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“Arle… Do you love me?”
She dare not to say it aloud; she dare not to speak her thoughts to the woman before her. Her hand reached out, soft nails ghosting over the long faded scars of Arlecchino’s back, not daring to make contact as to awaken them. She yearned to touch them, to feel the oddly comforting cold that emitted from their being, to have them turn around and embrace her like many times before.
Yet, tonight, they remained distant; back facing Furina while—she assumed—they slept, a considerable gap between them on her bed.
Furina felt cold—not the cold they felt when Arlecchino wrapped her in their arms—but the coldness of being alone. She didn't know why she felt doubt in their love for her, doubt in their relationship and bond; the woman had loved her, undoubtedly so, for the past few months; even if the past few months were not perfect. Staring solemnly at the empty distance between them, she could almost stretch her arm out whole, and her fingertips would still not brush their back.
The question remained in the back of her head.
“Do you love me?”
It was foolish. Furina, not even with both hands, feet, and the limbs of her salon, could count the number of times Arlecchino confessed their undying love for her; yet, she still worriedly thought that it could all be a lie; a façade the Harbinger had made to attack her at her weakest. Yet, never did they ever harm her, never did they undermine or insult her—never did they do anything negative to her ever since they entered this relationship.
Arlecchino was always sure to never overstep any boundaries on purpose, they walked on eggshells around her, all to make her feel comfortable in the relationship. But what about themselves? Furina had never seen the Harbinger stop once to think of themselves; every visit it was with expensive confectioneries and dishes, even some traditional Snezhnayan recipes they insisted she try—which she jumped at the opportunity to expand her palate once again—but none of it never had them in mind.
Originally, she had pinned them as a selfish and dastardly control freak who never had anybody else’s best interests in mind besides their own—and how wrong she was. In just over a month, Furina learnt that—with time, care, and patience—Arlecchino did, in fact, have the capacity to care for others more than Furina originally gave them credit for. They loved and cared for their children more than some parents she had seen and met, and although the love was not healthy in its entirety, it was a big improvement to what the woman had in mind.
Watching all of it— knowing all of it made her feel selfish and disgusting; why was she doubting their love for her? Simply because she did not receive a hug tonight.
Why?
Furina had no answer.
Arlecchino was the only person who never expected her to remain in her never-ending loop of being Foçalors—Arlecchino knew all along that Furina was not her; they were the only one she could feel some solace in knowing that, after everything, she could be herself; unequivocally Furina.
The Knave; the same presence that threatened her very existence. The Knave, who insulted her name and every accomplishment she had made in the past scenes of her life. Arlecchino, the first and only person to apologise for all the pains and miseries she pushed through for her entire life. Arlecchino, who, even with their cold and non-existent heart, taught her what it could feel like to be loved.
To be given a second chance; a third chance.
Fourth.
Fifth.
Despite everything that happened between them moons ago, despite all her other relationships—in the end, it was always Arlecchino. Why did she feel this way? Then, it clicked—
The endless and irritating ticks of the clock sounded in her ears, pulling the woman to turn and face its direction. The clock struck 11:49; Arlecchino always left at midnight. She felt this way because she hated the feeling of her bed empty, the feeling of Arlecchino leaving her. Furina understood why—she really did—being a high-ranking Harbinger entailed many time-consuming duties and responsibilities, and Arlecchino always made sure to direct all their time off to her . She even suspected they postponed business meetings in favour of spending time with her.
Alongside duties as a Harbinger, Arlecchino was also the leader of the House of The Hearth—the Father of the children there; how could Furina possibly keep a father away from their children? She wanted to. She wanted them all to herself, and it hurt to realise that. To realise that they would never truly be just hers.
In the silence, a sob broke from Furina. Why did she feel this way? So unapologetically selfish? And, still, with all of Arlecchino’s attention on her—the one thing she desperately needed most—she still felt unloved. Small, shaky hands caressed the multi-coloured locks splayed on the pillow, admiring the splash of red in the woman's long and graceful hair.
It hurt to want after being unwanted for so long.
Nobody ever wanted Furina for Furina—they only desired Foçalors , and the act she could afford to give them. For five centuries—five hundred long, agonising years—it took her to find someone who loved Furina for Furina . Who loved her for her . Who loved her for her interests, her likes, her dislikes, her quirks, her unhealed scars, the memories that did not belong to her but were ultimately hers.
Quickly, Furina lifted the blanket, turning away to face the other direction, her view no longer the woman she loved; instead, her eyes met the curtains of her room, and the bookshelves full of books and souvenirs Arlecchino gifted her.
It hurt; she just wanted to be touched; to be embraced.
But she was too scared to ask for it. She was too uncertain—she knew she had to communicate, but how can you communicate with someone who does not have a stable grasp on their emotions? Someone who was hesitant and untrusting of others? But, it made sense, Furina was just describing herself.
Holding back a sob was second nature for Furina, but it seemed harder than ever tonight. Out of a last-ditch effort for some comfort and love, Furina gripped the Hydro Vision laid upon her nightstand, dainty fingers gripping the case as she could only hope it would not disturb Arlecchino. Using her vision, she conjured up the familiar silhouette of Surintendante Chevalmarin—in a more huggable and miniature form. She wrapped the bubbly seahorse close to her chest, glossy ocean eyes staring down as bubbles left its snout absentmindedly, like it too was in a slumber.
Her grip tightened, tucking the summon under the blanket next to her body, feeling as if it lay there unmoving. Her eyes closed briefly, and then she nuzzled into her pillow, white curls obscuring her vision. Furina then asked herself the same question.
“Do you still love me?”
Silence followed as she expected; it was not like they could answer a question she asked in her head: Among the many talents Arlecchino harboured, mind-reading was not one. The bed dipped, and Arlecchino sat up.
“Furina?” Their voice, startling said woman from her headspace, sounded deprived. Furina curled into a ball, keeping Chevalmarin close. Silence for a few seconds.
The clock kept ticking—five seconds passed.
“Furina,” Arlecchino spoke, turning their body to face the blue-haired woman. Noting how her smaller figure rested under the blankets, all except the messy curls on her head, they instinctively reached out, concern and confusion flooding their barely comprehensive thoughts. Large and daunting hands rested upon her shoulder gently, stroking her body in a comforting manner, even through the layers she hid beneath. Furina, regrettably, flinched at the contact—and Arlecchino immediately retracted.
“Is everything okay?” They questioned, brows furrowing; not like Furina could see. The girl shuddered, shoulders shaking as she sucked in a heavy and uneven breath.
“I want to feel loved.” She broke, tears pouring out from her eyes and down onto the pillow and sheets below, bringing the seahorse up to her face and her knees to her chest. “I want you, please, Arle.” Furina sniffled between words, jaw quivering as her teeth clattered together.
Arlecchino, in their half-awakened daze, entered a state of panic—they know they probably shouldn't’ve—and flipped Furina over, forcing her up and against the frame of her bed. “Answer me, Furina,” They asked, on the edge of begging, as they kneeled in front of the crying girl, her seahorse continuing to blow bubbles in Arlecchino’s direction; which they promptly ignored.
“Can you hear me?” Carefully, one blackened hand reached to caress her face, their cold palm a stark contrast to her flushed cheek. Furina simply crumpled, one hand leaving Chevalmarin to hold onto their claws, her body leaning into the loving touch she craved for what felt like an eternity. She placed almost her entire weight onto their arm, hoping to find security and safety in their embrace—and Arlecchino drew in, their other arm bringing her close to their chest.
“Breathe; just breathe and relax. I’m here for you.” Gently, they pushed her head against their shoulder, allowing her tears and worries to sodden their skin. Furina took the opportunity to grasp onto their sides, Chevalmarin soon dissipating with a wet pop sound, leaving Furina weak and shaking within the Harbinger’s hold.
She didn't know why she felt this way—there was no explanation for it. And, because of her unrelated worries, she had woken up Arlecchino, adding more stress to what was sure to have been a busy day.
But, she just couldn't care—her heart burned and it hurt so much. Not enough comfort could repair her damages, she was ruined beyond repair from countless centuries of trauma; there was nothing Arlecchino could do. Nothing besides embracing her, kissing her, comforting her while she wailed for long-forgotten memories.
Nobody else cared or remembered them—nobody lived long enough to—so why should she?
Her one wish came true; to become a human girl, to live out the human life that was robbed of her—but she chose to sacrifice it, so why is she now crying? She chose it. She chose to do it—it would mean nothing to cry. It was meaningless, really, to waste the human life she now had crying and wasting away in her room, unloading all her burdens and worries on the person who placed a portion of them onto her—but then alleviated them all. Her hands traced their bare skin, nails running along the toned body of her source of comfort; she was lucky to have someone like Arlecchino. But all she gave them were burdens in return.
“I’m sorry.” She choked, each hiccup echoing in the room as her salty and pathetic tears stained their skin. “I’m sorry.” It was all she could say, what else was there to say? Arlecchino let out a sigh, hands running gentle circles across her lower back, and their lips pressed against her neck as their touch spread warmth throughout her body.
All she wanted to do was spend time with Arlecchino—hours on end—yet all she could get offered was a late-night visit when the two were both visibly tired after the long day beforehand, leaving them too exhausted for anything else other than resting in bed together. She felt ungrateful. Every memory and every moment she shared with Arlecchino should be special; even the simpler ones. The ones where they lay on her bed, limbs entangled, Arlecchino’s nails massaging her scalp, other hand holding her close. Moments like those should be cherished above all else. But she couldn't cherish them like she wanted.
She wanted to stroll around Fontaine, hand-in-hand with the woman, exchanging kisses and compliments just like all the other Fontainian couples—but they couldn't. Furina, despite not being the Archon, was still held in high regard. She was loved and known all over Teyvat as the star of Fontaine; Furina de Fontaine, Regina of All Waters, Kindreds, Peoples and Laws—it would be a scandal if she were caught in a relationship with a Harbinger, the Fourth, no less.
It stung, she wanted to just be a normal girl desperately , she wanted to go on dates with her lover without it being listed as a culture exchange between nations. The media would love them for strengthening the bond between Fontaine and Snezhnaya—the Fatui in particular—not for their love for one another. It was not an illegal relationship by any means, but it was a risky one.
Furina had dealt with risks, plays, and masks for her entire lifetime. She just wanted to be free. Of course, she had no ill will for stage life, the role of the lead actress called for her—but that was starkly different to acting out her everyday life. In both, she was the main actress: making people laugh, bringing them entertainment and livelihood—but only one brought her that, too.
It ached; she ached. Her body yearned for love—love for the rest of her life. “Arle—please—don't leave me,” Furina begged, nose pressing into the crook of their neck. “Stay, please, I need you right now.”
It was silent—all besides her hiccups and sniffles—until they responded.
“...I will send a letter back to my children,” A whisper. “To tell them I’ll be absent until further notice.” Arlecchino’s hold tightened, they dared not to let her slip in fear of losing her. And, upon this, Furina let all her tears go, gripping onto Arlecchino with even more intensity than before. It's just what she wanted, wasn't it? To steal Arlecchino away from their children—all she was good at was hurting others. That's what she did for half a millennium, anyhow.
She couldn't fathom any words that left their mouth, her thick and relentless tears blocking them out. Furina clung onto Arlecchino’s naked form, hands clawing into their biceps with force almost as if she believed they weren't even real.
“I’m so lonely,” The lump in her throat was strong, and she struggled to breathe through her wails. “Please, I can't take it.” Arlecchino recognised these words; through drowning in her own grief and tears, Furina had resurfaced traumatic and previously forgotten memories.
“So interminable…” The woman tightened their grasp on her, nails running over her back to try to stimulate her back into the present.
“Furina, listen—just focus on my voice… Please.” Furina hiccuped in reply, too lost in her trance to listen. Small, crescent nails sunk past their skin, and flickers of burning pain coursed through their body. But Arlecchino ignored it, simply frowning the pain away to instead focus on the weeping girl.
“So lonely… Just… how much longer?”
“You're not in that position anymore, Furina. The prophecy’s passed… Everyone survived, you survived. You're not lonely anymore, Furina.” She shook her head, not processing anything they said. Her hands flattened against their shoulders and back, pressing their bodies impossibly close. “I’m here for you, Furina. We're in your apartment, remember?” Even in their near-slumber, Arlecchino memorised the layout of her room, and they slowly began to describe every stuffed aquatic Fontainian wildlife plushies she had in her collection; how each one piled on top of her shelves—some even on the bed themselves—and all the stories she gave them.
They remembered it all—every miniscule detail—from the humble blubberbeast who ran a bakery to the presumptuous and haughty octopus major; even the triplet set of baby seahorses she bought to represent Arlecchino’s own three children.
Ushing her carefully, the woman encouraged Furina to take deep breaths, allowing her to settle down and come back to reality. It took a while, it was no easy process, but they allowed her tears to soak their skin and hair. Soon, Furina could only hiccup and sniffle while miniature droplets trickled down her cheeks; any energy that could have been directed to sobbing was now long gone.
They both sat in silence, Furina’s hands pressed against her chest, face pressed into Arlecchino’s while they embraced the girl to offer comfort. No words were exchanged—she was too frightened to say any. Furina’s heterochromatic eyes stung, usually bright and sparkling eyes dry and devoid of joy.
Her thumbs brushed over each other before her arms wrapped around her body, and she leaned into Arlecchino’s freezing warmth. Then—only then—did she break the silence.
“I’m sorry.” Her lashes fluttered shut, arms constricting around herself as Furina allowed herself to become small in the woman's grasp. “I—I… I’m sorry.”
Arlecchino nodded solemnly—they had asked her numerous times before not to be so apologetic when she cried or displayed vulnerability; and she had improved, this was just a rare slip-up. And yet—they didn't have the heart to correct her.
“It's okay. You know I’m always here to listen.” The girl numbly hummed a response, face hidden beneath her nest of dishevelled hair. She was still too glum to look up, and Arlecchino almost didn't want to disturb her. Nonetheless, their coldness faded from her bare shoulders as they leaned over toward Furina’s side of the bed, claws latching onto a ridiculously sized otter stuffed toy.
“This is..?” They obviously remembered the otter’s name; but they only feigned forget in an attempt to rile the girl from her depressed state.
“Madame de la Baume.” Furina mumbled, hair tickling Arlecchino’s chin as she answered. Then, she reached out with both hands and acquired the plush, cramming its fluffy, ragdoll purple body between the two of them to hug it. “I know you remember her name… you suggested it.” She pouted.
…They had forgotten about that part.
“Oh! I’m sorry, Madame.” Arlecchino pulled away from Furina, and she hesitated before she did the same. The otter’s body sat on Furina’s legs while her head and tail draped over Arlecchino’s. With a smile, they stroked the toy’s head, claw dragging down her back, and she was soft enough for their hand to almost disappear in the lavender fluff.
“She's one of my favourites.” Furina stared down at Arlecchino’s hand, eyes still half-lidded and damp. “I remember when you got her for me… I even gave her a personality that reminded me of you.”
“Ah, right… I still don't think it describes me out of all people, but thank you.” They offered a half-laugh, and her lips lifted. She was happier now, and they, too, felt happy.
The silence was no longer awkward or off-putting. It was comforting.
Furina began to nod off, proven by how she wrapped both her arms and legs around Madame de la Baume just as her head hit the pillow, sheets a disarray at her feet. “Do you want me to get you some water?” Arlecchino tidied the sheets and tucked her in, gently using a knuckle to swipe her drying tears from her eyes. They were hesitant to even bring it up—they weren't sure she was stable enough to be left alone yet.
To their surprise, Furina nodded, sinking into the mattress alongside the otter. “I’ll be okay. I have her here with me.” Brows raised, Arlecchino nodded before planting a kiss to her forehead.
“Don't make me too jealous, now. I can't be upstaged by a sleepy otter now, can I?” Even with their droopy, guilt-ridden, and tired eyes, they made the best out of the situation for her. Furina shook her head, seafoam curled hair hiding her face messily.
“I won’t be too long, okay?” At that point she had stopped responding—Arlecchino assuming the forgiving waves of sleep had finally consumed her. Even if she were asleep, a glass of water would do her good when she next awakened. Pulling away, their claws brushed some of her curls away from her eyes, fearing Furina’s eyes were irritated enough from tonight.
Before they left, Arlecchino gazed down at the marine animal, expressionless as they flicked the embroidered sleeping face with their fingers. They couldn't believe they felt envious of a stuffed animal. Yet, they made sure both of them were tucked in beneath the covers, checking to see if she was still shaken up. Furina’s breathing was now gentle and stable, and all they could feel was relief. Arlecchino caressed her cheek again, thumb rubbing against the curve of her lips.
“I do love you, Furina.”