Work Text:
When Columbina sleeps, she sees a bright white circle, which she soon comes to recognize as the Frostmoon itself. No matter the time of day (not that she could tell, what with Silvermoon Hall’s lack of, say, natural light), it was ever-present in her dreams. It never asked for anything, just simply watched. The celestial body was so blinding that each time she dared get some shut-eye it would fuse itself into her eyelids, still visible after she had long awakened.
It would not be wrong to say that Columbina had had very little from birth. She did not have the loving parents that her fellow--no, former co-worker Tartaglia waxed poetry about, nor the sense of purpose and desires that the other Fatui seemed to have towards their work. Oftentimes, she felt like an empty shell, waiting for someone else to fill in the blanks. However, to say that Columbina had nothing would be factually incorrect.
The memory is faint, yet still there: A women’s voice, soft yet firm, singing. Her voice carried a sense of longing, but for what, Columbina did not know. Nor does she know now, what with all memories of her emergence into existence completely lost to time. Everything except for that song.
At one point, it may have seemed a bit strange to Columbina that she could remember that lullaby with such a fervor. From the grace notes to the somber lyrics, her brain had somehow engraved every aspect into her very being.
She opens her mouth and that ancient song from so long ago gracefully tumbles out. The kuuhenki flitter around her at the sorrowful tune, perhaps seeking to comfort her, but she pays them no mind.
And when she sings, that blinding moon emerges from her eyelids, its light enveloping her with warmth as she sings and sings and sings, silently wishing for it to save her.