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Eula is an artist, so she dreams of grace and elegance, of the clicking of heels against the floor dovetailing into winding notes.
"Not yet. It takes two to tango. Shall we?"
"H-huh?" Eula takes her hand- "Do you not know how?" and spins her round. "No matter. Follow my lead," gently catching her as she stumbles. She is inexperienced, clumsy, malleable in Eula's hands, growing increasingly flustered as Eula nimbly maneuvers them across the sand. A sharp gasp leaves her lips as she is dropped into a dip, boot-clad shoes tripping over seemingly nothing. Caramel eyes, wide as saucers, bore into her own, before curving into crescents reminiscent of the moon Eula had made wishes to, once upon a time.
A tinkling laugh is ripped from Eula's lungs, and for the first time in a long time, she smiles.
"My name is Amber! It's an honor meeting you, Captain of the Reconnaissance Company."
__________
Eula is a warrior, so she dreams of crimson and stealth, of a greatsword rising and falling in the rhythm of a cresting tide.
“Look! An arrowhead!"
Eula slams her claymore into the sand, and it disintegrates into gold dust. Around her, hilichurl carcasses crumble away into the air. Amber is on the ground picking up sharp stones in various states of fracture in front of her, radiating childish glee, and Eula can’t help but crouch down beside her and gently wipe away a smudge of blood on her cheek. Her skin is soft, supple, her smile bright, and Eula wants nothing more than to pull her in and give her the world.
“Good job today.”
__________
Eula is an aristocrat, so she dreams of decorum and falsity, of steps danced again and again until blood coats the pristine floor.
“What’s up?"
Amber bursts through the door, energetic as always, and Eula, looking up from a saucepan, senses impending doom.
...
“You cook?”
To say Amber is excited would be akin to calling the sun a bit warm. She jumps forward and peers at the china plate Eula was spooning gravy onto, before leaning in and giving it a whiff. Wide eyes peer up at Eula, and Eula feels something in her chest expand, because really, a grown woman should not be this endearing.
“Of course. A noblewoman must be educated in all areas, and cuisine is not an exception.” She sniffs delicately, and Amber laughs. She slides onto the counter, watching as Eula finishes plating a calzone of sorts.
“Can I try?”
“..I made it for you.”
Amber smiles at that, and Eula thinks she should move to Sumeru before she gets any more attached.
__________
Eula is a lover, so she dreams of her.
Of her, who looks at Eula as if she reached into the nebulae and spun songs out of stars, like she plucked Polaris out of the night sky and let it bloom in her palms.
Of her, who carries the light of a thousand galaxies in her eyes, shining with naive innocence, and Eula’s smile may be cracked and frayed at the edges from loving too much at all the wrong times, but she’ll be damned if she ever lets the light grow dull.
But Eula is only a girl, whose hands can only hold so much hurt, and there are scars the flow of time will never heal; and Amber, Amber is constancy filled laughter through and through, altruistic down to her core, good etched across her skin and bled out onto the very heart of her. Eula may be forever undone, fractured, shattered, but she would never let herself dream of something that cannot be.
Eula is only a girl, so she wakes. She wakes and sees honey-gold eyes clouded over in rejection, wakes and sees a figure turning away, just a little bit confused, just a little bit hurt- and Eula wants to yell out reach out chase after and her feet are trying to move but there are too many pieces of her to pick up strewn all over the place there's no light at the end of the tunnel because her light is gone, gone gone gone, with the tang of grief oppressing restricting
And Eula aches.