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“Is this really all they had?” Furina squints at the ornate mask, flipping it over in her hand and raising a brow at the way it shimmered. “I’m grateful, of course, but it’s rather… bold.” An avian-looking thing, slightly hooked at the nose and adorned in all manner of glittering delights. Opulent. Borderline gaudy.
“On short notice and for your needs, yes.” Navia reentered the room, tea and macarons in tow. “All of the ‘Oh my god I forgot I needed a mask for the masquerade, what do I do!’ crowd ran the stores dry yesterday and before,” she giggled, her voice already overflowing with grandeur in preparation for the big night.
The director nodded, running a finger along the feathered sides of her hastily acquired accessory. Navia was truly a treasure to do this all for her on such short notice.
Sighing, Furina turned to her bed, strewn with a vast array of neatly folded outfits she’d been circling for almost an hour now. “Well, at the very least, it does narrow down what I can wear. Not everything goes with blue and gold trim.”
“Mhm~” Navia dusted her hands off and practically floated over to the nest of fabrics, raking her eyes all over Furina’s outfits with well-trained eyes. “The perfect attitude to have, partner!”
It really wasn’t supposed to go this way. Navia had arrived for one of their biweekly morning tea breaks, a welcome reprieve from the drudgery of a slow theatre week and assorted troubles. Ten minutes went by with simple smiles and conversation, but of course, Navia couldn’t help but rave about tonight’s star event. A party, a gathering: The Spina di Rosula Masquerade Ball. Navia had been practically shaking with joy when a nod from Furina finally gave her the go-ahead.
The ball had been announced well over a month ago, something to celebrate the complete funding and overall fulfilment of the Poisson reconstruction effort that Navia had been maintaining for almost half a year now. Rarely had so many nobles and court members been so willing to help common folk, especially ones with a ‘reputation’ like those of Poisson, and while Furina could see how the doom and following camaraderie of the prophecy’s end had a hand in this, it would be foolish to act like the true credit didn’t belong to Navia. Her brilliant audacity in the face of aristocracy and those bright, infectious smiles.
So, when an opportunity presented itself to revel as Fontaine adored to do, and in the presence of a much-adored demoiselle, interest checks had been practically running off the flyers. Still, Furina hadn’t had any intentions of attending. Yes, it would be lovely to spend time with her friends and have an excuse to doll herself up. Sure, she was trepidatious to re-enter anything resembling high society, even one with barriers and literal masks, but most of her anxiety came from the ball’s cause, Poisson.
It still… It didn’t feel right to associate with it sometimes. Things were better nowadays, yes, okay to pass through the town on her way to Tabletop Troupe within the Rosula headquarters, but to bask in the triumph over a disaster that she still felt under her fingernails? It ate at something within Furina’s chest. She told Navia she’d think it over, persisting with that answer all the way up until today.
The blonde had gone on about her plan for her and Clorinde’s outfits—that the duelist wouldn’t be privy to for another hour—apparently one steeped in something much more meaningful than fabric and games with how Navia smiled in that way reserved for her lover. She’d told of how Charlotte had almost been blacklisted by one of the sponsors after being caught snooping around. In the end, the woman had assured with ink and paper that she had no intention of abusing the gathering for journalism purposes; she just wanted to test her deduction skills for personal fun, something told to Navia in confidence. Faux confidence if Furina was to hear it.
And then, Navia told of a child in Poisson who was trying to recreate Furina’s prized hat out of papier mâché, asking Navia if she knew “what kind of blue does Miss Furina wear?”, staring at her paints with a confused frown. That was the final nail in the coffin for Furina, sealing away her biggest excuse to hide away and burying it with the simple whimsy of a child. How poetic and utterly annoying in its effectiveness.
Furina had already agreed to go—much to Navia’s satisfaction, when the blonde had started talking about the sponsors. A third of the funding had come from Navia’s pockets despite how they’d been steadily draining from Poisson’s reconstruction, rainy day funds finding their coveted droplets in the sunlight sky instead of cloud cover. But, according to the Demoiselle, the title of largest sponsor and her own gratitude went to one who Furina would not have guessed.
One Lord Knave, Arlecchino.
The Fatui Harbinger and Furina were on pleasant enough terms, friends if you could say so. Weeks of deliveries through her children and eventually herself—when Furina grew frustrated enough with the placidity of it all—led the two to their natural instinct: talking for hours. The hostility was borne by the director that morning inside her home, questioning a stoic figure on whys and hows as the mostly monochrome of her outfit stood out like a sore thumb amongst Furina’s brightly coloured furniture.
That way it continued until she was too tired to keep up her irritation, Arlecchino still cold in tone but no longer as ominous, and they discussed on more open terms. Apologies were given, Arlecchino’s theories she formed from the Iudex and Traveller’s words confirmed without stepping too heavy on Furina’s comfort, but most surprisingly, gratitude.
“Your efforts saved every single one of my children.” Arlecchino had declared, a new splash of candour in her tone. “I’m aware few of Fontaine have paid their dues for the second chance you blessed them with, but believe that I will forever be in your debt for their precious lives, Miss Furina. It's why I found it imperative to bring our relationship somewhere kinder, should you accept it. So you may ask my return of the favour if the time comes.”
Miss Furina… Few had remembered her requests for people to forget her “Lady” title and all it entailed.
From there, it was all an odd happenstance. Arlecchino glanced at a book on Furina’s shelf before leaving, and Furina sent a letter asking the Harbinger if she recognised it. Arlecchino replied, giving not just an affirmative, but a full dissertation of her thoughts and so on so forth, leaving the women in a unique relationship of “penpals with a private book club and occasional attendance to the theatre when it was convenient or if Navia had brought them both”. A lengthy title, but most apt, and enough to get an amused huff of breath from the taller woman when Furina spoke it aloud.
So it wasn’t as if Furina still feared the woman, cursed her a monster like she had months prior, but that it simply sounded so out of character for Arlecchino to be interested in a Masquerade, of all things. Enough to devote the renting of the entire ballroom floor of Hotel Chute d’eau and a rather large sum, if Navia was to be believed. Perhaps they simply were that good of friends? More so than whatever the director had with the harbinger, tense—more so than usual—as Arlecchino had been in their meeting just five days ago. Her admittedly handsome face twisted in just a way that ground Furina’s patience as she danced around any probing like a trained professional.
The only reprieve had been when Furina had handed Arlecchino a gift planned in advance. “Fontainian Flora and Fauna: Vol. 3”, an old tome found in her boxes of belongings from the Palais that Furina had finally started moving through again. There were only so many books in 500 years, and this had been part of the former Archon’s biology fixation about 400 years in, give or take.
Arlecchino had shown a fair deal of surprise, not that Furina had read the pages, but for the fact that this book was exceedingly rare and that the Harbinger had been unable to track a copy down despite her efforts. And then, Arlecchino shared a scathing laugh over the “inane concepts proposed by a Fontainian scholar of alphas, betas and omegas in wolf packs when it was just family dynamics. A boorish idea staked in misogyny and surviving on rotting legs into the minds of fools who find comfort in it.” Curse that laugh and how Furina clung to this snippet of something truly warm in their odd friendship.
Gods. This evening needed to be the recess that Navia made it out to be.
“Here, try this, and…” Navia hummed as she dug into the veritable cavern of Furina’s accessories, pulling out-.
“A replica duelist’s tricorn?” Furina caught the hat with her free hand, staring with the same befuddlement as the mask, even as she cracked a smile. “This was part of my costume from when you had us all dress as our PCs from Tabletop Troupe.”
“Uh-huh!” The other woman grinned, leaning on Furina’s bedpost and nodding her head in a way that made her ringlets bounce with the same pride. “Don’t give me that look. The trim matches your suit, and the dark blue doesn’t offset your jacket.”
Taking a look in the mirror as she tried it on, Furina had to agree. She looked rather dashing with all those sharp angles, enough to deceive those who only associated their former archon with light colours and softened edges.
“Now, all we need is the wig. You still want me to curl it?”
“If you wouldn’t mind. I know you must have so much more left to do, so it’s really no problem if- Oof!”
Navia hushed her with the toss of Furina’s most prized and certainly most oversized plush toy, forcing her to catch him lest the good Monsieur Blubberbeast hit the ground and damage his stuffing.
“I’ve got it, Furina. I wouldn’t have offered it unless I could do it.” Navia smiled that brilliant smile that set anyone’s heart at ease. “Go do your make-up and figure out what in your outfit is making you pick at it every few seconds, and I’ll have this ready for you quick as a flash.” She winked. “Spina promise.”
Gently placing the Monsieur back atop the covers, Furina acquiesced with a hum and shuffled over to her bathroom. As much as this week had been frustrating, grating actors, playwrights unwilling to budge, and sharp-edged Fatui Harbinger’s insistence on acting entirely odd, today bore a unique gift beyond pleasant company.
Furina stared into the mirror, and for the first time this month, it truly felt like Furina stared back at her.
Staring up at the artificial waterfalls of Hotel Chute d’eau, dual coloured ocean eyes hidden behind the thin black mesh of her owl-like mask, Furina was flooded with anticipation down to the tips of her toes.
The tricorne sits at a proud angle on Furina’s head, falling above one of her eyes to anyone seeing her from above. Mystery, a touch of alluring danger she’d say, all to complement the almost hooked tip of the mask. Chestnut curls tickle her cheeks, falling in shoulder-length waves, giving way to bouncy rings so reminiscent of the president of the Spina di Rosula but with sharper ‘fangs’ hanging down by her neck.
All the rest is a lovely mix of layers. A white frilled blouse, a deep blue vest bringing a comforting cinch to her waist and a black coat with the longest tails she could spare drifting behind with every step in knee-high boots. She resolves for pants in place of her familiar shorts, substituting the straps that hugged her thighs for thicker belts in the same places. Gold was Furina’s metal of choice more often than not, but tonight, the moon and her light reflected off silver trims or jewellery in only the best-looking or most self-indulgent places.
If this ball was for the fun and ego of the individual and what they chose to present under secrecy, by Celestia, Furina would revel.
She would play by her book, which also meant arriving at the perfect time for her desires. Too early and everyone’s eyes would be on her the moment she entered, arrive at the listed time, and you’ll be stuck in a crowd. But arrive just in the middle space between on-time and when the show begins, and you’ll pass the doors unbothered, blend in as much as you wish and still have time to find a good spot to watch the festivities.
She’d done it for countless decades. After all, it was Furina de Fontaine who invented the phrase “fashionably late”.
Letting the electric excitement carry her forward with her head held high, Furina handed her ticket to the makeshift booth and slipped through the doors unimpeded. No scathing or uncomfortably adoring looks, no stopping for questions and no real greetings beyond polite smiles and nods from any who took a glance. This was already leagues better than the last time she was in a place like this.
Following the signs and ascending to the second floor opened into one of the grandest halls in all of Fontain. Stained glass stood tall between marble-esque pillars, fine carpets that flowed down staircases into the pride of the room: a deep mahogany dance floor that sat at a lower elevation than the rest of the room so attendants on the sidelines could watch with ease.
Speaking of attendance, Hotel Chute d’eau was filled with the most colourful assortment of guests that Furina had seen in over a decade! Not only had Navia’s advertisements brought the place to almost max capacity, but every person—from child to elder—was truly dressed in the spirit of things, fully disguised or no. From her vantage point by the grand doors, Furina was able to see one such child teetering anxiously at the edge of the empty dance floor. Atop their little head, a small blue hat perched at just the right angle and just the right colour. Warmth like a heartfire settled in her chest at the sight.
Furina had been looking over the bar and other amenities much more intently than she realised, as she almost didn’t notice when a familiar set of feline ears and tail passed by her periphery. Or at least it was familiar, until an identical pair of features were spotted right next to who she had assumed to be Lynette. She almost called out their names on instinct, although she actually couldn’t tell who was who anyway. They both wore the same crisp black suits, the same harlequin masks, the same rainbow rose on opposite sides of the chest and had the same sandy blond locks styled into an elegant braid that fell down their backs. In any case, the siblings looked extravagant as they moved across the room without a care in the world.
She’d have to tell them next Tabletop Troupe how wonderful they looked. Or, she could tell them right now, as the duo made their way over to Furina, thoughts taking shape behind slit eyes.
“Oh, and good evening to you!” One of the twins called on their approach, extending a palm. This was Lyney, right?
“Lovely to meet someone looking so extravagant, dear guest.” The other chimed, peering across her outfit with a smile that had to be Lyney’s. This one for sure. But the flick of their ear when someone far away cheered was so… realistic. Gods, they were good.
“You’re too kind.” Furina coughed, still getting used to speaking in a lower register. She took the offered hand, shaking firmly like she remembered from Clorinde. “Consider me charmed, especially by two handsome gentlefolk.”
The two turned to one another, Furina suddenly feeling under the spotlight in a much more lighthearted way. Did they know? But she had hidden all of her traits so well, right? Nevertheless, twin amethysts settled on her again as her handshake was returned.
“I didn’t think you’d come, Fur-“ The twin stopped, clearing their throat. “mm… fellow guest.” They sounded embarrassed, but there was a gentleness in the first words that clued Furina in just the same. Unmistakably Lynette, unless this was all some even stranger ploy.
If the other was Lyney, he seized up at his supposed sister’s slip, offering an apology. But honestly, Furina wasn't bothered at all. It was comforting in a way to be recognised by a dear friend.
“Don’t worry about it.” Furina set her hands on her hips, a smirk crawling to her lips. “Surely I didn’t think I’d sneak past actual operatives. It's good to see you, Lyney, Lynette.”
The two visibly relaxed, tails settling down by their legs. “Thank goodness. I don't think anyone would have heard over all this chattering. Still…” Surely Lyney smiled, truly fond. “I think my sister was just too excited to see you. Can’t blame her. When last we heard, you weren’t coming. N-Not that that’s a bad thing.”
She was right!
“Well, that’s very sweet. I almost shouted your names the second I saw you, though, so I get it—being excited.” Caving, Furina pulled them both in for a hug. She’d begun to love these the second she got one, and adored how the twins squeezed her back like they would win a prize if she popped. Adorable. But she had to know. “If I may, what gave me away?”
Lyney hummed as they ended the embrace, gaze moving up to the top of Furina’s head—to her hat. “The tricorne. We were there when you made it after all!”
Of course. Furina couldn’t help but laugh, her two friends joining in just the same. There still seemed to be something questioning in Lyney’s eyes, looking somewhere far away before returning to her or Lynette, but in this moment, it didn’t matter. Already, the woes of the week fell to the wayside, burned away by the afterglow of mirth with one’s confidants.
“Evening.”
Furina gasped and turned around at the familiar voice, the same she’d taken notes on mimicking parts of.
“Evening!” Furina smiled from ear to ear, forgoing her character at the sight of Clorinde. She was certainly the least disguised of anyone here, hair sitting tied the way it always was. But a white half mask still made her look mysterious, an almost familiar dark brown suit sitting pristine on broad shoulders.
Unsurprisingly, Clorinde’s eyes met Furina’s hat, and a particular nod followed that told the director everything she needed to know. The woman smiled, giving a polite bow before turning to the twins. “It's great to see you all, and right before things officially start. I’m afraid the commotion would have made it a lot harder to find one another if we tried afterwards.”
“I’m afraid I agree.” Furina hummed, eyes scaling up to the true duelist’s face. “Especially since Navia is gonna have to be fighting tooth and nail to keep you to herself. Tonight is the one night when other people might be brave enough to ask for a dance.”
Clorinde chuckled, a sweet and hearty thing. “Let's hope everyone behaves themselves. Navia is rather fancied herself.”
“Do you know what Navia’s wearing?” Lyney piped up, moving closer to the railings.
“Not a clue.” She sighed, but it was alight with fondness as she joined him, her gloved hands tracing back on across the volute. “She told me where to pick up my suit this morning, and I’ve not seen her since-.”
Clorinde stopped talking the moment the band stopped their mellow tune. Silence fell everywhere within the hall as all the lights began to fade, the last glows reflecting brighter in the twins’ eyes as the room fell into almost total darkness. Anticipation gnawed at Furina’s stomach, joining her friends at the railing. Experience gave her a guess as to just who might be arriving, and where.
Such it was, the stage’s well-beloved clockwork, as bright lights shone down onto the dancefloor. There, cradled in a glow almost celestial, was Navia Caspar, wearing one of the most beautiful dresses they’d ever seen. A rose gold, satin ball gown, off the shoulder v-neck highlighting her collarbones and flowing out into embroidery that almost seemed to melt into the floor. A golden mask adorned with roses lay across her eyes, and her signature hat sat proudly atop her head. Clorinde’s breath hitched at the sight, even more intensely than Furina may have guessed.
Navia cleared her throat, tapping the microphone twice as an easy smile warmed her features. “Welcome, friends, to what is sure to be a fantastic evening of joy and celebration!”
Cheers erupted across the room, applause enough to drown in. When it wasn’t aimed at herself, Furina was able to find the sound much more pleasant. Navia seemed to bask in it.
“Thank you, thank you! And I truly do mean that. It’s thanks to Fontaine as a whole, a community, that I can stand amongst you and say that a long journey is nearing its end.”
Navia’s speech was rousing in the truest sense as it continued on. Boisterous hollers when she called on who amongst the crowd was from Poisson, laughter at her jokes and solemn silence when she told of those who’d been lost. Is that how it felt? To be amongst the masses enraptured by another’s words? The way everyone stared would say “yes”. Even the listing of sponsors still held most by the chin.
“But, as much as it is the result of hardship, tonight is also a gift we shall share. As equals, as Fontaine!” She raised an arm, the skin-tight sleeves accentuating solid strength within. “I ask that you all be as respectful of our lovely little song and dance, and don't go trying to suss out the who’s who outside your own circles. Tonight, is simply about fun with no preconceptions, so…”
Giddy tension was thick enough in the air to cut as Navia grinned.
“Let the Spina di Rosula Masquerade officially begin!”
“That was incredible, Ms. Caspar.” Clorinde took Navia’s hand as she ascended the stairs, so enthralled by her partner that Furina worried she’d start forgetting to blink.
“Oh, thank you, kind stranger.” The woman of the hour practically purred, pulling on the duelist's arms until she got the hint and swept her up into her own. “It was only so easy cause I knew you were watching.”
Seeing their affections for the umpteenth time, Furina found they were simply too cute, almost seeming like a fairytale at times, and she couldn’t help a smile. Lyney playfully rolled his eyes, standing upright with his sister in tow to make his way over.
Lynette smiled at them both, reaching into her hat and coming back with a steaming cup of tea. “Well done, Navia. Not everyone can command a room of nobles.”
“You had all our hearts in your hands,” Lyney added, offering a yellow rose bouquet to the demoiselle. “Here. A gift from the House, and.” He flourished an arm, a magic pocket falling into his grasp. “Somewhere to store it while you’re on the dancefloor.”
“After a taken woman? Must you two have no shame?” Furina pointed exaggeratedly at Clorinde and Lyney, laughing when the boy clutched his heart as if shot, and the woman just chuckled.
“Oh, you!” Chest full with pride, Navia took the gifts with a giggle. “You two are such sweethearts today. All this after helping me set up?”
“It’s deserved, and if you must, you can consider it part of the Hearth’s generous sponsorship.”
Navia rolled her eyes this time, giving them both a brief hug before sending them off with a promise to dance once “the good songs” kicked off. They promptly vanished into the crowd, step matched with step, before Furina could no longer make out the shifts of their tails. She turned to Furina then, bright sky blue so stark against gold as Navia took Furina’s hand.
“And who might you be, monsieur?”
“Simply a duelist, or something on the lines.” One hand pulls on her tricorne for a polite tip, shaking Navia’s hand with the other. “I’m only here on the wishes of a rather insistent companion.”
“A beautiful and clever companion, I imagine?”
“Oh, but of course. Why else would I have listened to her?”
They shared in another bout of laughter, walking at Clorinde’s lead until they were a little more secluded. Such was very easy when the true duelist amongst them could pacify nosier folk with a clearing of her throat and sharp momentary glance. Furina hadn’t even noticed she was getting a little anxious until they were somewhere calmer.
“How are you, friend?” Navia asked once they were beside a set of stairs, most people too busy crowding to the dancefloor or one of the bars to notice them anyway. “This all doesn’t feel too much?”
Furina shook her head, the answer coming more easily than usual. “I’m fine—better than fine if I’m honest. You were right.” A contented sigh left her lips as she spotted familiar figures moving across the space with blissful steps. It felt good to see these people, formerly her people, exactly as carefree as she’d fought for them to be. But that could stay with her for now. “I blend in much easier than I thought I ever could. No one’s caught me out, certainly not bothered me. I feel… like I almost fit.”
“That’s wonderful, Furina.” The tonality of Clorinde’s voice was like dawnlight, so warm. “That’s all that most people desire.”
Furina caught the hidden meaning in the duelist’s words and tone. “You’re human.” Clorinde, ever attentive—not as a servant, but as a friend.
“Well, if anyone causes a stir, just let us know and Clorinde will beat 'em up!” The blonde smirked, playfully squeezing her partner’s bicep. Clorinde was quiet, eyes closed, with her head held high. Nothing incriminating, but certainly not denying it. “Though I doubt any would dare with how dangerously dashing you look, monsieur.”
Brushing off the praise she preened at, Furina walked over to give her dear friends a strong embrace, one each. The couple returned it just as tight, then took one another in hand, Furina taking the moment as a sign to set off. As she splintered from the couple to not bear the gazes that would lock onto Navia and company the second she re-entered the lights, she heard part of a conversation.
“And you’re sure about this? Clementine’s dress and… your Father’s suit.”
“Of course, darling. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
A sigh. “I love you.”
“And I forgive you. For everything within and without your control. I’ll find 100 more ways to say it if I need to, you big dope. I love you too.”
Simply too cute, settling bittersweet on her tongue.
Furina spent the better part of half an hour lounging by the bar, legs crossed and a drink in hand. She didn’t feel lonely per se, certainly not uncomfortably so. Furina just always found fun in a little bit of people watching. The push and pull of the dancefloor, where an exchange of hands could mean two minutes of mediocre company amidst sashays. Or it could be a turning point in once solitary lives, should they connect enough to shed their masks together at the night’s end. Perhaps it was too storybook, but stories had to start somewhere.
Apparently, her curiosity took the physical form of longing, as a man behind the bar leaned over to comment. Twin braids framed his face, a Mondstadt accent clear as day. He even seemed to sound more like his country when inebriated, a concept as hilarious as it was concerning.
“Ah… Trouble in paradise?” The supposed bartender giggled into his question, head propped on a palm. “Oh, the whims of young love.”
“Hah!” She laughed away her surprise at how close he was. “I’ll have you know I’m past my third century.” Not an incriminating fact, knowing the many long-lived species across Teyvat.
“Ooo! So even younger than I thought~”
Oh. Something about this guy grated against her. Furina returned to her cup, ignoring whatever that was supposed to mean and a little irritated. “Can’t one simply want to meander for a moment?”
“Sure you can.” The man chimed, looking to Furina and then out into the crowd. “But you don’t want the whole evening to pass you by, hm?”
Furina was about to offer a retort until she felt a presence move to her side. Turning from this strange annoyance at her right to the company on her left, the director smiled to find a beautiful young woman approaching, saddled with confidence and a unique, almost snow-like mask. Her dusty blue cocktail dress bounced with her steps, thin straps and a deep V-neck showcasing soft, sun-tanned shoulders and the front of sleek black hair that lay atop them.
“Excuse me, I just have to say you look incredible!” The woman had beamed, promptly asking Furina if she cared to dance. Growing intolerant of the bartender, she had, of course, said yes. Equally intrigued by how self-assured the woman was without seeming boorish. “A rare kind of folk, brave enough to act and not make an ass of themselves”, she’d quipped with Arlecchino in one of their letters.
Led to the dancefloor by a careful hand, Furina had taken the offer of leading in stride. She had 500 years of experience on the ballroom floor, but less than a couple of combined hours getting to show she was skilled in more than just following.
A simple dance began easily enough, her partner more than capable of keeping up with Furina’s precise and gentle lead. So Furina had no qualms about turning things up when the woman commented she seemed “reserved”. Her movement became bolder, moments to hold thinning out as Furina flowed like water, the woman almost squealing at the apex of a spin before being tucked back into Furina’s arms. Perhaps it was a little selfish, clearly overshooting her partner’s capabilities to show off like she never could. But this woman, breathing a little heavy with a smile on her face, seemed to have fun regardless.
Shapes passed her by, Furina basking in this controlled space and acting on muscle memory when she dipped her partner low at the final beat of a grand number. Applause for the dances and band filled the room as always, many beginning that awkward shuffle, not knowing where to go. Not Furina, she pulled the woman to her feet for a soft apology for maybe overdoing it.
“No, no, that was amazing! You dance like you invented the concept” She waved her hands about, seemingly full of too many endorphins to stay still. “I’m exhausted, but that was so worth it! First ball and I get to have so much fun? I'd better count my stars.”
“Well, I’m glad I didn’t trouble you, dear.” Furina hummed, not sure if she regretted the flirty lilt— and not having time to decide as her former partner moved for the stairs.
“I’m gonna see what I can make of that weird guy at the bar you were with. But I’ll catch ya again before the night is up. Til then!”
Furina waved the woman off with a smile, warmed by whatever whimsy fuelled her, one that Furina could’ve sworn was familiar. But, like Navia said, that was not the point of tonight. She was more than happy to leave this curious little stint for the fun it was, relax by the side for a little while longer, perhaps. Except, chance wasn’t feeling particularly patient today. Turning to find a different set of stairs, Furina bumped her shoulder into what felt like concrete. In truth, it was the white, puffed sleeve of an elegant jacket.
“ Zut- Ah! My apologies.” Furina flashes a soft smile, looking up to find-... wow…
Tresses of a light ruby red fall over a black and grey mask, canine, wolfish, down to the suggestion of pointed ears. The rest of their hair is tied up in a high ponytail, well-kept and wound tight, falling to this stranger’s mid-thigh. A dashing ensemble of fabrics covers them in a way that is best described as regal, dare she say princely. Black and white jacket cropping above dark high-waisted pants, embroidered in more gold as they fell over gold-tipped heels. Flickers of red peeked out here and there, but a deep scarlet cape fell down their back, clipped to the right of their chest by an elaborate brooch. Crimson and shimmering like a conflagration of roses.
“There’s no need, it was my mistake.” Feminine like a bladed edge, soft like the curl of a flame and sprinkled in something more robust.
The only visible parts of their face were a sharp smile on red lips and a sharper jaw that stood against their high collar. Something, no, everything about it was deeply alluring. How on Teyvat had she not seen this person in all her earlier observations?
Worrying that she may have been staring for far longer than she thought, Furina dusted herself off with a chuckle, fighting to bring back her earlier confidence before such a handsome suggestion of a person. “Well, if that's the case, perhaps such a lovely stranger would indulge me in some… reparations.” Easier to hold composure if you face the wave and ride it, rather than try and swim against and deny it.
A chuckle takes them, the stranger tucking a strand of hair behind their left ear. The depth of it rattled something in Furina’s senses. “How about a dance? I saw you with that woman just now, and I must say, you carry more competence leading than half these guests combined. By no means a feat for just anyone.”
She hums, taking a proper step into their space. “A flatterer, and an observant one. I accept.”
“Splendid.” Much like their mask, this stranger’s smile betrays a degree of wolfishness, seemingly pleased with Furina’s response. “You tell me, petite merveille, would you prefer I lead or follow?”
Furina’s cheeks burn at the name, extending a hand just as the orchestra finishes tuning. Something slow and weighty with passion builds on the strings, the sound calling couples and other curiosities to the ballroom as was their nature. Navia and Clorinde are in eyesight, but only so much of her attention can be taken away from the immense pull of this fine specimen. The stranger takes it and leads her to the centre of the floor as if it were no question they belonged there, dancers of their calibre.
“Well…” She giggles, mischief darkening the sound into something sweet like honey. Her answer betrays earlier enthusiasm, much more curious about something else. “I think I’d like to see where you stand on that scale you set. You lead, beau étranger .” In truth, “I'd like to feel one of those hands on my waist”, but Furina would sooner combust than say something so forward. A costume and persona could only do so much. “Plus, you’re significantly taller than I.”
They nod, a hand on Furina’s waist just as she wished, as her own held their shoulder. The song begins, their grip tightens, and the stranger leans in to say in that soft, titillating voice, “My dear, I’m more than happy to earn my keep.”
As much as Furina had been moved by the almost sensual nature of how the two of them connected, completely unfamiliar outside of novels but quickly adapting, she worried she would not be able to keep it up. Call it inexperience or embarrassment, perhaps both, but there would have to be a limit to how much she could take, right? Thankfully, Furina didn’t have to find out.
To the palpable delight of both, Furina and this fascinating stranger had been able to keep pace with one another perfectly. Familiarity allowed Furina to follow quick movements with ease, responding to improvisations with steady legs and the occasional idea of her own. The dances demanded both of their attention down to the droplet, a feat for the best of the best, blocking out everything in the world but the music and one another, making it very easy to talk. Sure, the fastest tempos didn’t lend themselves to the best conversation, but anything below that and words flowed freely between them, much more than you’d get in your standard pair dances.
Sensual compliments shifted in the presence of time to think, to observe the other in their arms beyond the magnetism, becoming something much closer to banter. A comment on food here, an opinion on happenings there, a realisation that they were on their fourth dance, and suddenly they were laughing.
“Truly, this is all much too captivating,” Furina hummed, falling back into secure hands. “Thank goodness there aren’t laws on how much one can dance.”
“Then I see no reason not to go for five,” her partner responded, spinning her above ground in an impressive show of strength before dipping her low. “Perhaps, after a break on your legs? It may not be illegal, but we’re certainly gaining renown.”
It was the first time Furina had entertained a dance partner beyond the formalities, the two sitting on a bench overlooking the battleground they’d undoubtedly conquered. The first time, she’d both wanted to and really had the choice in the first place. Water was offered without Furina asking, the director taking it politely and drinking greedily when she realised just how thirsty she was. Something her new friend apparently found quite amusing.
On the topic of finding things amusing, Navia had spotted them from across the hall and made a series of wild gesticulations in favour of just yelling her words across the bar. “Great job!”, “They’re good-looking!” or “Get that bag”—slang Lyney had uttered and explained in their last game of Tabletop Troupe, much to Navia's enjoyment. Whatever it was, it was utter nonsense that Furina could only swing odd guesses at. Thankfully, Navia behaved herself once the tall figure turned around. Lyney had been next to her, smiling the whole time, no doubt enjoying the blonde’s antics. She even saw the girl she danced with prior, several drinks in and talking with the bartender and a curious-looking Clorinde.
Regardless, with this moment came clarity. Time away from the dancefloor, letting Furina compare and contrast as she and her new friend discussed various events across Fontaine without giving themselves away. They asked where she learned to dance, saying they themselves were taught young by their mother, while Furina offered she’d been working in theatre for “As long as I can remember.” A part of her brain couldn’t help but think of everyone she knew, who this masked figure may be underneath. Someone tall, well spoken and attentive, though who’s to say how much is an act.
Well, there were a few possibilities—if she hadn’t seen her already today, she might guess this was Clorinde—but before Furina could dwell on one particular individual, she heard the telltale tuning of one of her favourite songs. A jaunty, fun rhythm interspersed with something soft and gentle, composed early in her second century.
“My friend, would you care to be led this time?”
Having left for barely fifteen minutes, the two were back on the dancefloor. The height difference made it a little tricky to figure out at first, but soon enough Furina had her partner following her movements with all the confidence and dedication they’d led with prior. It was actually a little intimidating to have someone flourish at her direction so easily, such a powerful form acquiesced to her touch.
Their proximity had grown closer with each song, and it was less than a minute into their fabled fifth dance that Furina noticed something.
“Your mask… I think we may have bought from the same store.” The same kind of mesh concealed both of their eyes. Was it happenstance for their partner, or did they, too, have something to hide? “Admittedly, while I would usually craft one myself, mine was purchased by a friend. I think she mentioned seeing one exactly like yours at the store.”
“Hmm. It’s very possible.” Their gaze honed in on Furina’s own mask, the attention warming her face as they danced. “As long as we’re being candid, I neither made nor bought this one.”
“Don’t tell me you, too, were coerced into coming mere hours before?”
Their expression hardened for a moment, interrupted by a slow spin before it warmed again. “Right on the money. Family and friends have their ways.”
“True as the tide. And just as eroding in the best of ways.”
They laughed at that, the sound much softer than they expected. More honest?
“I wonder what convinced them to buy these designs specifically. Were they truly the only option, or did some part of their minds find them fitting?”
Considering that, Furina took her own time to re-observe. The pointed ears and suggestion of fangs at the bottom of the mask, where it met their cheekbones, the snout ending in a nose that social conduct barely kept her from tapping with a pointer finger. As for the bird adorning her own face… if it was intentional, the analogy was clear.
Furina smiled. “Wolves. Such fascinating and beautiful creatures.” The song demanded action, and she answered with their first dip, full of flair, enthralled when her partner arched perfectly like a bow. “And so often deeply misunderstood.”
Their smirk only grew sharper, speaking with amusement nestled deep in their timbre. “Oh yes. Mondstadt and Fontaine both made efforts to eradicate them once upon a time. Believing them vermin, demons, monsters of the abyss who’d feast on your children in the night. Several times conveniently blamed for the actions of serial killers and kidnappers.”
“All the while, it was they who kept ecosystems in check, controlling the populations of introduced pests.” She added, pulling them back up, tucked against her chest and interlocking masked gazes. “Thankless work for a world that scorned them. Such a dreadful thing.”
It wasn't often Furina got to flex her less classical knowledge, thinking of the encyclopaedia she’d gifted to Arlecchino just days before. She would have to follow up on that soon. Maybe it’d finally quell that pervasive awkwardness their last few encounters had been seared by. The tempo brightened, thankfully freeing Furina’s mind of that infuriating Knave, the stranger’s hand tightening on her shoulders as they started up again.
“In any case, I’m glad their world is a kinder and less ignorant one now.”
Their partner nodded, somewhat noncommittal. “Maybe so.”
“You don’t agree?” Furina inquired, moving her hand up their waist just a touch.
“The culls were nearly a millennium ago, a time we’ve thankfully advanced from, as you’ve said. But…” Their smile widened, tone gaining a quality of playfully appalled. “It was only 200 years ago that that preposterous theory of alphas and pack dynamics was penned. Right within the court of Fontaine. Disproven by its author, and yet plenty of fools still cling to it today, as if it could reflect upon personhood. An inane concept practically staked in misogyny.”
A laugh bubbled from Furina's throat, beginning to form a response before it dissolved altogether… “ Wait ”…
People have described subtle epiphany as a pebble dropped into a lake; this was more akin to a brick being flung full force into the side of her head. Reflex and an ancient self-assurance kept her body moving—not quite as innovative as before, less sudden turns, but seemingly passing by her partner’s radar. Although if this new theory barreling into her brain was correct, the chances of that were nigh unthinkable.
Sure, anyone could be tall. “The height was almost exact." Anyone could have a smooth voice that clawed down to your spine when it lowered. That was primarily a matter of practice. “But did anyone else’s succeed like hers? ” Anyone could have near-encyclopedic knowledge about animals and their public reception. “They said nearly the exact same phrase at the end, Furina, don’t be daft! ”
There were other factors. Assurances to fall back on. This stranger, this ‘definitely not who she thinks she is’ stranger, had a softness in their touch Furina would never expect from that other woman. The very concept felt foreign, forget what the twins had said about supposedly gentle hands. Besides, this stranger is so... nice and sweet right now. It's probably not who she thought. It couldn’t be. She would be a lot more brusque… Assumably.
Still, there was a non-zero chance. A new blot of dark red in her theories, spreading outwards to consume.
There was a possibility, however small she commands it to be, that the one she was dancing with, their hold soft as summer rain, a pleasant conversationalist, so pliant to Furina’s touch—was one Lord Knave, Arlecchino.
Arlecchino wasn’t supposed to be here tonight.
Navia had made a good case for the ball, that it was a great way to bookend all that work in Poisson, and so she’d been content to allocate some of the Hearth’s funds to a sponsorship. Especially when the blonde had assured all of Arlecchino’s children would be welcome to attend. But when Navia had suggested that she herself attend, Arlecchino had been sceptical, declining for the time being.
Lyney was very excited, Lynette was in the same boat by proxy, and within twenty-four hours, they’d already assembled a list of everything they’d need to pull off a rather sensational trick. Their enthusiasm was infectious, and other children put more work into their chores so they could have time to make their plans, taking more time for self-care in tandem. Arlecchino was proven right in trusting Navia for this, seeing the promise of a little revelry bring so much warmth to the halls of Hotel Bouffes d’ete. It was a good influence, enough to whittle her down just enough.
The evening before the ball was to arrive, her son had made his way into her room. The way he fiddled with his hat showed he had a question, a half smile on his face revealing him anxious. “Perhaps something had gone wrong last minute”, was her theory. So she’d been caught off guard when he admitted a simpler truth: that he and many of his siblings wanted her to go to the ball. Not because they necessarily wanted to spend time with her, or they needed the security she could provide, but that they simply wished for her to have fun, to join in that revelry.
An upcoming trip to Snezhnaya was the cause, something all the children had been aware of and knew how it would affect her. A minimum of a week away from the house always left her irritated, stuck playing loyal hound, tolerating harbingers who were either fools, maddened, or had plans to waste her time with schemes and attempts to get filthy hands on her family. But it would pass like any other.
If the children were bothered by her being bothered, that was their empathy. A valuable thing, and also not something that needed fixing, nor would it harm them. Their concern over her would pass just the same when Arlecchino returned strong as she was before.
But… the upcoming festivities were a rare thing. If even one of her attending children couldn’t enjoy themselves to the fullest due to worrying about their ‘Father’... That was something she wouldn’t stand for, even if the necessity of her role urged Arlecchino to act indifferent.
So, between that, Lyney’s own arguments and another letter from Navia attempting to win her over sitting primed on her desk, Arlecchino was whittled down to saying yes. A three-pronged assault pushed her into searching her closet the next morning, while Lynette dashed between stores and Lyney concocted a mix of magical hair dyes. Arlecchino wouldn’t forget his sheepish smile when she picked the bottle that matched the red streak in his own hair, not if you offered her the world.
“I wonder if Furina will be there in the end.” Lyney had said it like it was an offer or bait, a grin on his lips as if he knew something she did not. Curious.
“Well then, I would be hard pressed to spot her, nor would it be polite.” She’d countered. “If Miss Furina is attending, she’ll surely be expertly disguised, I imagine.”
Arlecchino's relationship with the director had grown more promising since their tea party days—the woman no longer tensing at the mere sight of her. They exchanged letters, discovered they shared a considerable number of interests and would occasionally join for pleasant company across Fontaine’s various cafes and patisseries. Arlecchino’s treat, at her insistence.
But it was at one of these little gatherings that things took an unfortunate turn.
A small crowd at the door led to Arlecchino placing a hand on Furina’s shoulder, moving her through a path that would keep her from bumping into anyone or being otherwise bothered. It was only when they were seated that Arlecchino noticed the other woman's eyes. Bright blues with their teardrop pupils compressed were constantly flickering towards her hands, never letting them out of her sight for more than a few seconds. Her brow was furrowed slightly, only relaxing once food arrived. They didn’t talk for the first four minutes, and Arlecchino didn’t even think Furina herself noticed.
Despite the clandestine nature of the touch, Furina was tense. She was certain the director would deny it if asked, but Arlecchino was certain of it. Some part of Furina was still terrified of her, clear even without Arlecchino's ears being able to hear that little heart thundering in Furina’s ribcage.
She’d been rash, pushed too far in her efforts to make their morning faster and exaggerating how much the woman trusted her to the point of causing discomfort—of causing another rift. So she would pull back, not cut the woman off on an immature assumption that she despised her, but be less forward, less active unless directly prompted. Instinct said to wait at least a week before trying to open a dialogue about it, but this issue might need even more room to breathe without making Furina feel accused or like Arlecchino was upset. She wasn’t really. As much as she did want to get closer to the woman, Arlecchino had to admit she did not know how to go about it.
The night went by well enough, Arlecchino amused by the band and the atmosphere, how not even Navia seemed to recognise her. The only ones that knew were her myriad children, flitting about the room and understanding they could find their ‘Father’ enjoying herself if they searched enough, turning back to the merriment without a worry.
Arlecchino had been dancing with Lynette, reminiscing on when she’d taught a tiny girl to do the same while she stood on her toes, planning to ask Navia for one later—unless Clorinde never freed up a spot—when she’d spotted a rather remarkable figure on the dancefloor. They looked beyond skilled, the woman in their arms completely unable to keep up, but visibly enjoying herself. It intrigued her.
The song ended, and Lynette left with a docile smile, going back to find her brother after receiving a gentle rub on the fur of her ears. Intending to check on the status of her friend, she ended up bumping into that fascinating little dancer she saw earlier. They looked surprised as well, perhaps a little more than just surprised, but that at least showed this wasn’t some kind of set-up.
What she could see of them was certainly appealing, their outfit far from standard and holding it well. Round curls, clearly a wig and making her curious about the truth. Their skin was smooth as well, the general shape of their face and body a mix of sharp and soft that was rather attractive. There was also some strange… pull? A frivolous notion, but Arlecchino acquiesced anyway, curious just what else this fascinating creature beheld.
Quickly, she began to formulate ideas of who this could be, laughing to herself at one that sounded utterly ridiculous and equally spectacular. But, in the end, it didn’t truly matter. She was here to appease her children, to have fun at their request. Arlecchino would sway in the mystery a little longer.
Just a little longer, time and time again. Unaware of the part of her heart that placed hopeful wagers on a narrow chance.
Another song ended with Furina and her partner, bodies bent, joined only at the hand and tangled legs, and surprisingly, a little breathless. Something resembling a tango had drawn them back and forth across the dancefloor, relying on one another’s weight in a way that denied any hesitation. It was helpful—for clearing Furina’s head, that is. Applause rang out once again, the signature time to move on or stay, and Arlecchino graciously stepped back first, leading the two to the outside.
“Magnificently done.” A touch of fatigue rendered her tone more honest. Light, clearly enjoying herself. “I’ve not danced like that in quite a long time.”
“Nor I.” Fuirna huffed, pulling on her partner’s hand until she was more securely standing. “You did wonderfully just the same.”
Letting her hand slip from theirs brought suspicion to Furina’s mind again, imagining Arlecchino’s stoic silhouette and monochrome locks moving about the dancefloor, comparing it to the way she’d flowed like water in this supposed stranger’s arms.
Clarity came with the stability of sitting down, and Furina fully processed something. Furina was having an incredible amount of fun. She had been having fun, regardless of how she silently questioned her partner, too busy doing so to realise.
Her calves burned with exertion, but in an undeniably human way. Sweat sat at the back of her neck, but it didn’t bother her, heart slamming inside her chest and bringing an unshakeable smile to her lips. Navia had been right by her at one point, dancing with her lover, but briefly stopping to look at Furina. The look on her face told her what a mirror could: that Furina not only felt, but looked happy, truly happy. More so than across the entire evening, if it could entrance Navia, even if just for a moment before she shook her head and went back to dancing.
“Are you alright?”
“Huh?” Furina snapped up, unaware of how long she’d been caught in her thoughts. “Y-Yes! Actually… I don't think I’ve been better. Not in months. Which isn't to say my life is dull, mind you, this has just been…” A sigh became laughter, loosening her muscles as she leaned against the wall. No word feels right, no single word able to explain the warm and bubbling feeling rattling her chest. So, she just continued to laugh and smile.
Arlecchino was caught off guard. Such bare emotion burned bright enough to blind her as she stared with her head at an angle, her loosened red tresses falling over her shoulder. Still, they looked like they needed some more water—and perhaps a comfier seat.
“Would you…” Furina beat her to the punch, taking Arlecchino’s hand gently from her lap, pausing as she reigned in her merriment. “Care to spend more time together, before the night ends? I might need a while before dancing again, but I hear Dawn Winery is supplying us this evening.”
General anxiety attempted to claw at Furina’s heart. That this mysterious stranger might suddenly reveal themselves aloof, and step back at the question. But the feeling simply couldn’t take root between her raw joy and the still present wondering of if this truly was the Knave beside her. Sure enough, she was rewarded with a smiling face as Arlecchino stood up, took Furina with her, and answered with a chuckle. “I’d be delighted to.”
Gently because of her importance, but not softly as if she were weak, Furina was led up the staircase for the first time in nearly half an hour. Her legs were jelly, and it was worth it, holding onto the firm bicep of Arlecchino and maybe squeezing it out of curiosity in a hopefully subtle way. It was not, and the taller of the two smirked at the attempt, thinking of whose hand that may have been.
At the top of the stairs, Furina saw two familiar sights conjoined. That damned nosy bartender and her previous dance partner, either heavily drunk or too deep in whatever riveting conversation they shared to realise how wildly they were moving about the place. The latter caught her gaze, looking to Arlecchino, then back to her, then back to Arlecchino. She smiled, then gave a big thumbs up before carrying on with her new friend. At that, Furina decided to lead them to the bar on the other end of the hall, bearing an incredulous smile.
That was the second time! Tossing the thought from her mind, she ordered a drink, paying attention to her partner’s own, and sat down with a heavy, contented exhale.
“I might need to sit for a while. So, I hope you’re alright conversing without all that flitting about the dancefloor.” Furina giggled, taking her colourful mix from the bartender. A tall, somewhat tired-looking man with fiery red hair tied up similarly to Arlecchino, but with more volume and a stylised mess.
The Knave’s drink was a bright cocktail, surprising the other. With how little alcohol affected her, Arlecchino found it sensible to at least shop for taste. Sweet things helped to clear the aftertaste of exhaustion.
“If that is a challenge, I gladly accept.” She sipped for a moment, twirling the rim with her pointer finger. “To begin with, is that tricorne self-made?”
Furina answered more honestly than either expected, and the same to the next question and the one after. She didn’t reveal herself, instead going on and on about her fascination with the Maréchaussée and about the brilliant Tabletop Troupe that she wagered her new friend might enjoy.
Arlecchino took it all in, honest in her enjoyment to just listen for a while to Furina and her captivating voice. That is, until her companion mentioned something about cats, and Arlecchino walked into a self-imposed trap. Clearly, there was no choice but to spout all manner of facts about the creatures, about insects and what bird she thought her mask might be modelled after.
Soon, they were no longer just listening; instead, snapping at every opportunity to bring something to share. Neither felt cut off, but rather uniquely heard. Especially as they always let the other finish their thoughts. The opera, spiders, lumitoille and the auroras far north. Strange topics, or ones many would find concerning, didn’t feel as such when it was so clear how earnest one another’s interest is. All was fair game until Furina realised she’d finished her second drink already, believing it smart to pull back. As if reading her mind, Arlecchino offered a stroll and Furina took it gladly.
It hit Furina then that, perhaps, if this mystery person was Arlecchino, it wouldn’t be a bad thing. It might just be more fun for it to be her than anyone else. Imagine the surprise on her face if Furina revealed the person she’d ‘infodumped’ with—another interesting and very apt term courtesy of Lyney—was the same woman she’d been so helplessly awkward around just a few days ago. Hah!
She was no longer as nervous about the idea that it might be a Harbinger in wolf’s clothing. Still would be bewildered, yes. But she accepted that as it was and continued.
Pacing in a wide circuit with “near-certainly Arlecchino” as they talked, she took in easy breaths and all manner of sights. They’d been discussing the recent stint of sunny weather when she spotted a not even close to disguised Neuvilette. There he was, atop a balcony Furina didn’t even know how to reach, sharing warm glances and a glass bottle of Inazuman water with a roguish-looking man coated in black and red. One hand held the dragon’s waist, the other his cup, a feathered hat reminiscent of a pirate stuck proudly on his head.
She could almost swear she knew him, if not for the stretch of fabric masking the top half of his face. Her partner saw Furina staring, following her gaze before humming softly. “Hmm. They’ve made their move.” They said, moving on without much else.
Hm. If this was Arlecchino, Furina at least would be able to question her on that later.
More faces moved by. Clorinde tugged away from the dancefloor by an excitable Navia, the short bartender dragged towards it by an assuredly drunk-by-now young woman, playing the part of someone unwilling, even as he grinned. Occasionally, they passed by several of Arlecchino’s children, looking at her company and shooting a soft smile, or growing red as if scandalised and running away giggling. As long as they didn’t make fools of themselves, she’d allow their antics and smile. Her mission was complete, the children free of concern to go about their night. When Furina asked, she simply explained that she “worked with children”.
“Like a pediatrician?”
“Something like that, at times.”
Furina didn’t get to ask a follow-up as the sound of a microphone tapping drew all eyes to scanning the room, finding the demoiselle on another one of those balconies. It was then that Furina also noticed the band seats beginning to empty.
“Gooood evening, everyone~!” Navia sounded maybe a little tipsy, but plenty held together, clearing her throat before starting up again. “We are officially halfway through our evening, and so the band is going to take a thirty-minute break. Everyone, please give them a round of applause.”
Polite in most places and rowdy in others, grateful cheers and claps arose across the hall. Arlecchino’s own were soft, while Furina gave a little more oomph than usual. The drinks had taken their small toll it seemed.
“Thank you~. Now, take the time to talk, drink, eat and prepare yourselves for the other half of our festivities. It wouldn’t be a Fontanian celebration if it didn’t last until midnight. À Tout de suite!”
Another round of applause, echoing into eventual quiet as droves of people started to clear the dance floor. It had been a fantastic evening—and with more to come, as Navia said. And yet, part of Furina began to feel a little melancholic, possibly anxious. Perhaps it was suddenly being aware of the passage of time, knowing it would have to end soon and that she wasn’t ready for it. The idea of the already packed outer ring of the room being filled with more people didn’t help either. Whatever it was, it was an annoying thorn in the side of her mood.
Even with so much of her face concealed, Arlecchino was rather skilled in reading people. Such was much easier when one’s body made it easy to interpret.
“I’ll admit I’m not always one for tight crowds, especially when plenty of them are inebriated.” Arlecchino began, offering her hand when Furina turned to face her. “I assume it's much the same for you?”
She briefly looked to the stairs, then nodded.
A warm smile spread across the exposed portion of Arlecchino’s face. “Well, I happen to be rather familiar with Hotel Chute d’eau. Would you care to see the gardens?”
Furina lit up like a firework. “Absolutely!” Suddenly, excitement morphed into a look of mischief. “Wait, is that even allowed? I don’t recall seeing anything about the gardens being part of the ball.”
The taller of the two seemed completely undaunted, pulling Furina closer when she took their hand. “If they didn’t want people there, they should have said as such. I didn’t see any blockades earlier, and if someone gets upset, that only reflects on their poor communication as businesspeople.”
It was hard to argue when they sounded so sure of themselves, so Furina just hummed affirmatively. A devious part of her soul smiled at the thought that she might be breaking some rules tonight. Focalors would be proud, surely.
“Trust me?”
Even if red crossed eyes lurked behind that wolven exterior, Furina found that, yes, she did.
So Furina was whisked away, sensing that her companion might have been more excited than expected with how quickly they moved. That, or just eager to get out of sight. Either way, it was exhilarating for her. It was a minute into their little revelry that they saw someone coming down the hall, Furina grabbing Arlecchino off of instinct and shoving her into a thankfully empty room. A few seconds passed breathlessly, the former squinting through a crack in the door while the latter stared down at her with an incredulous smirk. Eventually, the figure passed, a thankful sigh from her lips with it. She turned back to her companion, paused, and both began laughing uproariously while Furina simultaneously tried and failed to shush them both.
Two influential figures of Fontaine, behaving like teenagers sneaking out of homes to party, the analogy warped in a sense.
Back into the halls they were; two lefts, a right and straight forward until fresh air hit their faces, Arlecchino sighing contentedly at the sight of the night sky. She was already plenty familiar with the space, but got to feed off Furina’s excitement when she found the sprawling expanse of flowers, trees and fountains.
Furina ogled at the jasmines, waved hands just above the rose bushes so her nose was awash in the scent and began to list off all the artistic influences of one of the water features—Sumeran, but made in Liyue and out of Natlani materials, elements blending as intended as it changed hands. All the while, Arlecchino followed at a short distance, sharing her own knowledge but never interrupting. Not until she fished a moonflower petal out of the air after a particularly strong breeze, and tucked it into Furina’s hat, much to her amusement.
But Arlecchino wasn’t allowed to stay on the sidelines when Furina spotted the Inazuman section. Those eyes that had only been for the flowers now returned to Arlecchino, the retrieved attention feeling glorious against her skin as her hand was snatched into a hold so that they might walk under the looping boughs of those colourful trees, together.
“I’ve always wanted to see the cherry blossoms.” Furina sighed, swinging both their hands idly as they began to take step after step. “I knew some places in Fontaine must have grown one, but a part of me always wanted to save it for if I could ever visit where they grow natively. If I ever left the plateau.”
A squeeze of the hand in hers, urging without words, if Furina wished.
“I’ve gotten to leave recently. Not yet to Inazuma, but… so much of my life was spent s-.” She caught the word before it incriminated her, hands fiddling with her hat. “Was spent working. Technically, nothing ever stopped me from leaving for a day… or forever. No barriers or overbearing family. But, I could never bring myself to do it, even if it tempted me dozens of times.”
“What kept you here?”
Furina hummed, thinking of how to phrase it. “It sounds maybe a little self-righteous, but people relied on me. So many people. That was all it took to send me back over the years.”
Part of the Knave resonated with those words. The seventeen-year-old girl shackled with all the weight of her wretched ‘Mother’, taking the title of Knave from her grave. A rabbit pushed to grow wolfen fangs after managing to slay that very same beast, brought to heel in Snezhnaya like the last hound and expected to serve or perish.
She could have turned coat several times, same as she could have run away after burning Crucabena to ash, never to be seen again. Could have caught a boat to faraway lands and lived the simple life of a farmer or craftsman. Peruere certainly had the means, and yet… Cradles and tiny hands could not defend themselves against the bitter cold, couldn’t advocate for themselves in the face of Fontaine’s deep-rooted injustice. Such was the duty of the Hearth; the duty of Arlecchino.
“Responsibility can be quite the siren song.” A somewhat flatter voice mused, flipping the idea in her mind up and down like a coin. “Regardless, I hope it isn’t a disappointment to see them like this.”
Furina stopped, thought, and then shook her head. Her eyes stared up at the pink petals with all the wonder she could hold, gripping their hand tighter.
“Not in the slightest. A flower is a flower, and we should celebrate that it flourishes beyond where it began.” Her whimsical nature is caught by something more logical, the part that had to deal with countless ecological trials over centuries. “E-Except for invasive species, of course! Supporting the natural biodiversity, trophic charts and all that.”
The frantic self-correction was simply too cute to resist, a chuckle bubbling for Arlecchino that ruddied the other’s cheeks. “You’re quite amusing. And you’re also correct, on both fronts.”
Any embarrassment at the teasing settled at Arlecchino’s sincerity, the two walking in rare silence for one more lap of the ring before Furina beckoned for them to sit under one of the trees flowering in fluorescence pink. The crickets and breezes accompanied them for a time, Furina's eyes following a falling petal, Arlecchino’s locked onto something she found much more captivating.
Another flower landed on Furina's nose, tickling her senses as she blew it away. It drifted back into whatever magic continually moved them around the expanse, breaths light and heart lighter.
“Thunder sakuras have a rather wide array of meanings—their flowers, that is.” She began, feeling like relishing in some more recital and moving away from all that serious talk.
“Care to enlighten me?” Arlecchino responded, feeling her hand go lax in an excited grasp.
“But of course! Thunder sakuras, of course, have the parallel to lightning. Only able to be held in hand when exposed to certain conductors once they leave the tree. These conductors exist natively in the tree by default and-” Meanings, Furina. The meanings. “Ahem, well that’s for another time.”
“There’ll be another time, will there?”
“Pay attention and you might be so lucky.”
“Well then, consider me a scholar, petite merveille.”
“A-Anyway! The flowers…”
She flexed her fingers, forcing blood to her extremities instead of her face. “Thunder sakuras are tied deeply to transience and eternity, in both their nature and their place as the national flower of Inazuma. Stories say the roots of all their trees spread into the ley lines until they conjoined with the Sacred Sakura, while the petals are always fated to fall. But, they also represent purity, new beginnings and, most romantically, the fable of ‘love at-. Oh!”
Furina had flourished her hand at the phrase, hoping to dramatise, and instead took the stranger’s glove with her. She moved to return it, no longer able to feel how their hand tensed the moment it was freed. “My apologies. Here, allow me to...”
A Black hand—black claw. Primed. Signature tattoos stretching across flesh.
Painted talons shone like scythes in the moonlight. To slash? To maul? What else for?
There was a hitch of breath, the wolf exposed to something much more frightening beneath. And yet it was the presumed predator who froze like prey, deer in the headlights of Furina’s gaze. Arlecchino knew that shake, that little heart and how it thundered.
She saw them. No chance of denial as Furina stared down the evidence, irrefutable proof of the Knave.
She saw them. Arlecchino's earlier wishful suspicions now confirmed in the worst way it could have.
Arlecchino should leave.
Furina should run. That’s what logic demanded, screamed into her ears until blood boiled.
But neither moved a muscle.
Run away, please!
Run before everyone knows the truth!
You’re not the real Archon…
…
It was logic, right?
Logic that had rushed ahead of her; heart, mind and soul. All it took was a deep breath afforded by a split second of clarity for Furina to catch up, realising that ‘logic’ was a liar, shroud pulled back to reveal its true nature: fear, irrational and unfounded. As sense returned, Furina saw something in the body and the rigidity of the person before her—Arlecchino. Something that the Knave hadn't even been able to see in herself.
A brief flash of… hurt.
Arlecchino felt hurt. By what exactly, she couldn’t tell, yet.
Arlecchino hadn’t wanted to lose this, but she’d grown complacent in this little sanctuary—grown weak. Allowed the chance for a moment more to literally slip from her grasp, leaving her and her sins out to be condemned. The Knave reclaimed her own clarity, too. It willed her back solemnly, to step away, but she was fated to freeze yet again when a gentle grip clasped tight around her now exposed claw, more gentle than it deserved.
Furina pushed the pad of her thumb against a talon.
It was this hand that had shoved her to the cobblestone months ago. But, the night would have it that it was also this hand that invited her to dance.
She curled all five nails into her hand, feeling no pain, only a gentle pressure under her control.
It was this hand that held her waist when she asked for it, and sat on her shoulder when she spun Arlecchino into her arms. Arlecchino who listened to every word she had to say, hands patiently in her lap, never taking unless asked for or hoping to help.
Furina dwelled on the calloused palm against her knuckles, both the cost and medallion of hard work overcome.
It was this hand that scoured debris for children that Fontaine tried to forget. Fed them, clothed them, caught their tears and enacted whatever necessary darkness was needed so they could sleep soundly. Perhaps that darkness was condemning, but the happiness on the twins’ faces persisted because of this hand. This hand that had penned letters, flipped through the pages of a gift Furina had willingly given and moved to Arlecchino’s chin when she rattled off facts Furina remembered reading herself and had been happy to hear again.
She had yet to look at Arlecchino’s face, unable to see the tension pursing her lips as she remained trapped in Furina’s featherlight hold. But how could she look away? She’d be a fool.
A compulsion to stare born out of fear and paranoia was reforged, retaining only duty, its reason for existence emerging from the cocoon to reveal… what exactly?
Curiosity? A reckless fascination? Dare she think, adoration? It mattered not in the end.
The verdict was clear: Furina was spellbound.
Whatever pull these two shared behind duplicity was suddenly multiplied tenfold. Magnetism built until it gained the qualities of a dark star, tremendous gravity that was impossible to deny, much like the beauty in how moonlight reflected on black and red talons. Perhaps there was a healthy dose of mania amongst her reasons.
The director’s intense expression relaxed until it was neutral, gaining a touch of warmth as she lifted their hands close to her face. She had planned to inspect it, but her little heart quickened at the appearance of an intrusive thought she couldn’t ignore.
It was this hand… that was just too enthralling for its own good.
Not a rational thought in her head, Furina pulled up and bent down until her lips pressed into the blackened knuckles of Arlecchino’s left hand.
Furina lingered, hearing the silence of a Knave stoically holding her breath and feeling a pulse jump against its master’s will. The next words came easy, assembled from earlier duplicity and the desire to show she held no fear, not for Arlecchino. Not anymore.
“Bonjour, mon loup.” Another heartbeat held in her hands, pulling her mask up to reveal the truth of mismatched blue, simply because it was fun. “I’m glad to truly meet you.” She ghosted another kiss, hoping to etch a secret into bone. I see you as you are.
Arlecchino’s caged exhale broke free as a silent sigh, the woman reclaiming her control but allowing her hand to stay where it was held. Her posture remained tight, tense, but her expression back to the control she prided herself on.
“Your disguise was impeccable, Miss Furina.” Was the first thing she said, meeting Furina's gaze through her own mask. Smirking at the end of a game, she pulled her own up until it tousled her ruby hair. “I truly had no idea until just a minute ago.”
A soft laugh graced Arlecchino’s hand, echoes of the mirth on the dancefloor. “Flattery already, Knave?”
“Simply giving recognition where it’s earned. I also wanted to belie any concerns that this-” Arlecchino gestured to the mask nestled in dyed hair, “wasn’t part of some ploy to deceive you for my own goals. I had no idea you were even attending.”
“I didn’t think that of you. I know you’re not a bad person, Arlecchino.”
Arlecchino had never been concerned with that, but hearing the declaration still brought a part of the Knave to consider, warming at the idea that someone else was.
Such sincerity also broke Furina’s sudden bold streak, the woman not quite releasing, but lowering their joined hands to the bench. She turned to face forward, thanking her stars there were so many things to distract her from how embarrassing the last two minutes surely were. “So—ahem! Arlecchino? What brought you here then?”
Facing away meant she missed how Arlecchino carefully watched her, red crosses simmering with equal parts interest and amusement. “I told you so earlier, didn’t I? Family and friends.”
“Yes, but why? ”
“Can’t I simply have my presence desired?” She deadpanned, taking some enjoyment in how Furina rolled her eyes. But she acquiesced in the silence. “They simply wanted me to have fun—my children, that is. That is all I’ll say on it.” The complexities of trips northward and how the house was listless in her absence wasn’t a topic meant for now. Until she added with a sigh, “That and the fact that Miss Caspar was fiendishly insistent.”
A small laugh bubbled up from Furina, leaning back until her head bumped against a tree trunk, smirking at how Arlecchino tilted her head. “We have to stop living the same life!” She exhaled with a mirthful flavour of weariness, her whole body feeling dulled as the last dredge of tension evaporated. “Navia came to me with proposition after proposition almost every day until I cracked. She’s lucky she’s charming and ever so kind, or her insistence would be grating.”
“A cruel fate at the soft hands of satin.” Arlecchino feigned ruefulness, leaning forward with her eyes still locked on Furina. “Her and Lyney working as one has seemingly become my weakness.”
“Don’t go telling just anyone your silver bullet, Arle~” Furina teased, snickering when the other woman raised a brow at the nickname. She forged a pistol out of the fingers on her left hand, aiming it towards the source of a crimson stare. “What if I was a real Maréchaussée, hm?”
It wasn’t that Arlecchino tired of this new set of antics from the director; her defences rather confident in their decision to examine nothing of what she felt until she returned home, where she would not behave rashly. She much preferred this to the fear, but she wasn’t the kind to ever take a hit and lie down. It was an easier dance back when their identities were behind the fog of war, but, it would also be much easier now to cut to the bone.
“Well, it is their job to slay monsters.” Her right hand moved openly in their air, slow as it wrapped around the wrist of this deadly weapon aimed between her eyes. Playing the part of any overconfident fool, she pressed the ‘barrel’ firm to her chest, taking note of how Furina’s eyes only continued to widen. “Would you discern me a monster, droplet?”
A counter, rendering the little director quiet. Silence stretched to echo Arlecchino’s perceived victory, gifting a new kind of satisfaction until Furina spoke again. It was then that the real silver bullet punctured her chest.
“Never.”
Curse that sincerity—that end to the game and those large, blue, doe eyes. It felt as if it would soon shatter her ribcage if Arlecchino wasn’t careful.
Furina had felt the pulse in her wrist, but the source of it all deep within her chest was stronger than it had any right to be. Memories of biology books told her that it was in the wrong place, much too large, its rhythm unnatural, all this uncanny in a way she could notice without understanding. Thankfully, most of her boldness had passed, or she might’ve been unable to resist the curiosity that wanted to press her palm against the firm flesh guarding Arlecchino’s heart, deciphering the secrets whispered by every heartbeat.
Needing a break from whatever that was, Furina de-pistolled her hand and holstered it in her hair, fiddling with the strands. An idea breached her mind, and Furina followed it back below the waves.
“In a way, I have you to thank for me being here too.” she began, Arlecchino nodding for her to continue with a sceptical look on her face.
“You’d been rather annoying this week, Knave—up until now.”
A confused huff cut through the harbinger’s nose. “Pardon?”
“Oh yes. You were so awkward and quiet after the patisserie, despite my still making an effort to converse with you. You almost exclusively interacted with Navia when she invited us to the theatre, and even after I gifted you a personally picked-out book from my collection, you were still so uptight.” She scoffed, making sure her tone was playful so Arlecchino wouldn’t think Furina was still upset. “You only lightened up when you started rambling about wolves, which is when I began to figure you out, by the way.”
Arlecchino processed her words slowly, clearly taken aback by the sudden intensity. Still, Furina had to know why. “What was it that turned you so tense, Arlecchino?”
Not knowing how to play coy here, she answered plain and simple. “I was concerned that I would frighten you again, after I placed my hand on you that morning.”
And Furina could never fault her for that, couldn’t condemn a wolf for muzzling herself after accidentally biting someone she so clearly respected. Furina was just happy the accursed thing was no longer strapped to Arlecchino’s jaw, even if she had to pry it off herself. Wouldn’t want metal to mark such a handsome face… Lingering intrusives were still a problem, it seemed.
Furina prayed that Arlecchino’s ever-convenient aid back in the ballroom was a fluke, and that she couldn’t truly read minds.
“Well, thank you for letting me know. But I’m a grown woman, Arlecchino.”
“I wouldn’t think otherwise for a single moment.” Her tone sharpened, a firmness like steel that left no room for doubt as Arlecchino’s gaze hardened in the same way. “Not once have I considered you like a child or in need of coddling, let me make that abundantly clear. Anyone who did and does is a fool beyond reproach. But, being one of the eldest and wisest individuals in Fontaine does not make you immune to fear or trauma. That's a standard I hold for no one, not myself and not for you.”
“I know… But I’d prefer you told me what you saw and talked it out.” Furina said simply, sighing out the weight of such a sudden burst of intensity, declared in favour of her at that. But she borrowed some of that energy as she scooted closer and challenged those crimson crosses dead-on with her own mixed blues. “Let me make this abundantly clear, I wouldn’t have stayed and continued to seek you out after the fact if I didn’t want to be your friend, Arle.”
The directness returned hit the harbinger where it needed to. She nodded, not breaking eye contact. “Clear as day.” It was the first time they officially uttered the state of their relationship, where they desired it to be.
Another mission complete.
Time had slipped away in this sudden, frantic sway of wonder, honesty, fear and ultimately wonder yet again. So it was soon enough that Arlecchino had to interrupt a series of questions about one another’s outfits, telling Furina that they should return to the ballroom lest someone spread rumours about the status of these suddenly bonded dancers who had disappeared into the night. Where Arlecchino implied kidnapping, Furina’s mind had conjured something rather… different.
Making one last loop of the sakuras and maples at Furina’s behest, the two began a placid stroll back towards the pillared garden entrance. Furina moved with a confidence like she owned the place, Arlecchino complying with her lead.
Furina had been happily commenting on other people she believed to have spotted behind their masks, when something interrupted her and subsequently narrowed Arlecchino’s gaze. A sound both knew all too well to resound in the shadows of parties full of youth and alcohol.
Clumsy smacking of lips, little giggles and ruffles of hands playing at fabric, the very illicitness Furina had been ‘provoked’ to imagine earlier. Scandalous, but they were all adults here, yes? Furina and Arlecchino would simply find an open window or pass through the door silently, an idea from both women, the duo settling on the latter upon discovering every nearby window locked.
Moving on Arlecchino’s plan of polite stoicism, all was fine until a second of peripheral vision handed Furina forbidden knowledge.
Behind a pillar, hands roaming and swapping spit like there was ambrosia hidden behind their lips, was that infuriating little bartender and Furina’s prior dance partner! And this woman wasn’t just any old Fontanian. This little rendezvous had tousled the black tresses of her wig, revealing just enough shoulder-length, bright pink hair for a not-so-quiet gasp to barrel out from Furina’s throat.
“Charlo-!” Until a hand clasped around her mouth.
Arlecchino acted fast, locking away that she was looking at who the Fatui knew as the Anemo Archon, Barbatos, halfway to fornicating with the prized investigated journalist of the Steambird. One press of a foot into the ground and they were gone, ten feet down the hall and almost unable to hear a slurred, “Did you hear something?” and the following giggle of, “I don't really care, pretty boy.”
She looked down to find Furina staring at her incredulously, a pout and a raised brow making it clear she was ever so playfully unimpressed.
“Manhandling me, and in public no less? Perhaps you are a beast of sorts, Knave.”
“Simply keeping the peace.” Arlecchino chuckled, releasing Furina and readjusting the hat on her head. “Most everyone here is looking to deceive a portion at least. No matter how surprising, let’s leave them to their revelry as Navia so decreed.”
“I don't think whatever that was is what she had in mind, Arle.”
“Perhaps. But we have revelry of our own to return to, yes?”
The distant sound of a tuning string captures Arlecchino’s ear. Speak of the devil and they shall appear, she supposed. With that, Arlecchino pulled down both of their masks, making sure her own hand was in sight the whole time as she moved Furina’s to sit properly. It was unnecessary, but still endearing to the shorter woman.
“Lead the way. I was promised a dance by the demoiselle after all.”
“Oh, were you, Roguish mercenary that you are? How fortunate.”
“I can put in a good word for you if you’d like, monsieur.”
“I’m confident in being able to win her interest on my own. I captured yours, after all.”
“… Quite.”
In a way that would have had the Furina from six hours ago spinning like a top, she was having fun. In the company of a knave, and the promise of more joy to come among old friends and a new one. Be still, her human heart.
Arlecchino’s days always started early, even if the night before had ended late. Breakfasts needed to be prepared, washing sorted for the children to hang and much more all after her routine physical upkeep. One of the few self-serving things she allowed herself each day.
It was in the middle of brushing her hair in the lounge room by the fire, fond to see her monochrome strands returning, that she heard the mail flap open and shut. At 5:15 a.m. on a Friday. Using not the private box connecting to her office, but the one for public use. This was no Fatui notice or secret correspondence, which made everything all the more strange.
Glancing out a window into the darkness, Arlecchino found nothing, even with how her eyes could ignore the shadows. Not a footprint nor a watching figure. Intrigued, she fished the sole item—an envelope—out of the hatch and into her hands. No postage or other seal of legal approval. Stranger still. Nothing but the word “Arlecchino” in impeccable font.
Sitting back down by the fire, idly spinning the hairbrush with deft fingers, Arlecchino opened the envelope with the swipe of a nail. Bright blue, folded card paper revealed itself, gold filigree at the edges. Growing more curious by the moment, she urged the letter open between thumb and forefinger, tilting her head in anticipation.
Mon Loup,
I’m glad we’re on much more certain terms, the kind that makes me feel less crazed for penning you a letter first thing in the morning. You see, I went to sleep after returning home from that utterly delightful evening, sleep being something among my “many talents” I shared. But I woke up with a start, not even an hour later, when I realised something…
I hadn’t finished telling you all the meanings of Thunder Sakuras.
There’s also the matter of that moonflower you gave me, your take on the reintroduction of wolves into northern Fontaine, and you being able to inform me on just who that was with his arm around Monsieur Neuvilette. The point being: we have much to discuss, dear Knave.
I’m much too dizzy from drinking with Navia to stay awake much longer—Surintendante Chevalmarin is preparing to deliver this in my stead as I write this—so I’ll be busy all morning and most of noon sleeping the hangover away. But what say you to meeting tomorrow (today?) afternoon? Perhaps at that patisserie. It’d be nice to cement better memories, don't you think? I shall look forward to your knock at my door, taking your hand and whatever state of colour your hair will be in when I see you.
Grateful for that second first glance, Furina de Fontaine
P.S: Enjoy the keepsake :)
P.P.S: If tonight hadn’t made it clear, know I forgive you.
Arlecchino looked down to her lap, decorated in a dozen or so sakura blooms that had been pressed to the page and had fallen out the moment the letter opened. She took the time to gather each one, placing them inside the envelope alongside the letter for now.
To think that this woman had gone from frightened of her, to dancing, to a small hour correspondence in less than a day. The letter was strange, forward, misspelt in places due to fatigue and incredibly amusing. It was Furina, in the best and most curious ways.
But, with one having drawn to a close, a new objective opened for Arlecchino to follow. A part of her, deep in the back of her mind, did recall many of the meanings of Thunder Sakuras. Each interpretation Furina has recited hours ago sounded familiar, up until whatever one she’d had been cut from saying, drawn into that rather intense reveal. An itch skittered at the base of her skull for knowing she knew, but not enough to speak. Furina would have to forgive her for jumping the metaphorical gun, but Arecchino was just too curious.
Atop one of the shelves of her office bookcase was just the book she needed, ‘The Whispers of Flowers: Folklore and Frivolities’. She’d pulled it from its spot on muscle memory, gazing instead at the newer addition to her collection. ‘Fontainian Flora and Fauna: Vol. 3’, sitting neatly at her desk as her current haunt in free moments. Focusing, she flipped through the pages expertly, landing on Inazuman fruit trees and her subsequent target near immediately.
Arlecchino’s docile resting expression cracked. A smile, one part somewhat scandalised, one part amused, and the last part… she wasn’t certain.
“Thunder Sakura’s have a number of meanings beyond the more patriotic ones. While such a sweet-smelling plant can gain approval anywhere, it’s the context that counts. For example, to give a gift of blossom blooms to someone within the first 24 hours of knowing them is to declare one of Teyvat’s most sensational ideas:
The fabled, ‘Love at First Sight’.”
Crimson crosses scanned the page up and down, an automatic thing while she compared and contrasted. Giving up on trying to come up with a different explanation, Arlecchino shook her head, closed the book and continued on with her morning. All the while the tips of her ears burned beneath fading red locks, concealed to her eyes in the mirror and not at all in her senses.
Her respect for Furina hadn’t dropped or dissolved in the slightest. She was still the woman who saved Fontaine, saved her children, and so many others. Far more knowledgeable than Arlecchino would ever be, boasting a near five-century headstart.
She was undoubtedly worthy of respect. But, perhaps, Furina was still somewhat the fool that the Knave had originally believed her to be.
Perhaps, Furina had earned it.