Chapter Text
"Come on, Neuvillette, find a recorder, are you the Iudex or not—"
"Lady Furina. Why are we hiding behind this door and eavesdropping? This is quite unreasonable. Not to mention, our presence here constitutes trespassing."
"We will ruin the charm of the moment if we walk in now! Hush!"
Past the double doors stretched the Wingalet's grand aquarium hall, closed to visitors for the day. Right in the center of the hall, elevated on a wide dais and surrounded by massive glass tanks, stood the magnificent grand piano that Sandrone and the Traveler had salvaged from the deep waters. Columbina sat at the foot of the instrument, following Sandrone's hands moving on the keys.
The beauty of the moment, for Sandrone, was its imperfection.
She had memorized and broken down the notes of Columbina's lullaby long ago, repeatedly, involuntarily. It was hard not to, when she heard it all day outside of her own door, from the window of her research lab, or when bidding their final goodbyes to Rosalyne. The melody came naturally to her fingers, the sounds building up into a shared song; Columbina's voice reverberated against the thick glass of the large aquariums—a duet even the Fontainian fish, one eccentric Archon, and one Hydro Dragon could appreciate.
Columbina held Sandrone's white gloves in her hands on her lap, because "I want to feel the keys properly". She brushed the fabric with both thumbs; one could think she was channeling kuuvahki into them—so she could cheat and feel the touch of Sandrone's skin through it without any direct contact. Sandrone would probably figure it out, though.
So when the lullaby was finished, Columbina sat near on the piano bench, nudging Sandrone aside, and took her hands as an excuse to put the gloves back on them. Her mouth wanted to do more than just channel the sound of her soul out to the world; it wanted to kiss Sandrone's fingertips, a thank you for improvising and making pauses to leave space for imperfection.
"We have guests," Columbina murmured, placing her head on Sandrone's shoulder.
"I know." Sandrone let her, feeling the annoyance dull with each touch. She gave Columbina some leeway; right now she had the right to be clingy. "I wouldn't have let them interrupt us."
The double doors burst open with theatrical grandeur.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha! Bravo!" Furina strode in, her hat slightly askew after pressing her head to the doors to peek, clapping. "Outstanding performance! Absolutely singular!"
"We apologize for the sudden intrusion." Neuvillette followed, carrying a delicate cardboard pastry box by its ribbon handle.
Furina grabbed Neuvillette's elbow. "Oh, Monsieur, just look at this shot! This scene would have fit perfectly after the final titles! And Miss Columbina's hair... The braid is a beautiful fashion choice!"
Columbina stood up, floating down from the dais.
"Thank you. Sandrone braided my hair this morning." She bent down slightly. "Are we going to have cake again?"
Sandrone's brow twitched. She wished she had lasers installed in her eyes, so she could burn an actual hole in the back of Columbina's head.
"That's because Columbina lacks any skills of self-care in the mornings. I found out the hard way."
News was shared over tea and cake from Lutèce: Xavier had been so moved by the lead actresses that he was already penning a new script; the children of the House of the Hearth had organized their own private watch-party of "A Homecoming"—much to Sandrone's embarrassment; and, as it turned out, the true purpose of Furina's visit was to present them with exclusive tickets to tonight's performance at the Opera Epiclese.
Sandrone could feel the excitement behind Columbina's soft smile. Wonder at the smallest of rituals, those most habitual to the people of Fontaine—Columbina craved them as one would after long confinement, Sandrone wagered.
Neuvillette took it upon himself to be the gentleman and cut another slice for Furina. "I wanted to mention, Miss Columbina, I kept in mind the gesture of friendship you have taught me. I practiced it upon Duke Wriothesley today after a brief discussion regarding rental funds for this vessel. They have substantially alleviated the maintenance costs." He poured more tea into the ladies' teacups. "That is to say, his reaction was not very clear to me."
Did you just punch me?
Yes.
Very touching. Spreads like a virus, that. It'll be a new trend on the streets soon.
Blissfully, the memory of what exactly the gesture was slipped from Furina's mind; she imagined, for a split second, what it would take to actually improve her relationship with Father, the Knave, Arlecchino, the woman that made her knees tremble just by existing nearby. Would the gesture help in any way? Were any and all attempts futile, did the image of weak and deceiving Furina cement itself in the Knave's perception of her? Her children are very talented. Did she even like cake?
Sandrone closed her eyes with the expression of eternal suffering while Furina nudged the Iudex. "So you do admit you two are friends."
"I never denied it, did I?"
"Hya!" Columbina allowed the intrusive thoughts to win and punched Sandrone on the arm.
"Columbina!" She snapped. "Cease this foolishness!"
"Oh!" Furina stared at the fist, and cold sweat broke across her forehead—the thought of punching Arlecchino was immediately followed by a vivid hallucination of her own funeral. "Ha-ha! I believe I'd love to preserve my life. Monsieur Neuvillette, we're leaving."