Work Text:
In the mornings, Focalors could accompany her across the city to sample all the confections she can before her stomach starts to hurt—how she'd pout when Focalors laughs at her, how sweet to share in her delight by stealing a kiss or two and licking the sugar from her lips, almost an apology.
In the evenings, Focalors could greet her at the end of a performance with freshly-picked rainbow roses; the blush across her cheeks visible even in the dim light, tears shining brighter in the dark as Focalors would enfold her in her arms, swallow all her doubts and sorrows and fears.
In reality, in the reflection of the mirror, Focalors only watches Furina live five hundred years alone.