Work Text:
Like everyone else, Lumine is a gambler, foolishly fearless.
With her silver tongue and pinky fingers, she deals in a common commodity in the most volatile of markets—promises.
She promises her time. Next time. Another time.
There is always later. Another day. Another year.
In truth, time is a cat, stealthy and whimsical. She never knows when it plans to leave, when later becomes never, when the future becomes the past.
Standing at Aether's grave, she understands it all too well now. That was his time, and this is hers. Theirs is gone.
And so are all the promises.