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The sound of ghostly singing. A moon maiden’s light footsteps, cloaked by the swaying of the frost flowers in the breeze. The scatters of Moon Silver, casting an almost eerie yet comforting glow that paled the light of the petals. And above all else, the three, intertwined moons, taunting the Moonchanter of the Frostmoon Scions right in the face, mocking the centuries of lies and falsehood that she had fed her own company — only to be confronted with the raw, excoriated verity of the Three Moon Goddesses.
The singing continued. Kuutar — Lauma couldn’t think of her as anything but — walked, and walked, and walked, seemingly pacing, but never in circles. Luonnatar lightly nudged Lauma’s hand, urging her in, but Lauma stayed still: Even after everything they had been through in the fight against the Rächer of Solnari, she could still never bring herself to approach Kuutar as closely as the others have had. She would never allow it, could never live with herself otherwise.
Lauma was the Moonchanter of the Frostmoon Scions, and as long as she remained in that position, she would never dare defile Kuutar with the presence of a liar more than she absolutely had to. A liar with hands soaked in silver blood, giving and giving and giving, always compensating for everything she had never done. Making up for all the things she had never said.
Kuutar finally came to a stop. She said nothing, just stared. It seemed it was up to Lauma to breach the uncomfortable silence that had cloaked the songless Silvermoon Hall.
“Kuutar,” she said.
Kuutar wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t seem particularly troubled, either. “Lauma.”
Just hearing her address her name directly made Lauma’s cognitive functions slow to a grinding halt. No matter how many times she heard it, her reaction always stayed the same.
Kuutar shouldn’t be uttering the name of someone as sinful as her.
“Thank you,” Lauma said, “for letting me in. I know it should only be the Traveler and Paimon who enjoy the privileges of entering Silvermoon Hall. For that, I am truly sorry.”
Kuutar shook her head lightly. “You are no stranger to me, Lauma.”
“Regardless, I have intruded.”
“Not at all.”
Kuutar said nothing else. Lauma resisted the urge to bow her head. She knew of the centuries of torment Kuutar had endured under the Frostmoon Scions — devotion was the last thing Kuutar wanted to see from Lauma, from anyone in Teyvat: the world who had rejected her, who was eating away at her existence at this very moment.
“Lauma,” Kuutar said, and it was only then that Lauma realised she’d been speechless for the past minute. “There is a lot on your mind.”
“Yes, Kuutar.”
Kuutar sighed softly, her lips tugging down.
“I am running out of time,” Kuutar said.
Lauma stared at her, surprised — for the first time, Kuutar had willingly opened up about her own circumstances. The Kuutar she knew from centuries back had closed herself off to the whole world, severing herself from the Frostmoon Scions completely. From Lauma.
Perhaps Lauma should be happy with this change, though it was undoubtedly far too late.
The Moon Maiden took a step forward, and it took everything in Lauma not to instinctively recoil back. “I can feel it,” she continued. “There is not much left for me here. Maybe there never was.”
Lauma swallowed tightly.
“You came here to ask me something, Lauma,” Kuutar said. “I am listening.”
It felt like Kutaar was staring right through her, her gaze piercing through her closed eyelids. The flowers trembled a little, then came to a complete still. Silvermoon Hall was as quiet as it could possibly get.
“Kuutar,” Lauma said.
“Yes, Lauma?”
“Do you have to return to the moon?”
At that, Kuutar stilled.
“Lauma. I have never been a part of this world. Since my very beginning, since my very birth… I should never have been here.” Kuutar approached her, slowly, and Lauma’s urge to bow her head grew stronger still. “I have to return. The moon is my home, and I wish to reunite with my sisters, even if it has to be with their corpses.”
Lauma suppressed a light shiver. She had a feeling everything she had come here to say was going to agitate Kuutar further, but… She had to. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself otherwise.
“Kuutar… the Frostmoon Scions are very different from what you once knew. We will protect you, we will serve you. We — I — will never ask for anything back. Just…” Lauma swallowed again. “We need you. The Frostmoon Scions live to serve our Goddess, our Kuutar. Please, give us another chance, no matter how presumptuous of me it is to beg. If you go, we… I…”
She couldn’t bring herself to finish her sentence.
Kuutar stared at her for a long moment. Lauma knew that she would regret it if she looked away, so she did not. The flowers were trembling again, the tips of their petals now dipped in a soft periwinkle.
Kuutar tilted her head. “Lauma, is it truly the Frostmoon Scions who feel this way, or are you merely speaking on their behalf?”
In that instant, Lauma’s blood turned to ice. “Kuutar…”
“My dear Lauma.” Kuutar was now only an arm’s distance away from her. “I think we both know the answer to that.”
“It matters not,” Lauma protested. “There will always be a family for you here. We will… I will…”
Kuutar shook her head. “I understand your grievances, Lauma. I myself have developed an attachment to this world, despite all the cruelty and heartbreak it has brought me… Even then, I yearn to stay a little longer. But, sometimes, no matter how much you try, the world is still what it is: merciless. Unforgiving. The Three Moon Goddesses have been abandoned by Teyvat long ago, and there is no real purpose in defying fate any further.”
Lauma’s chest tightened. Many words swam in her mind, but none of them were able to properly surface.
“My dear Moonchanter. We are similar, you and I,” Kuutar said, her voice adopting a pinched, almost sympathetic tone. “You have been giving away so much of yourself to everyone. But what have they ever done for you?”
Lauma shook her head. “It does not matter. I do everything for my people, for my home, for… for you, Kuutar.”
Kuutar’s expression became even more pained. “Did you do everything you have done as the Moonchanter of the Frostmoon Scions, or as yourself, Lauma?”
“They are one and the same,” Lauma answered. “I serve you as me, and what I am is the Moonchanter of the Frostmoon Scions, my Kuutar.”
Kuutar shook her head. It wasn’t the answer she was looking for, but it was what Lauma believed to be the undeniable, unshakeable truth.
“Lauma…”
“Kuutar,” Lauma said, no, pleaded. Begged. “Don’t go.”
“I have no choice. You know this.”
“What can I do… to make you stay a little longer?”
Kuutar gazed at her kindly, and stretched out a hand. “We can sit by the moon while I'm still here.”
“The false moon?”
Kuutar cracked a small, sad smile. “We'll pretend it's real.”
Lauma stared at her outstretched hand. “Kuutar, I…”
“Come with me, my lovely Moonchanter. The night is still young.”
Lauma took in a deep breath, and slowly placed her hand in hers. A white, blinding light, and then nothing but the moon hanging in the false sky, and Kuutar by her side.
They sat in silence for what felt like years, staring up at the fake moon. If Lauma laid her head in Kuutar’s lap and cried herself to sleep, it mattered not.
Lauma awoke to an empty patch of grass where Kuutar had been previously. It was still night, and the invisible Frost Moon beyond seemed to glimmer kindly down at her.
Her chest felt hollow. Her Moon Goddess had left her once again.