Chapter Text
Ten years have passed since the Fatui disbanded.
The Tsaritsa had no need for her Harbingers any longer, and thus, they were all sent off, each of the five ex-Harbingers with a sizable pension to live out the rest of their days.
Ten years is such a long time, so much time for so much change.
Peruere is no longer the ‘Father’ of the House of the Hearth. Pucinella is no longer mayor of Snezhnaya. Pantalone, though aged and frail, still hoards his Mora in glimmering piles of gold. Ajax, bless his soul, hasn’t been seen in the past decade.
Yet, it might as well have been an instant in the vast expanse of time.
Lumine was still traveling throughout Tevat.
The sands of time seems to have left them untouched, for Sandrone and Columbina are as youthful as they were all those decades prior.
The pair now reside amidst the cool grasses and mounds of Hisii Island, away from the hustle and bustle of the lawless Elysium. The Frostmoon Scions have grown used to the sight of the Kuutar and her lady, often visiting the Moonchanter, and to peruse reading materials.
Arlecchino visits them every so often, bearing fine teas from Fontaine.
Her visits have been less frequent, as of late. The darkness that engulfed her arms now encroached on her chest, spreading from straight, even lines, to a mess of tendrils that seemed to bloom and claw greedily at her heart.
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Sandrone’s gaze flicked from the flickering candlelight to the ethereal glow of Columbina’s delicate features. The curvature of her brow, the soft dip of her lips, the swirling galaxy and stars that ebbed and flowed in those mesmerizing heather irises, no longer hidden by her mask.
Those shimmering stars in her eyes came to meet Sandrone’s own cobalt.
They were open more often now, though Columbina still preferred to sense the world with kuuvahki.
”I wanted to see you, Sandrone.”
”Just me?”
”Only you.”
Some things simply never change, no matter how many years pass.
Often, these candlelit dinners were held in silence, both of the women merely enjoying their beloved’s presence. Sandrone rather liked these moments; the ability to appreciate another’s company was a virtue in itself.
Tonight, the first to break the silence was Columbina, with all the reverie fit of a god
“Sandrone, I’ve been thinking,” the Kuutar began, voice soft. Her hand, though leaving much to desire for body temperature, enveloped the porcelain of Sandrone’s, gently caressing the doll’s palm, “we’ve spent so long together…”
“I’m listening.”
“I love you, and I’ve—I want to spend the rest of eternity with you, so…”
Columbina’s hand dipped below the table, slender digits fumbling for something in her gossamer dress.
Her cheeks were flushed a light pink, the colour of clouds in a warm sunset, tinted by the flickering yellow candlelight.
Sandrone doesn’t recall ever seeing her love so flustered, unless, of course…
Columbina dropped down to one knee upon the carpet, her long, dark locks swooping gracefully with the motion. Cradled in the palm of her left hand, sat a small square box, black and of a fine leather. Her right hand lifted the lid, letting the sparkling, golden band into the dim illumination of the candlefire.
It was quite a spectacular sight; the band bore an interwoven silver and yellow gold design, studded with the finest Liyue rubies across its breadth, burning deep red in the glow of the candles. It was abundantly clear that Columbina spared no expense in its making.
[Alert: Core temperature rising.]
Sandrone dismissed the alert.
Something warm and wet prickled at the corner of her eyes, blurring the candle fire into refracted halos, overpowering Columbina’s own glow. If anything, it only made the sight of the Trilune Goddess on one knee ever more sublime.
Sandrone could faint.
“Sandrone…will you marry me?”
Her hands shot to her face with incredulous speed, burying her jaw in her silk gloved hands. Her face was burning beneath her cold porcelain fingers, rapidly warming her icy skin.
Has she been waiting for this? Sandrone didn’t know.
What she did know, was;
“Yes! Yes I…I will!”
She could burst to pieces, crumble into incomprehensible shards right then and there.
Her left hand; calibrated for mechanical precision, never to falter, trembled as she offered the porcelain limb to Columbina.
The Damselette; perpetually calm, perfectly composed and in control, her hand too, bore a tremor as she took Sandrone’s hand in hers, slipping the band onto her trembling ring finger.
Columbina rose, and Sandrone quite nearly threw herself onto her, overwhelming joy surging forth in the form of a thousand tiny kisses and an embrace that threatened to crush her in the mechanical arms of her beloved.
”I love you, Columbina.”
”I love you too, Sandrone.”
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Arlecchino made one of her rare visits the following week.
Tucked in the nook of her arm, was the same tin of tea leaves Sandrone was so fond of, and pastries for Columbina.
The glittering red on Sandrone’s gloved finger caught her gaze.
“You’re engaged?”
Sandrone took Columbina's hand in hers, their fingers intertwined as she brought their hands above the table.
“We’re engaged!”
Sandrone exclaimed with an excitement ill-befitting her reputation. The smile that shone on her face was radiant, bereft of the usual sharpness that plagued her mechanical expressions, warm, and much softer than the Sandrone of yesteryear.
“Ah. Congratulations,” Arlecchino took a sip from her cup, looking out the window wistfully as the porcelain rim of the cup parted from her lips. The motion only stretched the dark tendrils further across the expanse of her neck, a grim reminder of the fate that awaited her, “I fear that I may not be able to see the day of your union, should you extend your invitation to me.”
“Don’t say things like that…” Columbina’s brows furrowed, their narrow ridges forming worry creases across her forehead, “you’ll only invite bad omen.”
“So a Moon Goddess too, believes in superstition? The will of Fate is certain without a ‘variable’, so why does it matter?”
“Look at where that got our companions.”
Cursed to eternal slumber in a foreign land. Dead. Missing. No body to be found. Taken by the abyss.
At least, that was what Sandrone wanted to say.
“I don’t want to lose you so soon.”
“At least, promise us, you’ll come to our wedding.”
“I cannot promise anything.”
“Promise that you’ll try, at least?”
“I suppose I can promise that.”
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There was so much to plan.
What dresses did they want? Were they both going to wear dresses? Guests? Columbina was a well-renowned public figure after all. Catering? Where would they be wed? Which god’s blessing were they to request? Did they want someone to walk them to the altar? What about wedding cakes? Were they to use Snezhnayan rites, or the rites of the Frostmoon Scions? Maybe they’ll just have Lauma handle the religious aspect.
So many invitations to send.
They decided to keep the wedding small.
As grand of an occasion it was, it was still their day first and foremost.
“Arlecchino. Lauma, and Nefer by extent. Lumine, if she can make it. I guess Paimon comes with her too, so invite that stupid rascal. Aino and Ineffa. Jahoda.”
Sandrone glanced at their guest list. It barely took five inches of parchment, even though Sandrone paid no mind to how she scrawled the names upon the paper.
“Anyone else?” She turned to her fiancée, who was engrossed in writing cards for the aforementioned.
“Flins, I suppose?”
“Right. Extend the invitation to Ajax too, if he’s still alive.”
“This is a little…empty,” Columbina noted as her eyes scanned the parchment on Sandrone’s desk, “that’s essentially our bridal party.”
“We can let them extend plus ones, perhaps?”
“Heh. Plus twos, maybe.”
…
“Who’s going to be the flower girl?”
“Pulonia can be the flower girl!” Columbina pointed a slender, pale digit at the refurbished and reconstructed Pulonia, now of a much smaller frame, like the Fontainian meka that patrolled the city.
“Pulonia will not be the flower girl!”
“He can be the flower boy!”
“As long as it is you figuring out the flowers.”
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“I like the look of this dress,” Columbina commented on the white and silver gown that hung from Sandrone’s frame; it was of Fontainian style, not unlike the dress Sandrone usually wore, though it had no sleeves to hide the fact her limbs were wholly artificial, “if you’re comfortable with it, of course.”
She had always been a tad bit self-conscious about that fact.
Why must a dress with opaque sleeves be such a hassle to find?
“I rather like it…but I think I’ll try another,” Sandrone signaled for the assistant.
Too scratchy. Too revealing. Too stiff. Too long. Too heavy. Too gaudy.
There was always something Sandrone could find dissatisfactory with the garment.
“Maybe we should find your dress first,” Sandrone mumbled, “the Heavenly Principals will be awake before I find one.”
“You don't have to wear a dress, you know?”