Work Text:
Furina paces around her office the Palais Mermonia almost seemingly anxiously, in the worry and fear that accompanied her move from the structured life that was all she had known, to the wild, uncharted territories beyond.
Maybe she is. Maybe she isn’t.
She could hardly tell these days, ever since Focalors died, and her duty had been served, leaving her feeling an unexpectedly odd mix of emotions. Feelings she cannot find the words for, that bubble around in her throat, and takes from her the ability to speak coherently,
She fingers the ornate carvings on the wooden desk, and thinks of all the (painful) memories associated with it. Of studying for days, and years, and decades to find a way to divert the destined catastrophe, of seeing people — so many, she’s forgotten their names and faces, which ultimately all devolved to blurs — to converse and enjoy a good cup of tea— goodness, the exact details of Fontanian etiquette and how it evolved over the years are still engraved in her mind, like she’s a walking instruction manual.
Her fingers reach an obstruction, a white folder on one corner of the table, stamped with the bold red words “Confidential”, that was once bursting at the seams with papers.
Neuvillette was at her office. Not an uncommon sight, for the entity that is second to her in Fontaine, technically first (disregarding that unknown deity) since her position was all a facade. He sometimes came to discuss court cases and other work-related issues.
She had to admit, she enjoyed their relationship, for it was the closest she had to one on equal grounds, instead of citizens revering their ‘god’, even if Neuvillette’s eyes only saw work.
She walked over to her seat to sit down as per custom, to discuss with Neuvillette whatever issue it is this time. However, this time, Neuvillette stopped her when she was about to walk past him. Confused, she obliged, though she bestowed upon him a questioning stare.
Neuvillette cleared his throat and presented to her with a flourish — perhaps not what he intended, but his fancy outfit with all its regal layers provided the effect — a simple white folder he had been holding behind his back.
“I noticed your papers were starting to get all over the place and I saw no reason why you have yet to purchase something to help organise them better. I believe it must have impacted your ability to work to a considerable extent. Hence, as the Iudex of Fontaine, and the person working alongside you, I felt there was a need to aid you in managing Fontaine.”
Furina was, at first, taken back, jumping ever so slightly, her eyes widened a fraction. After all, although many gifts have been given to her, Iudex Neuvillette presenting her one was a first. Though it’s entirely for work reasons, she’s oddly touched, the gesture reminiscent of friends — or at least her perception of such.
“Oh thank you very much, Neuvillette.” She regains her regal composure and continues with much gesticulating, “I had no idea you were so concerned about my wellbeing! Well! You should have said as such. Your God, Focalors, appreciates the gesture and will put the file to good use.” She takes the file from him and he leaves. Holding the file gently against her chest, she sits down, like she was also holding the fuzzy feelings that grew there, although her eyes pricked with the ever familiar sensation of tears.
Neuvillette, had, of course, informed her that she is perfectly welcome to continue to stay at Palais Mermonia, as the ever perfect gentleman he was. He would be the perfect ruler of Fontaine. At least, he was godly enough.
Furina had refused his offer, of course, though she did allow him to arrange housing and provide for her a monthly allowance.
To be honest, she had been avoiding him. It was even more painful to see him, especially now that the truth behind the Play has been revealed. Backstage, the distance between her and Neuvillette grew, for their relationship is now one between a commoner and an immortal dragon, more far apart from a ‘frivolous dramatic deity’ and a ‘serious, fair deity’.
Or at least that’s what she thinks. Everytime she sees Neuvillette now, her chest clenches tightly and her throat squeezes painfully, until she can hardly manage to force out slightly incoherent sentences, as she struggles to keep them as assured and royal-like, albeit with flamboyance, as they were before.
If she could dare to take a stretch, it’s almost as if she’s envious of him, of having the capability to be the proper leader and judge Fontaine needs, unlike her who only knew how to play to the people’s desire for entertainment.
The ugly jealousy claws at her chest and carves out a hole for it to reside. She tries to shove it into a box in a dusty little corner but it refuses to be contained. It makes her tingle all over with an overwhelming ‘dirtiness’ that needs to be cleaned.
She leaves the empty folder on the desk, in the office scrubbed clean of ‘Furina’.
Neuvillette comes to see her off, a display of good manners.
She’s at the top of the stairs down the Palais Mermonia, a small blue luggage beside her. She found that, after losing the heavy responsibility that was her act, there was so much less to bring, so much more she wishes to discard. All the remnants of her previous life repulse her now. Maybe they too were only ever a facade.
(she wouldn’t know. after all, what does she know?)
“Are you sure you do not require company on your way to your apartment?” A deep rumble sounds from the man towering beside her.
“And”, he squints down at her luggage, “is this really all you wish to bring? I was under the impression that you have far more belongings.”
“I’m very sure, Neuvilette. To both questions.” Furina replies.
“It’s a whole new path I am about to set foot on after all! I don’t need a lot of baggage and I’ll be fine and dandy all alone. In fact, I am elated by the thought of a more individualistic life!” She adds hastily, aware that her previous words were far too clipped.
Just one step outside of the shade of Palais Mermonia, and the scorching sun is quickly smothered by gloomy clouds, as the first few drops of rain smatter against her luggage, the water spilling down like tears.
Furina smiles, small, wistful and expectant. “Hydro dragon, hydro dragon. Don’t cry.” She calls out, making sure her words reach the man behind her.
Her boots clack down the marble stairs, though the sound was largely muffled by the pouring rain. She struggles to carry her previously light luggage down. It became painfully heavy, somehow. An umbrella is hoisted onto her shoulder, balancing precariously there, the frilly bits dangling from it tickling her face. She has half a mind to let the umbrella fall, and walk in the rain but although her departure is a quiet one, there will always be eyes watching in Fontaine’s cities.
The water spills into her socks as her boots slosh around in the rainwater. The cold is nice but her body is wrecked with involuntary shudders, as her footsteps quicken, anxiously.
Lugging a suitcase around in the empty streets filling up with water. She’s a lonely sight, she’s sure.
it’s a relief when she finally opens her apartment door, and all but collapses in the comforting privacy of it. it’s dark — the lights are not turned on and the outside is a grey downpour — and it’s like a thick blanket wrapped around her, sheltering her from
the world.
she sinks into the darkness’ embrace, pushes her luggage away somewhere, flopping down on her bed. it’s soft, bouncing a little as her weight crashes down on it.
the apartment is small, nice, she supposes. there’s a bedroom, a lavatory, a kitchen, and a little area where the door opens up to. and a window by the bed — a window seat below it — that’s currently being attacked by the rain. unwilling to get up, she stretches her arms to close the drapes.
she’s wearing her outside clothes, that are wet at the edges, and her boots are definitely dirty, and her socks are soggy, and her luggage needs to be unpacked, and the apartment is so normal and devoid of any personal touches, and she feels dirty all over and everything feels so wrong and she really should do something about it. but lethargy has hit her like a tower, like the rain outside stripping everything of its colour, leaving it a passionless grey.
so she remains where she is and closes her eyes.
when she next opens them, there’s a streak of sunlight cutting across her bed, from the crack in the curtains.
her apartment, although still somewhat dim, is no longer enshrouded in darkness. it looks a lot more lively now, more normal.
she doesn’t particularly feel like doing anything but cannot shake off the ever growing itch of dirtiness so she changes into a loose nightgown that flaps around her ankles.
it’s quiet in this apartment, stifling, the air unmoving, tense. too silent, too tense. it makes the thoughts in her mind so much louder and hasten so much faster. they’re running, running running
she somehow manages to clamber up onto the window seat, hugging her legs tight as she rocks a little, trying to soothe the thoughts, the voices .
she’s fulfilled her purpose, hasn’t she?
but why, why did it leave her like a kite without a string tying her down, leave her so weightless she’d float up and up into the sky and never return?
if her purpose is fulfilled, what is there to do now?
she huddles into a little ball on the window seat, watching people go about their lives through a crack in the curtains. a blinding crack. the sunlight cut through the darkness and into her skin and it hurts .
the normalcy of the world when her whole life has been turned upside down.
it’s like she doesn’t have a place there anymore, now that she’s fulfilled her purpose.
her mouth opens and closes, waiting and waiting for the sobs that never come. the sobs that were swallowed into herself along with all the screams that threatened to rip apart her throat. swallowed into the lost kite string, into the lake she so feared. and now that they are gone, so too are her cries of pain.
left empty, and dry, and purposeless. and useless but still in pain. in pain that she could never voice.
pain in how the people hated and accused her and she had to let it happen, pain in how they were right to hate her for she was unable to do anything to help, pain in all the stupid jealousy and envy that took root in her chest, pain in how all she is, is a hollow mask, pain in knowing she is a lone kite, pain in how her closest friends didn’t trust her and she didn’t trust them either so were they really friends ? and the only person who could have understood, even if they only met once, her other half, is gone. gone to save her nation.
so what is she now, if not broken and empty and useless?
and unable to be grateful for the one thing she has looked forward to since 500 years ago. even though she should be and she wants to be but nothing really changed except there was no need for a mask anymore and there was no need for her anymore, so why doesn’t she just float, float, float up to the sky like the abandoned kite that she is?
the rain pelts down. startlingly. quickly.
each splash of the rain against her window, trickling down like slicing cracks in the window, made her flinch. it’s all over, so why is her body still wrecked by the fear of rising waters?
and it’s when her hands jolt away from her arms that she realises that her fingers have been digging into her skin, red-lined white crescent marks scattered across her wrist, white lines drawn all across her forearm. they bloom into tingling red.
marked, ruined, empty, useless, alone.
of course her friends didn’t bother with her, they were all far too busy. if we were even real, true friends in the first place.
she’s heard that friendship entails “opening up to people, and sharing your deepest, darkest secrets while huddled together under the blankets at night”. then wasn’t she never a true friend?
horrible, horrible friend.
funny how the cause of her loneliness is herself.
sure, it had all been for her role and she did her job magnificently, splendidly, yet
i’m just so tired, so empty, so tired of everything, of being so empty.
it was like the flood that swept away fontaine also swept away everything in every crevice of her body, leaving her bare, empty.
she would be lying if she said she wasn’t the least bit resentful for the role she had to play, even if she would do it all over again.
they all can enjoy their lives as humans while here she is, not divine enough, not human enough, so where does she lie?
she gulps in a mouthful of air. she’s resentful, oh yes she is. of the life she could have had and wished she did and desired so badly it felt wrong, for was her role not one of the most important? and how all they knew was her act on the stage, that took and took all her emotions and sucked her dry.
and she hates how she also became part of the audience, unable to differentiate person and character.
her teeth ran themselves over her increasingly tattered lips and tasted iron. she hugged herself tighter.
if i can feel myself, then i’m not empty right
if i can taste my blood, then i’m not empty right
empty empty empty empty empty empty
the cutleries are placed out in the kitchen. (how thoughtful of them)
EMPTY EMPTY EMPTY EMPTY
(she barely recognises the feeling of the floor beneath her feet)
EMPTY EMPTY EMPTY
(step step step)
EMPTY EMPTY
(her fingers skirts along a cool surface)
EMPTY
.
red
red red red
there’s red pouring down her arms, red pooling on her legs, red beading in lines on her stomach. so many different shades of red: bright red, maroon, dark.
her hands are gripping a knife stained beyond recognition, drowning in red.
a familiar feeling of ecstasy bubbles and fizzes and escapes out onto her face in a wide grin of elation. except this time, it’s far greater, for without the bind of immortality, her skin no longer sews itself close with every wound.
now every red line she’s painted and carved remains there, a beautiful, twisting, permanent work of art.
every move she makes stings, and the pain is so blissful, so wondrous, so new . the pain silences the loud voices, drowns her mind in red red red. red-coloured adrenaline rushes, thunders through her mind, leaves her woozy and light-headed.
she stands in front of the bathroom mirror, to view the full spectacle. her wide smile looks deranged in all its ecstasy, her hair is unruly, and out-of-place and her skin looks like it witnessed a destructive war. but oh it’s so beautiful, isn’t it?
she feels right for how could the person in the mirror be fake, be just an act, if it’s all so real, so red, so within her control?
the lines are wrapping, binding her body- and the guilt sets in, the flood of guilt after her bubble of bliss pops.
marked scarred ruined destroyed
the iron in her mouth tastes bitter and her body feels every bit the bloody, ragged tragedy it is. she feels an intense urge to scrub her skin clean, to forget all of this, to forget everything , to forget how she enabled further destruction of herself .
the voices are screaming once more and it takes all the self-control she has to wash all the blood off.
destroyed destroyed destroyed
she didn’t bandage it, it’s not like she knew how for she was never allowed the privilege of hurting all these years.
ruined ruined ruined
her nightgown has random reddish-brown stains all over but she couldn’t bring herself to care.
empty ruined scarred pain destroyed empty useless whatdoyoudonow
she lies down on her bed and closes her eyes once more.
when she awakes, it’s dark, and she struggles to see anything. this darkness isn’t the one that had embraced her, this one tries to suffocate her. it’s empty and silent and stifling with the threat of something lurking.
she lay there, unblinking and remembers she hasn’t eaten.
for someone who used to love desserts with a burning passion, it was surprisingly easy for food to be forsaken by her mind.
it doesn’t really matter anyway and she’s pretty sure her fridge is empty. she already feels empty all over, what more is an empty stomach?
but her throat is dry like the sumeru desert and the darkness was constricting her throat, threatening to make her enter an endless splutter of coughs, so she stumbles into the kitchen and gets a cup of tap water.
after downing it, she closes her eyes again.
she’s floating, up, up, away.
like a kite, but without the constraints of the string.
up, up above the world, far, far away from everything.
she can’t tell if she’s asleep or not and it doesn’t matter anyway.
as long as she’s floating away.
she opens her bleary eyes to a series of gentle but quick knocks at her door. soft morning light peeks through the crack in the drapes, stealthily sneaking its way in.
the air weighs on her like a million bricks and she doesn’t want to move, even though she is feeling the toll of only sleeping through (she’s lost track of the time) several days.
deciding to continue to float, she closes her eyes-
“Furina, I’m afraid that if you don’t show yourself soon, I will have to unceremoniously enter your home through unpleasant means.”
her eyes open. wide. they’re round and big and with her mouth opened in shock, she gives the impression of a goldfish gulping for air.
“My goodness, Neuvilette!”, she wastes no time in putting together some form of a response, as she yanks open her luggage, struggling to find a presentable outfit. “Let a woman enjoy her sleep, can’t you? What time is it even…give me some time to get ready!” she shouts, wincing at the blaring volume of her voice, after hearing nothing but her footsteps and faint wind for days.
Furina opens the door, (she represses a shiver at the sudden fresh air — her apartment must have been suffering from a lack of oxygen) revealing a man who’s dressed as he always is, prim and proper. His hair always brushed the same way to his right, a strand resting on his shoulder, where it fades to blue. The jabot at his neck always ruffled the exact precise way, his clothes ever so intricate and elegant.
His eyes rake over her dishevelled form — her hair that she hastily brushed is crusted together at some areas from sweat, loose strands stick out jarringly everywhere, her clothes are a little crumpled, and all the ornaments and ruffles are not adjusted properly, and she dons white stockings instead of her usual bare legs, and she’s currently trying to hide the mess of an apartment behind her figure that has shrunk significantly — and his eyes scrutinises , sees through her. It’s a heavily uncomfortable feeling, prickling her skin so she starts to float away.
she feels so distant, drifting away, so far from
her physical body that was? what was she doing again?
“That look in your eyes, it’s the same as- never mind.” there’s a man in front of her. neuvillette? yes that’s his name. Neuvillette frowns, a concerned crease between his eyes.
her physical vessel has become a puppet in front of her, she plays with the strings.
“Hmm? What were you going to say? Don’t just end it there, curiosity kills the cat.” ‘Furina prods, though a rush of irrational anger blazes through her suddenly. It brings her back to the real world startlingly, harshly, and she feels the air brushing against her skin, the sun slowly making its way out, the fresh smell of dew and early mornings. They nose their way into her senses, crowd around her, and it’s too real , too much.
And there’s the furious fire that sparked within her, threatening to spread, to burn, crumple her figure into blackened ruins. She struggles to keep her fist from clenching, her teeth from
grinding, to keep the anger under control and her tone even. Of course, Neuvillette isn’t going to tell her what it was. of course he’s keeping things from her once again, though she did the same so what could she say?
But that couldn’t stop the wildfire of furious insecurities. yes, she isn’t worthy enough, important enough, godly enough to receive whatever information he’s withholding.
all her ‘friends’ plotted, schemed, set her up, after all. even if for good reason, they still stab like knives into her soul.
“There’s no need to dwell on it, it was merely a stray thought. I have come to see how you are faring and have also brought with me a cake, Pour la Justice, your favourite. I must apologise for coming at such an inappropriate time in the morning and I hope the cake reflects my sincerity.”
Furina’s hands shake imperceptibly as she raises them up to receive the box of cake Neuvillette held up. do what’s right do what’s right do what’s right Before her fingers even so much as grazed the smooth surface of the box, Neuvillette hesitated , doubt and dilemma glimmering in his eyes.
“Furina…if I may suggest, could you come grocery shopping with me?” His voice quivers a little, unnoticeable by most but Furina has seen this man nearly every day for 500 years. It’s ironic, that the great Hydro Dragon and Iudex is doubting himself when talking to her, of all things. (it almost makes his overwhelming godly presence fade a little)
“What?” bursts through her surprised lips dumbly, as she’s completely thrown off by his suggestion and the emotions that reside in his eyes. Her illogical anger fizzes away as quickly as it came.
Neuvillette is hesitating more and Furina hurriedly tries to fix things, “Pardon me, but what I meant was that although I have absolutely no idea as to why you would suggest such a thing, I am not averse to it. If you so desire this, then why not?”
The awkward silence between them is stiff and unmoving, prickling into her itching skin, burning her lungs with the lack of fresh air. She watches her shadow stretch and grow smaller on the ground as the sun rose higher and smiled down fiercer.
She makes the ever-so dramatic and frivolous comments as they pass by one stall and the next. Next to her, Neuvillette is silent, besides his greeting, ever a man of few words. His presence is stifling, judging , his shadow dwarfing hers.
“Oh, Lady Furina and the Iudex!” (a thud, shocked drop of a fruit) “My, it is such a delight to have you come to my humble store, such a delight indeed!”
“Lady Furina! I enjoyed that play you were in so much! You and the Iudex can have a 30% discount!”
“Lady Furina?! Oh and the Iudex! I-I never thought you’d be here. Such an honour, truly such an honour…” (a darting glance of resentment)
the noises, sights, people all drown herself out and she lets them. like a flood. (she hates floods)
it’s so easy and so hard to be that Furina that they want, the Furina they can only see, the Furina that cannot be any other Furina.
By the time they return to her apartment, the sun is scorching her, burning her skin red, leaving her trickling with uncomfortable sweat, skin all sticky, like the remnants of the flood lingering on her.
“Furina, I enjoyed our time together today and I must express my wish that you will eat better, now that you have these supplies. Your friends and I have missed your presence greatly, and do hope that we will be able to be with your company soon.” Friends friends friends friends??!?!!!????? f̸͙̍r̸̠̍ȉ̷̻é̴̜n̶̨̈́ḍ̶́s̴͓͋
Neuvillette leaves her with a box of cake hanging from one arm, a bag of macaroni and various sauces he insisted she should buy for some reasons, along with some fruit, and a bittersweet feeling taking root in her chest. It’s warm and fuzzy, yet leaves her mouth bitter and throat suffocating. It makes her want to smile, cry, laugh, break into hysterics, and lie down on the cold floor and die.
but she doesn’t do any of it.
she staggers into her apartment, feeling the exhaustion of having walked, talked, seen, heard, so much more than the last few days.
lethargy trails behind her like a weight chained to her limbs and she fights the urge to collapse there and then.
she manages to set the cake on a table, the groceries in the kitchen, and a spoon beside the unboxed cake, before everything grows too heavy.
staring at her once beloved cake, with its many ornate layers, whitish-bronze elegant carvings on the white-blue base, with an ocean underneath — dark blue with white foam — and a dark blue ribbon and white shell. blue frosting with pearls inlaid within surrounds a white chocolate crown with sapphire-like, tear-shaped jam at the sides. looking at this detailed, elaborate cake, she only really feels nothing. the emptiness inside of her is swallowing her up like the big whale, into its dark, abyssal depths and she wants to let it. it’s so easy to stop her futile struggling.
her spoon digs into the cake, collapsing the white crown and fluffy frosting into its layered brown, aromatic interior, the carvings at the side crumbling, and the ocean falling apart. she shovels it into her mouth. it’s good, though it doesn’t bring her quite the same delight as before. but what it does is pry open her infinite void of a stomach, releasing the hunger, a monster in its depths, and it starts clawing and gnawing at her insides.
she finishes the cake in less than a minute, the frosting smeared messily all over her mouth, but her hunger seemed appeased, at least. for now.
she sits on the chair, fingers clenching the wooden edges tightly, as she wonders what’s next, whilst forcing her eyelids open.
then a torrent of bile rushes into her throat before something shoves its way out, spilling all over the floor. the remains of the cake lay there, in pieces, half-digested, covered in saliva, and all bloodied. it’s like a murder scene.
she murdered the cake. like how she killed the residents of poisson.
disgust crawls all over her skin like a swarm of insects and she itches to do something. she tries to stop by thinking of neuvillette and how despite being hesitant and fumbling, he truly wants to help. she is someone worth helping. worthworthworthworth she swallows it down thickly — the thoughts and the sour bile — and fixates on neuvillette’s good intentions.
he wants to help her.
she is worth helping.
he thinks she deserves good things.
he cares, they care about her.
they care about me?
she manages to clean the floor of vomit and clear up the cake box and the spoon.
and then, without anything to do, she stares at the sink, water pouring onto her hands, as she starts to sink into her thoughts. nononononono it’s too quiet.
she destroyed neuvillette’s cake. she didn’t eat properly as he had wished.
and her shoddy dam breaks, the flood of intrusive thoughts rushing through, drowning her. she can still taste the repulsive bile in her mouth, still see the sight of the sick all over the smooth floors, still feel so disgusted .
(do i deserve their care?)
destroyer, ruiner
“Look at this, This is a list of the victims from the recent Poisson incident.”
“Lady Furina! What have you done about the prophecy crisis? Nothing! Poisson has been flooded already, who knows what’s next?”
“Lady Furina, what is the meaning of this?”
“What...what was that? Lady Furina’s a fraud?”
“Lady Furina...is actually human?”
“...Can a god with no power even still be called a god?”
“Did she deceive all of us, and all parents and grandparents too? And all of our ancestors, ever since they were born?”
“She’s just staring at the water without saying a single word...It really does seem like she’s quite terrified of it. That could only mean…”
“...I don’t think anything she says at this point will sway anyone. The odds are just too stacked against her now.”
“To be punished via the death sentence.”
“...”
“...From this moment on…”
there’s red again. it floods her, drowns her, but in a relieving way, for it pushes against that other flood, the one that makes her hurt all over, and leaves just red.
red red red
she lets out a breath she was holding and laughs, though it’s a small, quiet and sad one.
her hands are sticky with red. there’s another knife — from where, she doesn’t quite know, her memories are all woozy and blurred — and red is dripping from it.
she sees the long, short, unnaturally straight lines tearing apart her skin and the guilt comes sharp and fast, pricking her eyes, causing them to water.
how could she how could she how could she when neuvillette asked her to get better better better
can she even get better???
does she deserve their help?
the guilt is overpowering, and it threatens to drown her, to stop her throat from being able to breathe ever again. and she hates it , she hates it — the guilt and pain that haunts after her like her shadow, always, always there — but she wants to let it do so too.
(because if the guilt kills her, she won’t be able to feel it again.)
and she also hates hates hates that she thought of that.
neuvillette wants you to get better, they want you to get better, don’t you too?
(but can i do it?)
“Thank you, Furina, for all you’ve done. From this moment on…”
she’s huddled on the window seat, the window opened slightly — wind seeps through the opening, ruffling the curtains all around her, hiding her away from the outside — when she hears familiar voices drifting in from below. her heart rises into her throat and thumps hard and fast. why are they here?
“Uhh…Did Katheryne really give us the right address? She lives…here?”
“N-Not that there’s anything wrong with this place, it’s just uh…a bit of a step down from the Palais Mermonia.”
peeking out from between the curtains with a sinking heart, she finds her suspicions true. a golden-haired figure and a white floating fairy are just below her apartment building, discussing something.
grateful for herself already having donned a presentable outfit, she hurriedly rushes down, exits through the backdoor of the apartment, and faces towards the duo in a direction that makes it seem like she was outside and just passing by. she can’t have them pry in and doesn’t want them to question why she had so much spare time to be able to overhear their conversation — which albeit loud, doesn’t quite carry beyond the window seat.
“You know, it’s common courtesy to make sure the homeowner isn’t in earshort when you’re denigrating their abode.” Furina steps towards them, ever the dignified presence, her hands at her waist...and she finds it hard to look straight at them. So she stares at the space between the Traveller and Paimon’s heads.
“Whoa!” Paimon spins around with a shriek that pierces into Furina’s ears painfully and she keeps herself from wincing. Her nails dig into soft skin. “Okay, when did popping out of thin air become all the rage!? First Katheryne, and now you…”
“I was just out on a shopping trip. I ran out of macaroni, so I went to grab a few more bags. I used to have a much wider range of choices when it came to food, but now, I’m finding that simple, traditional home cooking can be quite delicious too.” The lie slips easily from her mouth. Truthfully, it isn’t fully a lie, for after Neuvillette had given her all those macaroni and sauces, she has started making some macaroni everyday, although it was only once a day, and when she cooked depended fully on whenever her eyelids decided to open again. but...it is an improvement at least…(and maybe the start of a bright new path……just maybe)
“...Don’t you get sick of macaroni every day?” The Traveller questions, though her face still remains ever the cool, blank expression it always is.
“Not at all. As long as you have different kinds of sauces in, you can have macaroni and tomato sauce one week, macaroni and bolognese the next…” how could she get sick of it when she has experienced 500 years of repetition? this is nothing in comparison. A silent confession to herself makes her mouth bitter and sour, an admittance that honestly, she enjoyed the consistency after all the sudden upturning of her life, as much as she hates it as well. It’s confusing and sickening how all her feelings seem to swirl together and she can’t separate them anymore.
oh how she loves it and hates it at the same time.
“Oh, sounds like you’re really struggling to cope?”
“Is it because you have to do all your own cooking now?”
They are quite the duo, with Paimon’s expressive gloating and lack of tact, and the Traveller’s cool yet somewhat passive-aggressive demeanour.
“How rude! Questioning my cooking skills, the audacity!”
“It’s not like I have a very eventful life these days. Actually, I barely leave the house. So I don’t see how it’s unusual that my meals are a little simpler now too. Besides, I’m sure I could master dishes like ‘La Lettre a Focalors’ or ‘Blubber Profiteroles’ in no time. If I felt so inclined.” Lies veiled in truth and truth veiled in lies. Somehow, it’s oddly reminiscent of her 500 years on the stage.
“Ah there it is. You don’t know how to cook.”
She knows they mean...well, that it is all friendly banter, but she’s getting really tired. her nails scratch frantically at the flesh of her palm.
“Pff, not yet, maybe, but…Anyway! What are you even doing here? I do hope you didn’t come here just to ogle at my fall from grace? Let me first be clear that I’m not taking guests at this time. So if you’re just here to clown around, then please be on your way! Shoo!”
It’s obvious they’re here for something. Furina does like the company of the two, so much so that she had once even considered dropping her act to them — though they did catch her in a vulnerable state — and they are the heroines of Fontaine after all. But, they never did contact her after the crisis was resolved, never did find her after her use was up, after she reached her expiry date. And that makes her question what everything was to them, was to all her ‘friends’ . And it also makes it a little painful to look them in the eyes with the knowledge that perhaps they were only really using her.
“Sorry, we’re sorry! Please don’t be mad!”
“Paimon was just showing concern for your wellbeing.”
“Yeah, exactly. What the Traveller said! Paimon wasn’t trying to make fun of you.”
“...Hang on a sec, you weren’t exactly holding back either!” It’s a little amusing, how Paimon stomps her feet in the air, and crosses her arms across the chest, pouting, whilst the Traveller just blankly side-eyes her.
“We actually came here to ask you for your help…”
help? her , HELPING?
It makes her head rush with choking agony and with the ecstasy that she is needed . there’s so much pain associated with having a use, but also relief at knowing she won’t be purposeless anymore. won’t be lost in the depthless sea of life anymore.
“My help, hmm? Well, maybe you’re forgetting that I’m no longer the mighty Hydro Archon. I don’t even have a Vision, you know.” As the emotions flood her once more, she’s reminded of that feeling, below the waves, drowning, crying into the boundless blue, the feeling of an incomprehensible amount of water weighing on her, choking, choking , and as black spots swarm her vision, she feels useless . She has no use now, no power, not even a Vision, so what help could she offer?
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing that serious! It’s just very specific, and you’re the one with the power to help.”
“You’re the only person for the job.” The Traveller adds solemnly.
“Oh? Well, if that’s the case, then...fine. I’ll spare you the lecture about your attitude just now. So tell me. What, specifically, makes this matter so...specific?” Her words feel scraped together, stilted, and although flowery enough to fool most, her heart twists with unease and discomfort. she doesn’t like playing this role.
Paimon and the Traveller explained how they wanted her to perform once more — the main lead, no less — and the suffocating returns, the flood boiling and loud .
she can’t act, not again, not anymore, not ever,
her nails are twisting in her palms now, sweat smeared all over, yet also shivering in the cold (the flood is freezing), and the raw pain of skin being scraped against.
“Ah, I see...I knew you couldn’t have come all this way just to amuse yourselves at my expense.” Trying to swallow down the flood, she chokes on it instead, but masks it as a polite cough.
“After all, I was once the brightest star in all of Fontaine, well-versed in all the various performing arts. A mere musical is well within my capabilities...But given the present circumstances, I’m afraid I must regretfully decline your casting request.”
“How come? It sounds like this’d be a breeze for you.”
would it would it would it . because that’s the problem, because she loses herself too easily, struggles to grip onto anything in this rushing torrent that is acting. stripping away all that she is/was.
“True, but I have made a decision to retire from the stage. Although I am no longer required to play the role of the Hydro Archon, the time i spent inhabiting that character has left an indelible mark on me. Centuries of pretending to be a different person changes you completely. I’m not the same person I once was.”
her words are being muffled, she is floating?? she is drowning??, the only thing she can feel intensely is her teeth running across the lips and stabbing into them, and blood spilling from barely-healed wounds. iron, metallic taste, hmm it doesn’t taste as refreshing as before.
She catches her words before they become too lonely and depressing, though that is her intention. “Of course, that can’t be undone now. It’s too late, and I have no intention of reinventing myself all over again.But at least I can say that I no longer desire to play any new roles.”
“So that’s how you really feel…”
“Paimon can understand.”
(no you dont you dont you dont how dare you say that) the bitterness is overpowering, the bitterness is boiling-
“But this is just a one-off part to fill in for someone who’s sick. Surely that’s okay?”
IT’S NOT OKAY IT’S NOT OKAY IT’S NOT. because what if she drowns drowns drowns in the role again and then she can’t get out of it and she doesn’t like that, she doesn’t like the flood, doesn’t want to lose whatever’s left of herself, doesn’t want to commit to a life of being someone else .
“Whether it’s a one-off or not, it’s a boundary that I’ve committed to no longer cross.”
“If I make an exception to the rule now, I’m just leaving a backdoor for myself. Which would be the same as not having a boundary in the first place.”
“So I’m not going to perform, and that’s that.”
she can’t hear what she’s saying anymore but she knows it’s determined and solid like a hard rock and she feels an odd wave of resolve.
“Okay, guess there’s no convincing you...Well, is there anything else we can do to help out the troupe? Otherwise, they’ll just have to disband without any fanfare…”
“Do you know any other actors who might be interested in the role?” Curt and straight-to-the-point instead of beating around the bush.
“Nope.”
“Short and to the point, okay…”
did she do something wrong? oh it was too short, too unlike her .
“I’ve never been great at maintaining relationships. Besides, anyone I’ve ever worked with probably couldn’t wait to get rid of me…Since I’m just an ordinary person now. They’ll probably just laugh in my face if I go asking them for help…”
pretentious, full of herself Furina, asking for help? oh they’d laugh themselves a fit, then scorn, mock and kick her out for sure. it’s not hard to imagine everyone secretly holding a dislike for her annoying personality. and now that she serves no purpose to them, holds no authority whatsoever, what need is there for them to suck up to her?
“You shouldn’t assume the worst of people.”
yeah maybe it’s just a manifestation of her self-hatred but why would people like like like her???
everything is too much, too much. she can’t handle it any longer. she longs for the safety of her apartment, longs for the certainty in those walls that didn’t crumble in a flood.
“True, but…I mean, could you even blame them? I show up out of the blue, begging and grovelling for their help with a show they won’t even get paid for?...” A shudder shakes her body, the flood slowly slipping out from behind the dam.
“I just...Look, I don’t want any part in this, nor do I possess such ample leisure time, so shoo!” The irrational anger bubbles over. Like the water in the pot when she first attempted making macaroni. The water had furiously hissed and fumed — in hot gushes of vapour — from underneath the lid, rattling it incessantly. When she attempted to remove the lid, scalding droplets shot at her angrily, and she had the thought that perhaps she added too much water.
The macaroni was drowning.
the boiling flood tells furina to stop persisting against it, to give in, and let it drown her in her entirety, to give up in trying to breathe. she feels rushing through her veins, throbbing behind her eyelids — blue and red and black and hot — and she turns away from them, trying to contain her desperate fleeing to a mere normal walking pace.
Her feet come to a stop behind her apartment building, her heartbeat pounding, and her breaths fast.
“Do you- do you think we were too hard on her?” A questioning voice trails out from behind her. “You can’t force someone to do what they don’t want to.” Another voice, calm and nonchalant. “Yeah, I mean, maybe the thought of performing brings up too many painful memories for her now.” The two voices fade away, a little disappointed and despondent, accompanied by a single set of footsteps.
guilt stabs into her chest, sharp and unrelentingly spreading throughout her. she let her anger get the better of her, and she felt so bad, so bad for failing to keep up her act. why can’t you do even this, furina? how could you hurt them too?
the guilt twists with the lingering resolve from before and from them, a sudden impulse to follow them is born. she doesn’t know what she’s going to do, but...there is a nagging need to do something about it, a need that is louder and stronger than all her thoughts and itches and the heaviness that follows her around.
so she follows, tiptoeing and hiding behind the buildings gingerly. her heart races, and she’s far too aware she’s never had any experience with this, though the last few days have taught her how to exist silently and without a presence.
the sun rises further up and sweat starts to trickle down her nape.
“And that gives you the right to make decisions on my behalf?” (an indignant shout resounded around the corner)
“...She believes that she’s healthy enough to perform.”
“...You see, our leading lady has just informed me that she’s well enough to make it to the show after all. Staging the musical with the full original cast was always the dream, of course.”
she’s relieved, though the guilt compels her to stay crouched behind some random boxes, and also the fact that she would be seen if she walks away. the leading actress’ passion for the art of acting seems so...nice, so pure. the envy in her squirms and claws at her heart. how nice it must be, to love something so much that you’ll endanger your life f̸̛̗͝ǫ̸̊ŕ̵̪̌ ̴̜͒̍i̵̹̾̑t̶̖̗̎̐.
it must be...so nice.
thinking of how she’s spent the last week or so, doing nothing, and feeling everything, with skin bloodied, stomach empty, and body lethargic...the resolve and determination manifests itself once more.
she doesn’t want to live like this forever. she doesn’t want to feel this pain forever, to be imprisoned by it forever. she wants to be happy again, to be able to enjoy things, to do something with her life instead of wasting away. it’s been 500 years of being someone else...now that she’s unburdened, she wants to find herself again. whoever it is, whatever it is like, she wants to be someone. not her role and not her anguish, but herself.
the feeling takes root in her chest and sprouts fast and steady, unrelenting in its growth.
“Hey uh random question and all, but why do you guys have to disband? Like this seems really important to y’all.”
“...Everything’s been going downhill ever since we lost our director. She was the heart and soul of our troupe. She kept us going.”
“Her name was Aurelie, and she was the founder as well as artistic director of our troupe. And tragically, she...was a victim in the serial disappearances case.”
?!
she accidentally jumped a little at the news, causing the boxes to jolt.
she was a victim of the case that furina failed to investigate into and actually resolve?
furina can’t help but feel she had a part to play in their beloved director’s untimely demise. especially since you were a roadblock in that case.
perhaps she could-
suddenly her wrist is grabbed by something warm. instinctively trying to yank her arm away, she finds that that something is hard like steel, unmoving despite her efforts. turning her face towards it, her eyes immediately widen upon meeting the cold face of the Traveller, seemingly accusing her of spying.
“Hey, how did you…” She struggles to stitch together an excuse, “I-I was just passing by because…I realised my pantry had run out of a few items!”
The Traveller is silent, simply staring her down, and she knows her lie has been seen through. Starting to calm down from the surprise, she also remembers what her intent is.
“Alright, alright, I’m coming. No need to drag me!”
Unceremoniously coming out from behind the boxes, the awkwardness of the situation with everyone’s eyes directed towards her, starts to press in on her and her skin itches.
but she doesn’t bring her nails to answer its call.
“Uh...Ahem, hello one and all. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation just now…”
“Furina!? Didn’t you go back home? What are you doing here?” Paimon’s shrill voice sears into her skin and she doesn’t want to do this, why is it so hard
Swallowing down her thoughts and urges and everything in her mind, she continues shakily, “I-I simply wish to express my apologies for how harsh I was earlier. It brought up some painful memories of previous experiences and I...couldn’t rein in my emotions, and said some strongly-worded things. And all before I even had a full grasp of the situation...Anyway, I’m sorry for how it went down. Also, I heard that your troupe has an empty position, that being the role of an artistic director. Since it’s also partially my fault that the case became so severe, I hope that I can at least make things a little easier for you all, by becoming your new artistic director...If-if you’re fine with it, that is.” it bursts out of her, all her words and regrets and apologies. though she did attempt to save face by phrasing it in such a way. still, it’s a vulnerability she’s never allowed herself around strangers.
“Woah woah woah, that’s a lot to take in.” Paimon gestures wildly. “Anyway, don’t worry about earlier, the Traveller and I weren’t much offended. Also it must have been hard for you.”
“Are you sure you want to take on the role of something related to acting?” The Traveller asks, her eyes cutting through her.
the voices scream at her, they scrabble at her skin, on the verge of slipping away. and they tell her to return to the simplicity of her days before, to the easy emptiness...
furina looks at the faces of everyone around her for once, not the ones disfigured with scorn, mocking and judgement but their genuine expressions — of hope, of slight concern, of forgiveness. for her.
“From this moment on, please live happily as a human, just as I wished we could.”
she can do this.
“...Yeah. I’m sure.”