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Furina laughs and all is lost. Tide rises and falls with the timbre of her voice, cutting as surely as any blade.
(If humans' lives flash before their eyes before they die,
can the same be said for a half-life?
A reflected life, a desired life
a distant untouchable impossible )
All that's left are glimpses, flashes of memory more precious than eternity. Furina standing high, god among humans. Human among the divine. How divine to delight in her, the taste of her name spoken and held in so many mouths and memories. The care Furina spares in holding their names in turn, every new generation. Every name that slips from the cracks of her fracturing mind is another failure, another reason to weep so much, to carry such grief.
(How curious to carry it all
How lovely to hurt
How enviable to )
How enviable anyone who comes almost close enough. Precipice before fingers touch, shoulders brush, almost and almost until Furina darts grinning away, denies being known with such grace, denies her own humanity.
To touch her. To be touched by her. All of humanity is hungry, craves the taste of divinity.
(All of humanity
is in the slight trembling edge of her laugh
oh her laugh )
Dear sweet Furina, who alone faces the mirror and opens her mouth and finds no words can come out.
Really, what words are sufficient to describe her? Perfect imperfection. "Perfect" the lie that's the closest to the truth. Walking talking laughing contradiction.
(Besides:
No tongue to lay too heavy in a human mouth to speak
No voice to go faint and escape the throat completely
no breath to flee the lungs
no eyes to see her
no words no sight no hands no fingers no mirrors no )
Dear sweet Furina. What other words must be spoken? Surely there are some, somewhere.
Dear sweet perfect Furina. Eyes like ice promising biting cold glinting in sunlight and eyes like ocean's surface on a moonlit night, lighting a fire in the non-existent heart, some hungry heat to fill this non-existent flesh.
(Imagine melting
just touching her unchanging skin
Imagine )
Furina opens her mouth and no words come out. Her image swallows its own sound. Her image is lost, sinking under the deep dark waters, or those all-consuming waters swallow all sights and nothing is left.
-
And if Furina should throw it all away—collapse to her knees onstage and weep, cast off all pretense—in a single lapse of judgement, have a moment of ease, the dam breaks and all the waters burst forth. Damn everything else, damn Fontaine, damn Celestia—all of it damned for this one moment of release, Furina's relief.
(How sweet and clear
are her tears.
Just one moment.
Just )
One long lonely agonized wail filling the opera house, the greatest performance it'll ever know and the last running show before all falls to ruin and
(In the morning all this dreaming
will be washed away.
Nothing can stay )
all is lost