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She hated to admit it, but living alone was getting boring. She had began to grow tired of wandering the streets of Fontaine's cities, skipping into grocery stores and bakeries while the dark clouds blanketed the skies until they cleared again. Although objectively, nothing much had really changed compared to her life in the Palais.
This was pretty much what her old life was like. Taking strolls and enjoying the weather, taste testing every cake in Fontaine and then coming back for another slice of her favourite. Nothing had changed. Except the one person that was missing.
With him out of her life, she naturally had inherited a heavier workload — workload in her dictionary, self-care in his. She now has to buy her own groceries — although he does still send her food on a timely basis because he knows better than anyone that she cannot cook — she has to iron her own clothes, clean her own room...
Back in the Palais, Neuvillette would assign the melusines help out with her personal chores. One to prepare her food, then another to heat up her food in the microwave, sometimes even one to feed her which she often rejects... That Neuvillette is always saying she should "start doing things herself" but wasn't he the one constantly spoiling her?
Well, no one to spoil her now. She's on her own now, but still doing the same things. Today would be the same.
She steps out of her house with long strides, her face hidden underneath a large hat, and bringing an umbrella just in case. Off she goes to take the streets. She had learned to ignore people's judging gazes over the past few weeks. To no one's surprise, the people of Fontaine had resented her for deceiving them, and all their ancestors before them for that matter. People would gather and gossip whenever she walked past. She had heard them all too many times. "It's the fraud", "Why didn't Monsieur Neuvillette investigate her case?", "Who does she think she is showing her face here?", so on and so forth. Their words didn't bother her too much anymore. She had been enduring way more over the past five centuries, why would plain gossip stop her from having a slice of cake?
She continues with heavy steps until her feet finally bring her to her destination — the tavern. She was never one to be seen at such places, and she wasn't there for the booze. She was in search of her favourite cake, of which the last piece had been sold to the tavern's owner. As soon as she arrived at the counter of the cafe, her smile faded immediately upon looking through the display glass, which only had crumbs left of her most-loved confectionary. She slumped her shoulders and dragged her body to the little store a few blocks down, and now here she was. In a tavern.
"Lady Furina! Looking quite down today", one of the bartenders chirps as she enters. The wooden doors close behind her with a click and her heels click a melancholy tune as she sauntered in, taking a seat by the bar. She leans forward and buries her head into her palms.
"Your owner still got some of that cake?", she mumbles. The bartender only chuckles in return.
"Afraid not. But I doubt that's the only thing bothering you, Lady Furina."
He was right. Her past few days had been nothing less of gloomy, downcast. If anything, she should be happy. She was free. She no longer had to shoulder the consequences of Egeria's sins. Fontaine was in good hands. Yet she felt like something was missing, she just couldn't pin it down.
No, she could. She just didn't want to admit it.
She slumped forward and rested her chin on the rough wood, letting out an exasperated sigh. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the man she had yearned for so much. He was everything to her. Why else would she still long for him when she already has everything she had wanted in the past? She was free, and so was he. Things were probably better off that way.
She was free.
Indeed, she was no longer the Archon. Heck, she was nobody right now. Just a regular Fontainian like anyone else. She is human. Which meant that it isn't wrong for her to indulge in human desires.
She raises her hand languidly, waving her gloved fingers which brought the bartender from just now back to her service. "Give me one of your strongest drinks", she mumbled. Just as the bartender was about to throw an argument to her, he realised it was probably better if he didn't. And then came bringing a bottle freshly imported all the way from Mondstadt.
She chugged the bottle down as soon as the lid came off, a burning sensation following the liquid in its twists and turns on their way to her stomach. The drink was very strong — especially for someone who had never consumed alcohol ever in her life, yet she swallowed every drop of it. The feeling was new but not unwelcome. Alcohol couldn't be found at all within the Palais Mermonia, and probably not even within a 100 meter vicinity of its compound either. She liked how the substance seemed to numb her mind despite how it came with her tipping over in her seat and wanting to puke. She finally felt free. Free of the shackles of her thoughts.
Or so she thought. What she was not aware of was how honest the beverage had made her. Although she herself felt like her head was empty, her lips were chanting his name like a mumbled mantra. Her hand reached out for the empty bottle while her other asked the bartender for another one, mistaking the hard glass for her judge's arm she had yearned to hold for so long. Tears streamed down her face upon realising it was not.
Her antics started to turn heads in the tavern — Fontaine's former Archon, drunk in a tavern, crying as she called out for her Iudex in anguish. The common folk knew better than to stare, and only did as much as to take a glance or two her way.
In her utterly lightheaded state, she hopped off the wooden stool and steadied her feet, holding onto the wood before she began to tipsily make her way to the exit. She hadn't realised how heavily it was raining until she was drenched in it. She didn't bother to pull out her umbrella, nor did she know where she was going. But she would go to wherever the alcohol would bring her.
Her dainty feet splashed through puddles of rain as she made her way to the other side of the city, her white shoes and socks now a pale shade of brown. She was going to have a hard time washing those.
Her feet carried her far as her head pounded. She ran despite her legs giving out. She had to see him.
As soon as she reached the gates of the Palais Mermonia, her consciousness began to resurface. What was she doing here? She's making a fool of herself. No one should see her in this state, and especially not him.
But it was too late. He already had.
He was there where he would always be — on the balcony outside his office, just standing in the rain without an umbrella. She cursed under her breath. How does she manage to always come back to him even when she's not in control of her mind?
He drapes his cloak over her petite shoulders (he couldn't care less that the tips of it were dipping into the puddle of rainwater beneath them) and pulls her hat forward, sheltering her from the pouring rain though to little avail. A sweet smile graced his lips, and she could only sigh in relief. He didn't resent her after all, did he?
He would ask "Why are you here?", or "Why aren't you using your umbrella?" except he already knew the answers to those questions. Word in Fontaine spreads like wildfire, except the efficiency of information transfer is doubled when it comes from the drunkards at the tavern. For all she knows, she'll be making headlines on The Steambird first thing tomorrow morning.
"You'll catch a cold", he mutters, his gloved thumb wiping the raindrops from her cheek.
She grunts under her breath, lacing her gloved fingers with his. "And it's all your fault."