistful and broken without her even trying. “I guess you’re right.”
And then there is silence while the trees around them shuffle and coyotes sing into the night. A small bubble ruptures the calm waves rippling through their atmosphere, and it is unmistakable. Furina just stares at the empty vacuum of space before them and tries to distract herself. Not that there is much to focus on, really, but she must try.
“I hope you don’t mind me prying,” she is already prying without even speaking. Furina doesn’t voice this though when The Knave begins her question, piercing past the silence and into the window of her soul. “But what caused you to step down?”
“Does it matter why?” blank is Furina’s face as per usual when she asks. The world swirls beneath them, and her eyes blur with the sound of the waves rocking against the earth below.
The harbinger shook her head. “No, it does not. But it is a curious thing. If the rumors are correct, then that would mean that you have also left the stage as well.”
Furina looks sunken and hollow —— defeated, almost. For a moment, her line of sight moved towards the distant mountains ahead, focusing breathlessly on the horizon as she exhales all her worries into the stars. “I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. I suppose I just got tired.” she sighs —— unintentionally, the harbinger presumes, “And I’m very sure that Neuvillette can do just fine on his own without me around.”
It’s not the answer that The Knave wanted, but it wasn’t technically a lie either. Pursing her lips, she fluttered her eyelashes as she looked up to follow the smaller woman’s gaze to the stardusted sky which blew kisses of cold air down on them. “Mhm, I have no reason to doubt The Chief Justice’s abilities.” she agrees, and then her garnet pupils flickered back to the lingering blue eyed woman. “But I am not asking about him now, am I?”
Furina feels her jaw tighten. Something inside her squeezes. She can feel the harbinger’s eyes on her, and it makes her face feel hot, her throat tightening.
“No, I suppose not.”
And for a while, she doesn’t say anything else. It doesn’t feel enough but all of the things she has to say are stuck inside her throat and she has to resist the urge to try and vomit them all out. There are so many emotions swirling within her but so few words that are barely enough to convey and pinpoint them all down into one single, coherent sentence. For a moment, Furina considers drowning in the silence, to succumb into the white noise and let the moon’s light speak for her instead. She wonders what that would be like.
“Fontaine doesn’t need me.”
She doesn’t know where it comes from, but it leaves her mouth all the same —— flying through the cold air and settling down on the space separating them. She tries her best to make it sound so casual, as if each word did not prick at her soul. She keeps her eyes focused on the hills, the way the clouds sweep over them, teasingly brushing in a dreamy sweep as it reflects over the glassy blue surface of the depths.
“Why do you think so?” The Knave inquired, cocking her head to the side. She did not point out the fragility in the former Archon’s expression. Maybe she didn’t notice, maybe she did. Furina doesn’t care.
“Isn’t it true?” she asks, her eyes drifting to look at two dotted silhouettes of armored crabs playing by the sandy flooring far ahead. “I don’t think I was ever an Archon to them in the first place, and I doubt that they ever truly saw me as their leader. If anything, they likely found my theatrics more appealing than the substance of my reign.”
The Knave watches her huff, shaking her head as if she were merely talking about the weather. She is looking at her but Furina’s gaze is directed elsewhere. She takes this moment between them to study the way the wind would tousle the shorter woman’s hair, the way her hands subtly clenched and unclenched, restless and defiant. Some loose strands cascaded over the former Archon’s eyes ever so slightly, but she could still see the bleak look that lingered over her face. Her eyes are red. That’s what the harbinger notices first, that and her chapped lips and the way her expression seemed to be permanently frozen into that look of careful blankness. Furina can feel her burning gaze all throughout.
“Do you truly believe that?”
The question was supposed to be out of genuine concern. At least, supposedly.
But it was as if a gun had been pointed to Furina’s head instead, because the question causes her to perk up and her body to go rigid, her attention averting from the rushing waters and towards the woman to her left.
She turns to face The Knave, eyes blank and empty. She is staring at her as if she had just asked her why a blind person couldn’t see, or why the sky was colored blue. The silence stretches between them for a short while, thick and heavy, before she finally finds her voice again.
“You did, didn’t you?”
Didn’t you?
The accusation hung in the air —— soft, cool, and biting. And it’s to be expected, really. Forgiveness doesn’t come easily for someone whose past had all been nothing but bloody knives, deception, and screams. Furina thinks her to be an enemy, a threat. The Knave does not expect anything less.
“I did.” she finally admits. “But it was during the instance where I believed I was doing what was right for Fontaine. You cannot blame me for acting in what I thought were for the nation's best interests, most especially since you seemed to not have a plan of your own at the time.”
There is a tension overhead that has yet to be addressed, and the sky above held the same distance between them since the day that Furina left the Palais Mermonia and the only reminder that the harbinger had of the former Hydro Archon was the singular chess piece that she had kept in her pocket.
Furina’s lips press into a thin line, and she feels a sharp pang at The Knave’s words. “I did what I could,” she says softly, almost to herself, as if she needed to convince even her own consciousness that she did good, that she was enough. “I tried.”
“You tried,” repeated The Knave, her voice imperceptibly soft in an attempt to ease the tension. “And I mean to acknowledge that, Miss Furina. I was wrong to accuse otherwise. And I am sorry.”
Furina’s eyes soften then, emotions choking their way into the back of her throat. All she had ever wanted was for someone to say that they were sorry for what happened to her.
When was the last time that anyone has ever told her that? Other than Neuvillette, no one else has ever truly acknowledged her pain straight to her face, not even her —— daring not to poke at the wounds ripe in her heart and still bleeding, as if afraid that she might shatter when she does.
She looks away, pushing back the wetness that threatened to spill from her eyes. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she whispers, trying to brush it off. “It won’t change the reality of things. In the end, you are still right about what you had said before. I was no ruler, and lives were still lost because of me.”
The words pierced the air, and it stung deeply, like the dagger that stabbed through her heart and drained her of everything. Because she wasn’t wrong, and the guilt of not being able to save the people that had counted on her will forever haunt her soul; and The Knave makes no move to refute that.
Furina doesn’t expect her to.
“Yet what you did still took great effort.” she hears her say instead, so light and painstakingly soothing. It bleeds into Furina’s soul. “You played the part that you were meant to play, and you managed it well. I wouldn’t say your sacrifice was in vain just so.”
They do nothing to calm the raging torrents within her at all. A cold chill passes by, and Furina lets out a sigh, shrugging indifferently. Her eyes are focused on the ground below, through the barely standing prison grills of the railing, hanging between the edge of life and the water waiting to catch it underneath. She sniffs.
The Knave is watching her. Furina wishes she wouldn’t.
A lone tear dribbles down her cheek although she isn’t sure why.
Are you okay? —— The voice is gentle, threaded with concern and an almost aching confusion; kind, earnest, the sort that would have undone Furina under any other circumstance. She might have softened into it, might have let herself be held by that warmth, if she were not crying in the middle of a private audience, before a woman who had come seeking salvation, light, certainty. Words drift between them, indistinct and muffled, until the tremor in the woman’s voice finally pierces the haze clouding her thoughts. It pulls her back, sharp and sudden, and only then does she notice the dampness on her cheeks. Ah. She draws in a careful breath. How disappointing. How unbearably human. Somewhere along the way, her mask had slipped —— and she had not even felt it fall.
“Are you okay?”
She is to chase down every fragment of herself and piece back every shard together; upholding the perfect facade she was meant to play: all-knowing and beautiful, strong and wise and never wrong. That’s what she is.
Furina smiles; sarcastic and bitter. She moves a finger to wipe away the tear trickling down her face before replying, “I’m an actress, it’s my job to give my all into what was assigned to me.” the statement comes out like a line from one of her plays, like a joke that she has repeated to herself over and over again to mask away the pain —— shrugging it all off like mere dust on her clothing. It worked for her most of the time, but her voice sounded hollow; and The Knave was far too excellent in reading inbetween the lines. She can practically hear the whirring of her thoughts and the spiraling of her mind.
And that was dangerous, something that Furina couldn’t allow. Because this was The Knave, and she couldn’t let someone like her just open her up as if she were a mere book for her to read. There was too much at stake here, too much for her to lose.
And it’s ironic, how she yearns to be known but not seen, as if humiliated by her own grief and the withering within her heart. It was something she actively tried to hide, to push back against and avoid despite the loneliness within her, because who would be willing to see a painting that had been torn apart and rendered into tatters? Who would want to see the truth, when the facade was more beautiful than reality?
No one. No one does.
And yet ——
“Last I recall, actors don’t play their role their entire life.”
Furina looks up.
The words were blunt and unforgiving and it is just what she imagined The Knave to be like. Her eyes are sharp and observing when they gaze into Furina’s soul, and though not unkind, it was as if something had shattered inside her.
So loud and agonizing that she could feel it.
“And you are no longer an actor are you, Miss Furina?”
It catches her so off guard that Furina barely processes the question inside her head.
And for all the sleepless nights that she had spent trying to memorize her lines and what lie to tell the next time that someone attempts to poke their curious hands into her life, Furina, for once, doesn’t have an answer. She doesn’t know what to say.
It’s raw, painful, and it crashes against her like the freezing waters of Fontaine’s sea at night; teething against her clothes and skin as it hauls her into the shredding seafoam when all she wants to do is get to shore.
What was she supposed to say, exactly?
She was so close to bursting at the seams, the stitches around her heart barely containing the emotions that were raging within her.
There is nothing to say.
And she doesn’t want to do this right now, either.
She doesn’t want to think about how everything that she had built in order to protect herself was nothing more than an act; and that the only person who was supposed to see the real her is gone, and that she can no longer remember what she was like now that she is without her.
She doesn’t want to think of all the stories that she had to tell to maintain the false reality that she lived in for five centuries, doesn’t want to think about the lies she had to swallow down and permitted to choke her into a slow and painful death.
There is a guilt weighing down on her shoulders, an emptiness within her heart that she refused to acknowledge.
She doesn’t want to feel, doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to breathe.
Furina doesn’t want to live at all.
Not right now. Not when it hurts.
“You know what——“ Furina hisses, and it slides off her tongue much harsher than she intends, like a cat that has been cornered, defensive and anguished and ready to swipe. She doesn’t mean for it to sound so cruel, but it crawls out of her mouth anyway. “Why are you even bringing all of this up? What are you hoping to do, exactly?”
The question comes out more of a desperate demand when she asks, and it does not betray how she feels inside. She wishes it was a facade.
The Knave is looking down at her —— contemplating, as if unsure that what she was about to say was something that Furina was prepared for, and it only served to agitate the latter further. She can see the dip of a shadow just by the cut of The Knave’s cheekbone and the smattering of the moon’s holy light against the ivory of her hair. Even in this dreary, dark light, the harbinger’s eyes are sharp and bright. Her voice is measured when she next speaks; weighing each word like a calculation, as if picking out the spines of a thorned rose.
“Monsieur Neuvillette told me about your predicament.”
It’s slow and soft and hesitant and so utterly honest.
Of course. Of course, of course, of course.
Of course it would be like this.
What did she expect?
Furina tenses immediately, but she tries to mask it off. She tries to suppress the sudden feeling of something clawing up from the back of her throat, insisting that they weren’t her tears threatening to break through.
“Did he now,” she practically muttered, her tone resentful as she strains the words out.
“When he called for me to arrange a meeting regarding the gnosis, yes, I asked him.”
The answer comes from above her and it took everything within Furina to hold herself together.
“And he told you everything.”
“He told me everything.” The Knave affirmed.
“How you had lived the past five hundred years, what you’ve done,”
Furina can hear the sound of her heart drumming against her ears.
“Your humanity.”
Something snaps. It shatters right through Furina’s ears. Visions of her on stage, of lights pointed towards her, hundreds of people glaring at her in disappointment, the feeling of her tears wet and fresh against her cheeks, the sting of her hand against the water that burned at her skin so much it scarred;
Everyone please, I really am your Archon——
You can do this, just a little longer. ( How much more? )
Her reflection always liked to tell her that she could never fail her, that she would save Fontaine and become more than she ever hoped to become.
But now she knows that none of that is right.
Because she couldn’t even save the people of Poisson, and she had already failed them a long time ago.
“And you’re here to confirm if his words are true?”
“No, but I cannot doubt that it made me curious.” she hears The Knave say.
And Furina doesn’t know how to take that. She doesn't know whether to be relieved or further enraged by the sudden admission. Unsure if she wants to scream at The Knave for prying into her life or cry from the sheer exhaustion of it all.
What do you want from me, she wanted to ask so badly —— to cling onto the remnants of her dignity, her authority. But she already knew the answer to that, didn’t she?
Becoming a god is the same as waiting for the clock to tick down on the last moments of your life, bleeding free and painting another carpet in the parts of yourself that taste of copper and inner hell. For centuries, she had been the witness to the growing of vines and the weathering of bones, searching in vain for a purpose that would explain her curse and give reason to all the pain that she endured. She has seen stars die and cities thrive, only to fall back into ruin yet again. She has watched as time moved forward, indifferent to her suffering, as she endlessly searched for an answer that never came.
And The Knave —— what would she know about all of that? what would she know anything about what she endured, what she had gone through.
Furina’s eyes are glistening under the moonlit sky, every bit of her insecurities peeking from every crack in her already shattered facade, the sound of ‘futile’ burning through every nerve ending of her body with what came close to what other things five hundred years can say and make her remember.
No, she knew nothing about her at all.
“Look, if you’re- if you’re going to gloat, or to insult me, then I get it, okay? you’ve proven your point. I know I wasn’t the most competent Archon, but please- just—“
She’s rambling now, the world feeling like it’s closing in on her, trapping her, pulling her back into the waters she thrashed endlessly against, haunting her. She never truly left.
Futile, futile, futile.
“Miss Furina.”
“Please just go — I don’t know if you’re doing all of this, just to mock me or- or to make fun of me, or to spit whatever accusation you’re ready to levy against me, but I’m tired and—“
“Miss Furina.”
The world stops its spinning, The Knave’s voice piercing through her reverie. She looks up, there are tears in the corner of her eyes. In their peripheral surroundings, Furina can hear the sound of the leaves swaying as it shines with the blood rushing through her ears. Her eyes are glassy, broken, vulnerable; pieces of her soul scattering down from the elliptical space between her eyelids and trekking across the soft, marble skin.
Even in the face of her misery, she is glowing.
There is a prominent hush that surrounds them where even the wind passing through the trees in the forest framing the distant darkness is holding its breath. They’re standing face to face now, and a thousand emotions are flickering through Furina’s eyes; most of which The Knave believes that she could recognize.
“It is not in my intention to insult you.” she speaks finally, an earnest attempt to diffuse the situation. “Perhaps I held disdain for you once, but I do not anymore.”
There is so much sincerity in her tone that Furina almost gives into it. And it hurts, the way that The Knave is looking at her like she was something delicate and fragile; someone who deserved pity. It makes her feel small and it makes her want to throw up.
She is so tired of being treated like a piece of glass, like she is something frail and weak for everyone to walk eggshells around, where one wrong move would cause her to tip over and break. Not that it mattered to her. Because what could possibly hurt her more than five hundred years of suffering?
This, apparently.
She thinks of Neuvillette, during the trial —— how he had looked at her with sheer disbelief, refusing to even meet the desperation within her eyes. She thinks of Clorinde, how she had so easily lifted towards her the blade that was meant to protect her. She thinks of the nights that she had spent awake, trying to find a solution that would absolve her of the agony within her soul, her face irreparably wet as she wept underneath a starless sky. O great Hydro Archon, how are you going to save them, save us? It’s all so overwhelming, and Furina —— she, she thinks of her reflection. How she held nothing but disdain for mirrors afterwards, a bitterness that lodged itself inside her throat; all of it igniting within her the monster that birthed her resentment.
She thinks of all of this and ——
she laughs.
Loudly, and mockingly, and with a harsh edge that was more than enough to cut through the tense air around them.
“And what reason do I have to believe you and your words? You- you tried to hurt me,” Furina croaks in spite of herself. “You are the last person I could ever begin to trust.”
The Knave knows she has affronted her. Like this, they are closer than ever —— and under the moonlight, she can easily make out the delicate dip of Furina’s nose, the lilac pouches hanging underneath her tired, mismatched eyes. Red, pinkish tendrils branch and stretch out from the whiteness of her sclera, and The Knave can tell that she is holding back more than just her sobs.
The wind howls, softer this time, and when garnet red meets the gaze of cobalt blue, for that moment, it feels as though they can see right through each other.
There’s a silence during which she summons the strength to apologize, “Forgive me if I have overstepped.” she tries again, her voice unnaturally stilted, “I did not mean to offend, I only——“
“No.” Furina barks out before she could continue, and the word comes out hoarse, strained. “You’ve said enough. Don’t even think for a moment that I’m going to fall for whatever you have to say,” she spat, her gaze furious and vulnerable as she suddenly draws herself up to her full height, looking The Knave dead in the eye with a determination that she had only seen from her once before. “Because you know what? you’re right. I’m not a god- or, or anyone special for that matter, and you can patronize me for that all you want, but I am sick and tired of- of arrogant people like you constantly thinking that you can just barge into my life and belittle me so that you can wheel me around into becoming whatever you please.”
The Knave doesn’t answer. She doesn’t say anything. And for a short pause, neither of them do, until Furina is letting out a breath, her eyes moving downwards, looking everywhere else. The fire that once roared behind her pupils earlier had now begun to burn out, giving way into licks of flame as small and delicate as a candle’s.
“You people- you think you know all about me,” Furina laughed, the sound of it wet and broken. “Well guess what? you don’t.” Her hands are shaking, but she does her best to steel them at her side like a practiced motion.
“I have spent my entire years of living letting the words of others dictate the kind of person that I am, and I am tired of pretending that it doesn’t bother me.” her voice cracks, and The Knave watches silently as her fingers tremble when she lifts up her hands to wipe away her tears. “Because it does.”
Sniffling softly, Furina briefly closes her eyes, letting the air wash through her lungs before exhaling them out again.
And it’s beautiful, the way she transforms her emotions so quickly. From shattered and angry to composed and almost perfectly fine in a matter of moments. The Knave wonders just how many times it took for her to practice that. How many nights alone, looking at herself in the mirror with a smile and a frown and repeating both until the tears had dried and she could be whatever she wanted to be.
Years, no doubt.
Or maybe she always had a natural talent for hiding what she truly felt.
But The Knave doesn’t have the time to ponder over the answer, because now she is looking at her, appearing cordial and unbothered —— had it not been for the red rings around her eyes giving her away.
Furina lifts her chin and hardens her gaze, as if she were a queen that had just finished fixing the crown that momentarily tipped from her head, her voice perfectly even when she straightens herself and nods towards her way, “Have a good evening, Lord Knave.”
Then with an elegant swish, she turns, and The Knave watches as she disappears into the night, like a wisp of smoke carried away by the gentle breeze. She memorizes the patterns and blues of the former Archon’s back with each retreating step as if she could somehow engrave her in place if she does; watches as her tailcoat sways gently along with the wind, similar to a ghost being swallowed by the darkness, her parting words resounding in her head like a final verdict.
Her words tell her good evening but her eyes spoke of a different story.
Have a good evening, Lord Knave.
The sun rises a few hours later.
Furina doesn’t return there ever again.