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‘It’s a starry night.’ Is all that the fugitive could echo in his mind, leaning against the balcony railings with his chin resting on one hand. He looked up at the dark sky that was filled with small, dotted specks that shone and glistened faintly reflected in his indigo eyes. He stared blankly, a slight frown fixated onto his face, eyebrows furrowed. He closed his eyes, the noise of the Fontainian event behind him fizzling out as the sound of rustling leaves took over his senses, letting his thoughts slowly fester.
‘Raiden Kunikuzushi’ is a name that would’ve been well known a couple of years ago, but has only gone into obscurity in recent times. It was a name nobody dared to speak of. All proof of such a person had been gathered from the public eye and then mercifully destroyed. Every single piece.
This was an order from the Empress of Inazuma. If questioned by anyone who dares, you’ll be greeted by sudden coldness or the following response: “What nonsense are you talking about? There was no one of such with the name of that.” Before quickly moving onto a new topic of discussion, though more spitefully.
Being the elder daughter of the newly crowned Empress of Inazuma, there was no doubt that Crown Princess Raiden Kunikuzuhi was the one to ascend to the throne. Raised to be the perfect heir, the young royal became busier and busier as responsibilities kept piling up, the sudden restrictions she faced were evident as any sort of free time withered away. Her mother often commented about ‘How important it is to take such matters seriously,’ and how ‘It’s better to be well prepared than not to be.’ Of course, her mother meant well, not wanting her eldest child to go through a similar fate. Slowly, her colourful world slowly began turning black and white, the warmth she once felt began to turn stone cold.
Though she couldn’t help but feel jealous and envious of her younger sister, living carefree and responsibility-free, she kept those thoughts to herself without wanting to cause any more trouble. Often, she found herself crying to herself every night.
A couple of years into her mother’s reign, Kunikuzushi began to notice certain features of her own appearance that brought a feeling of discomfort, often finding herself staring at her own reflection with disgust as unnerving thoughts began to overtake as they slowly bubbled and brewed; they brought her feel pang and nausea.
As time flew by, she slowly began to swap out her feminine clothes with more masculine ones, beginning to wear her hair back more while also trying to find ways to suppress her chest area. This brought a sense of... comfort. Maybe it was just her sudden need and want to change fashion? Or something deeper, perhaps. It lessened her uneasiness that was brought upon her after being assigned to be the heiress, her sense of self improving slowly.
Over the next couple of weeks, slowly turning into months then years, Kunikuzushi began to feel more content with his new appearance, much to the dismay of his mother (even if it wasn’t outright said). The palace fell silent when he passed; whispers trailed behind him like smoke on a fuse. ‘To hell with them.’ He bitterly thought, brushing those murmurs off.
However, this only brought on more talk within the palace, eventually leaking out to the public as rumours spread by the personnel. ‘The Princess Kunikuzushi? Playing dress up? How profound.” Though, this only caused him to proudly show off his change of appearance even more, beginning to use masculine terms to refer to himself.
A week before his 18th birthday, on a quiet evening, Kunikuzushi found himself in Ei’s study. She was informing him of the plans she had arranged, he slightly wincied at the use of feminine terminology, but kept his composure. The most important life experience to ever happen to any Inazuman around his age was to happen – the Inazuman traditional coming-of-age ceremony. Dread took over, but he mentally insisted that everything was fine. Ei asked ‘her’ to dress more ‘feminine,’ for this occasion, as ‘she’ was the ‘future Empress of Inazuma.’ She had to finally set the record straight and prove the people wrong about rumours.
Kunikuzushi’s breath was caught in his throat, his eyes widened. His indigo eyes met his mother’s purple eyes with sudden attention. Oh how cold, and piercing they were, as if being stabbed with icicles with just her glare.
For years now, he had been trying his best to encourage his mother to use the right vocabulary and to allow him to dress how he wanted. However, those pleads often fell upon deaf’s ears, pushed to the side and brushed off. He tried not to let such things bother him, he didn’t even want to be that affected by them, choosing to ignore how she kept using those words that addressed him. The overly feminine outfits for formal assemblies were just oh so unbearable to look at, let alone wear. He just had to push through, not wanting to experience his mother’s rage. Maybe, sooner than later, she’ll finally understand him. His feelings were kept bottled up.… But, with this, the bottle finally cracked, shattering. All those years of pushed away feelings overturned.
Thundering through the palace walls, an unanticipated quarrel occurred. Whenever Kunikuzushi spoke, ‘she’ was interrupted by Ei. The sudden overflow of feelings got too much at that very moment. The ‘crown princess’ had floods of tears fall from ‘her’ indigo eyes as she tried to stand her ground. 'Why can’t you just let me live my life however I want to, mother?!’ He cried out.
‘You are my daughter. You will never be my son. Don’t you get that, Kunikuzushi? I love you, but I just can’t let you tarnish the Raiden family’s image and honour?!’ Is what she responded with.
And, with that, are the words that would haunt him to this day. As tears continued, the young royal hurried to excuse himself from the vicinity. His mother’s– no, Raiden Ei’s voice calling out to him, demanding that he ‘come back to her and to stop being childish!’ But, even with his attempt of quieting his sobs, his cries still overpowered her venomous voice.
Upon entering his room, after what seemed to be an eternity of constant running in the network of rooms and corridors, he gave himself a moment after a ‘bang!’ from his door. Multiple thoughts raced through, the majority coming to the only conclusion he could come up with: to run away. Get away from this restricted, torturous place that had been slowly killing him inside, to get away from this birdcage.
His room was left seemingly untouched and tidy when his younger sister went to check on him later that night after hearing the commotion. “Onee-sama?” Shogun called out, sliding open the door to his room. Where she found the window was wide open as the full moon was in full view. No note was left, not wanting to leave anything behind. He didn’t want to have people looking for him, to bring him back to the enclosure he was born and raised in and would essentially die in.
Crown Princess Raiden Kunikuzushi died that day, ruthlessly. ’Her’ place was then taken over by ’her’ younger sister, Princess Raiden Shogun.
“Oh? What do we have here?” A voice calls out to the fugitive, full of interest. This person made the runaway’s train of thought halt, almost snapping his neck upon looking over, violet eyes were the first feature he noticed. As the minutes passed, or what seemed to be minutes to him, he swore he could start to see stars in the other’s eyes as he blinked and fluttered his lashes. “Not the talkative type are you?” he calls out again, deciding to position himself next to the former royal.
“… I suppose I’m not.” The escapee finally responds, turning away to look back at the sky, getting a sense of deja vu. The other man went to join him by the railings, mirroring the other’s actions. They stood in silence, until the ash-blonde spoke up once again. “Never seen you before. Are you new to Fontaine by any chance?” He asks, his voice as smooth as honey… Although, he got a quiet groan from the other. The violet, starlight-eyed guy lets out a soft laugh.
“Yes, I am new here. No, I won’t be staying for a while. I am here for a night and this event ironically fell at the same time.” He finally responds, looking back at the person. He noticed his attire, sophisticated and aristocratic. He must’ve been one from a noble family, maybe the oldest The successor? Judging by the accessories that shimmered. The Wanderer would laugh at the similarities they would’ve had if he decided to stay confined in the enclosure that was his ‘fate.’
In one swift motion, his nearest hand gets lifted up, a light kiss placed upon the upper side. “Lyney Snezhevich, of ‘the House of Hearth,’ It’s a pleasure.” He finally introduces himself, closing his eyes as he lowered his head with the help of a bow, lips lingering. Scaramouche swore he could feel his hand beginning to tingle.
He lifts his head back up, giving the other a smile. “May I have the honour of knowing your name, Mon Cheri?” he adds on, his voice as sweet as honey, causing the other to have pink dusted on his face. The hand gets snatched back, the other crossing their arms as they turn away, huffing (causing Lyney’s smile to grow slightly.) “... The name’s Scaramouche.” He responds, saying nothing else. He looked back at Lyney after a while, who seemed satisfied with the response as he stood back up. This time, he offers Scaramouche a hand, earning a head tilt and a singular eyebrow raising.
“Would you like to dance, Scaramouche?” He asks.
After a short while, the other places his hand on the other, accepting the offer with a nod and off-hand ‘of course,’ which leads to the man in red basically dragging the other back inside and onto the dance floor of the grand hall. The hall shimmered beneath golden chandeliers, their light catching on polished marble and jeweled gowns of some of the guests. Even though chatter and laughter bounced off the walls, the melody was loud enough to carry them effortlessly; Lyney led with confident precision while Scaramouche followed, although more out of reluctant curiosity than rhythm.
Scaramouche couldn’t remember the last time he’d danced, especially at an event like this one. The steps felt foreign, almost profane after years spent on the run. Yet, somehow, when the other’s hand steadied his waist, the noise of the ballroom faded into something distant, muffled by the rapid beat of his own heart ringing in his ears. Why was it suddenly like this?
“You’re trembling,” Lyney whispered, leaning close to the fugitive. He could’ve sworn he smelt something floral, like a rainbow rose perfume. “I didn’t think the great Scaramouche would fear a little waltz.”
“I’m not trembling,” he muttered, though his voice betrayed him as his tone was soft, almost breathless. “And I never said I was great.”
Lyney’s smile softened, losing its aristocratic polish. “You carry yourself like someone who’s been told who to be their whole life. It’s strange, it’s like seeing someone finally learning how to move on their own.”
That struck something deep, a sharp note beneath the music caught the attention of Scaramouche as if mocking him. He looked away, his gaze fixating onto the marble beneath them. “You talk too much,” he whispered.
“Then stop me,” Lyney teased. For a second, Scaramouche considered it, saying something sharp, dismissive, safe. But when he met Lyney’s eyes again, he saw no mockery there. Only warmth. A kind of understanding that made his chest ache yet warm. The music slowed, the final notes lingering like breath against skin. Lyney dipped his head, close enough that their foreheads nearly brushed. “Fontaine has a way of keeping strays,” he said softly. “Maybe stay long enough to see why.” Scaramouche hesitated. The word ‘stay’ gave him a feeling of unfamiliarity, it was terrifying… yet tempting.
He should’ve pulled away, yet he didn’t.
It was a starry night, and Scaramouche walked beneath it once again. Unbound, yet carrying the weight of every star he’d ever lost. Looking back at the glistening hall, he spotted him: Lyney Snezhevich, standing upon the balcony they once shared.
Maybe one day they could stand beneath the morning sun together, as they once did under the shining stars and gentle moonlight.