Chapter Text
Furina de Fontaine, her name carried weight, both in fame and blood. Five hundred years passed so slowly and every single day was a part of a never ending countdown until the day she would be free, until the day she would die, by her hand or someone else’s.
She held her own disappointment in herself, a never ending cycle of stab and heal it seemed. Knife in, knife out, stop for a moment and the water that would be her blood would burst out of her from the wounds she inflicted and then they would heal.
She’s magic, is she not? She’s an Archon for fucks sake, but isn’t that just an act, another lie bubbling up like words in her guts and making her puke?
It doesn’t matter anymore, as it likely never will, her pain is a necessary thing on her part. She’s grown numb, however, numb to the constant self inflicted destruction to allow her to pass the time. She’s not well, and she knows that, but why should she care about something as frivolous as her own mentality.
In her first hundred years she attempted to romanticize her time as an immortal, yet when all but one died, some of natural causes, some not, something inside her broke, something inside of her needed to be rectified for its sins and she would never stop killing herself over and over again until it left this fleeting shell.
Furina was nothing more than an imposter on a throne ruining herself more and more every single day, more and more scars littered her ever so carefully crafted body as the beautiful garments made custom for the false archon simply hung over her. There were pros and cons for only truly consuming sweets for any meal, the pros are that they were delectable, the cons are that they made her sick until she could feel the vomit come all the way up, and after she would ruin herself, she would eat more sweets.
She needed something mindless for when she was in public, after all, she needed to be presentable and not be seen as something that needed to be corrected, fixed. She was a burden on anyone who chose to be around her, only Celestia knows her failed attempts at self isolation, though perhaps the failure could be a good thing, it kept her from breaking her act as the ever-present hydro archon of Fontaine! She was special, she was the one in control, and she wasn’t mortal, the fake blood that she lives on is proof of that, proof of a puppet running on gears and not strings.
Yet, an ever present question lingers over her, something cruel and ultimately inevitable, the prophecy. She longed for it to either pass or just to kill her already, to end her prolonged suffering. Is a death wish truly so selfish, is she truly so selfish for wanting it?
“-is guilty,”
Ah yes, she should truly be paying attention, she always gets lost in thought at the worst of times.
She always felt ashamed of her act, useless words seemed to fill her mouth, meaningless pleas of despair that held her voice, but not her mind. Perhaps she could’ve accepted the duel, die maybe, or would this damned golden liquid flowing through her mechanical veins keep her alive, proving her immortal.
Death would be the best fate for her, it would be better than ending up forever alone once more. Her wickedness must be punished, deny the good she once did and burn her at the metaphorical stake.
“-via the death sentence,”
Furina wants to kill herself.
Focalors was nothing more than a concept, like the thousand winds or any other archonic creature. Focalors represented justice for Fontaine, Furina represented the dramatics of trial in Fontaine. Perhaps instead of the royalty she’s always compared to, she’s more like a court jester.
Her feet carried her to the balcony edge, overlooking the shocked onlookers as the Oratrice Mecanique D’Analyse Cardinale began to carry out the sentence.
The traveler, in an act of desperation for answers, ran to where Furina stood.
She let her body fall off the edge.
By the time everything was over, her head hit the floor and her consciousness was carried elsewhere, somewhere where the traveler couldn’t reach, somewhere where she could be alone in her perceived last moments.
Her first sin was talking to that mirror that called her name, her last sin was suicide, perhaps. She didn’t dare quell more on the idea, all she wanted to do was sleep and die.