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Furina hardly considers herself a masochist, but perhaps she should start doing so.
It’s been way too long, her endless charade, and every day only seemed to pull her down instead of showing her the light. Sometimes she wonders whether this play would ever end, or if she’s forever stuck in this endless loop of pretense.
Time erodes, especially a human with the curse of immortality, and it’s eroding her mind. It turns her insane and it makes her derive joy from pain. Perhaps it’s a defense mechanism, something her brain set in place to help her endure the next centuries.
At least, that’s what she tries telling herself as she dips her hand in the boiling hot water over and over again. Her hand swells and burns, but her curse of immortality heals it as quickly as it came and leaves only the pain as traces of her actions. The pain sends her into ecstasy, a sudden reprieve of all her responsibilities and of the looming prophecy over her head. It hurts so much and she relishes in it. She throws her hand into that basin again, and again, and again. She muffles her sobs and silently screams before being sent into the clouds. And she does it all over again when she is mentally back in her room.
Furina is soaked by her tears and sweats by the time she is done inflicting pain upon herself, and she gleams under the moonlight. Shame that no one else is there to witness her, because she is sure she looks like a true hydro archon under this light. Maybe she should take a photo of herself, so she could show the world the state that she has gone to. But, oh, who would believe in their god anymore if they saw her true self?
Damn this nation. They just have to question every little thing. It’s their fault she suffers. But try as she might, she could never hold a grudge against her dear people. All that she’s done, all that she was created for, is for their salvation. Them and the little civilization they’ve created.
Her hand is numb now, the pain long subsided, leaving not a single trace of what she had done to herself. Furina doesn’t know if she is glad or disappointed. Burns stretching across an archon’s arm would surely cause a headline, but maybe she just wishes for anybody to notice her sufferings. Alas, her whole charade would unravel should anybody discover her now, and that would come at the cost of her nation.
There’s always too much at stake, and Furina’s far too selfless.
A sigh escapes her before she gathers herself and pours the, now cold, water down the drain in her bathroom. She leaves the basin on her table, the housekeepers would take it when the sun comes up.
“Oh, mirror-me, why me?” She steals a glance at her mirror and whispers. There is nothing but silence in response, and so she sighs and retreats into her bed.
As for the water splattered around the room and the chaotic state of her things thrown in all the directions, that is something she would deal with once she’s out of her delirium.
“Lady Furina, breakfast is ready!” A high-pitched voice wakes her up, and she registers, in her sleep-ladened mind, that it’s a melusine outside her door.
Furina scurries off her bed, fixes her hair and flattens her night gown before walking towards the door with pretend grace.
She opens her door only slightly, to hide the mess that is her room from the small melusine. “Thank you, Aoile.” She musters up the most conscious voice she could make in her sleepy state, and a kind smile. “I will be down in an instant.”
The small melusine nods and heads for the dinning room, probably to inform the staff of the archon’s late arrival. But that’s nothing out of the ordinary. In the high society, being fashionably late is quite the common practice — and who would dare question an archon’s choice of arrival?
The door behind her closes shut and she leans against it to stare at the pitying state of her bedroom. Water stains scatter; her ornaments adorn the place in such a painful manner; and it does not at all look like a goddess’s abode. Gossips run in the Palais Mermonia too, and it would be stupid to have a rumor of the archon’s messiness be spread by the maids.
So Furina reaches down to gather all her stuffs and throws them all into a box under her bed. No one ever check under there, and no one would dare to touch an archon’s seemingly private belongings anyway — even if they might be quite curious. As for the water stains, she decides, they would have to stay. She does not have enough time to get rid of them, and she can just fabricate another lie. Her whole life is built on lies anyway, another one wouldn’t hurt.
By the time she is done putting her mess away and getting herself dressed, the clock strikes a quarter past the hour. That’s not too bad, she supposes— she’s been more late before, and fifteen minutes is hardly considered late.
“You are late, Furina.” Neuvillette’s condescending tone greets her as Furina enters the dinning hall. She rolls her eyes.
“Good morning to you too, my dear Iudex.” Furina is far less imposing than him, but she is far more sarcastic. “Pray tell, what am I late to? It doesn’t matter what time I show up for breakfast, does it?”
“It does matter when it is the only time of today when I could speak to you privately.”
“Awh, does the Iudex misses his archon?” She teases, taking her seat and the plate of cake served before her.
“Furina.” He says, in an effort of making her pay serious attention, she assumes. It is pointless, however, because she is always paying attention. A shame no one ever realizes.
She sighs before setting her fork down and finally meeting his eyes from across the table. “I’m listening.” She reassures.
Neuvillette then begins his monotonous speech on foreign affairs and trades with neighboring nations and how it needs her approval, and celestia forgives her for being uninterested. With all the responsibilities she accepted to carry when she said yes to her mirror-self, Furina has to admit that geopolitics weren’t exactly on her list of worries— and she was never quite fond of it. Add that to Neuvillette’s tendency to speak in a very boring manner, and the words are entering her head but she never actually acknowledges it.
“Are you even listening?” His voice brings her back to reality. And she looks at him apologetically, to which he only sighs in disappointment.
Ouch, she really hates it when he is disappointed in her.
“I’ve heard enough to get the gist of it, my dear Iudex.” She speaks, “Deliver the papers to my office, and i’ll have them done before sunset.”
He still looks unsatisfied, though, so she asks. “You look as if you’re going to bring a surge of rain into this city.”
“That is because you seem to never listen to my speeches.”
“Geopolitics bore me, you already know that.”
“But it is your duty, as the Hydro Archon, as the leader of this nation.”
“That is why I leave such trivial matters to you, Monsieur.” Her voice takes a melodramatic turn, because she does not like the direction in which this conversation is heading.
“And for you? What are you doing?” He looks her straight into the eyes, like he’s trying to squeeze the answer out of her with his gaze. “You seem to have a painful lot of free time for someone with a prophecy over their head.”
Oh such foolish dragon, she pities his obliviousness. But it only means that she is doing her job right. So she ignores the prick of hurt in her chest from his accusation and pretends to be the carefree, bratty little usurper of his authority.
“You hardly know what I do in my free time, my dear Iudex.” She shoots him a quick glare, “Archons deserve rests too. And don’t you worry about the prophecy, I’ve got it covered.”
Another lie, she knows.
“I find your definition of ‘having it covered’ rather vague.” She rolls her eyes. “And I’d like to see what you mean by that before you take another of your ‘rests’, as you so call it.”
“I can do whatever I want, Monsieur, and I decide not to show you.”
“Furina—“
She gets up from her chair and glares at him. “Do not question my responsibilities, Neuvillette. You don’t know a single bit of what I do.”
Neuvillette looks as if he wants to reply, but she shoots him another glare before leaving the room.
She glances at the clock on her way out; it is time to visit the Research Institute again.
Night falls and Furina is alone in her chambers once again. Her notes are scattered everywhere, along with stacks of books that are way too long for the little amount of new information they possess, and drafts of measures that will never be implemented — solely because she cannot justify them without ruining her act. The people of Fontaine questions and demands too much for their own good.
“Ugh!” She slams the book before her shut and sets it on the stack of two others that she had went over. They were all ancient texts from Egeria’s time, all with vivid descriptions of prophecies and stories — yet none with any hint as to a solution to those prophecies.
The glass bottle she had reserved for tonight glistens under the light. A glance to the clock, and she decides that she has done enough for tonight, and that some indulgence to pleasure wouldn’t hurt anybody.
Furina makes her way over to the counter where her things lay: the forementioned bottle, a razor blade hidden behind a portrait, some jewelry, and other belongings. Only the first two former matter to her right now, though.
She starts with the blade, because she knows she’ll be too delirious to do anything more after drinking the disinfectant. Furina draws stars around her wrist until it bleeds red — human blood red. The cut heals as fast as it comes, leaving only traces of blood left. Good, it gives her more space to draw more stars.
Stars turn into lines as she floats in a state of fervor. She wants to soak in her own blood. She wants it to stain everything around her, even if her future self would loathe her for it. It hurts so much yet she so delights in it. The pain reminds her of death, and death just so happens to be the one thing she looks forward to once this forsaken play ends.
She imagines a peaceful sea of calm and a neverending darkness that would consume her. Peace — oh how she wishes Fontaine could be free from its prophecy and that she could die right now. It would be quite a grand ending to her grand charade. Besides, her mirror-self told her everything would end in a grand trial, and every grand trial deserves a grand ending.
…
A grand trial.
Her entire left arm is covered in blood. She doesn’t care. She wants more. So Furina gets up from her sitting position on the floor and reaches for the bottle. The idea came from a play she had recently read: about a family scandal involving a girl who committed suicide by drinking a bottle of disinfectant. The rest of the story no longer held much interest for Furina once she had gotten a spark of inspiration.
Her habit of self-harming came after her brush with death a few months ago. It was an assassination attempt, if she remembers correctly. Someone had stabbed her right outside the Opera, after a trial in which his beloved was declared guilty and sent to the Meropide. It was a dumb and unorganized move, probably done out of spite and impulse, for who in their right mind would attempt homicide infront of one of the grandest stage of all, where there are more than enough witnesses to prosecute without a trial?
She nearly thought to have died right there, and the look in Neuvillette’s eyes was pitying— even though she’s still not sure whether it was only her delusions that made him look nearly caring. But the stab healed itself as quickly as it came, leaving her slightly bedridden for a day, while the culprit served a swift trial and sent to the same place as his beloved.
Neuvillette had ordered for more guards to be stationed around her afterwards to prevent more attempts of taking her life by outsiders. But, by then, it was Furina who yearned to feel that brush with death again.
She chugs the bottle of disinfectant down like it was nothing but water, and the pain comes almost immediately. Her organs burn under the alcohol that is normally meant to destroy microorganisms on inert surfaces. It burns like nothing else that she has ever done and it hurts like hell— or heaven. Furina throws a hand over her mouth to muffle her screams of pain. She grasps onto her counter like it’s the only thing that could hold her equilibrium— actually, it is the only thing holding her upwards.
Furina could nearly see stars as she relishes in the pain. She feels as if she’s going to pass out.
Oh, it feels like that first attempted murder again.
Her vision blurs, the disinfectant tries to disintegrate her body from the inside, her mind is in the clouds and trying to reach for an end. She is everywhere and nowhere at once. Coughs come out of her like spitfires, burning her throat and throwing out blood. She looks at her palms and they’re stained with so much blood.
She is a liar.
Her mind screams the only thing it could think of in the midst of her pain and euphoria, because it is the only thing that always lingers in the corner of her mind.
Her crimes far surpass those of the criminals.
Her perches over her counter and coughs blood all over her stuffs. The portrait of her and Neuvillette is stained with her blood — it’s all her fault. It’s going to be hell having to explain this mess tomorrow. But lying is her specialty. And she’s a great actress.
She should be put on trial.
Her insides burn. She grabs for another bottle— something stabs her skin and splashes more of her blood; and she chugs the liquid down.
She should be put on trial.
Just as her organs heal themselves from the attacks of the disinfectant, more comes down and burn them all over again. The pain feels refreshing and utterly agonizing. She relishes in it. Maybe if she keeps drinking more and more, her curse will no longer be able to keep up, and she’ll actually meet her end.
Maybe that’s what she wants.
She should be put on trial.
She reaches for the shelf containing a few more bottles that she had acquired by sneaking into the storage room, but her vision spins the moment she moved.
She should be put on trial.
Her steps falter as the pain overtakes her consciousness and she sees nothing but darkness.
She should be—
They had not spoken a single work to one another after that confrontation at breakfast. And every second since then Neuvillette could not focus on anything but the guilt after seeing the sternness in her voice. He was too harsh, he knows that, and he regrets it. It was an impulse of the moment. Built up frustration from her lack of attention to his speeches. He blames the nightmare that had disrupted his sleep the previous night.
Neuvillette didn’t even know that sovereigns could have nightmares, because he had never had one, and he had never met his ancestors to ask them. But the dream consisted of a disagreement between him and Furina, and him finding her dead body afterwards. He was woken with a start that morning, completely disoriented and with an image of her dead body still too vivid in his mind.
The rest of the day does nothing but worsens his mood.
Perhaps he should buy her a cake tomorrow as an apology.
Neuvillette sighs and sets the book that he’s been trying to read down. It’s quite late already, yet he has no intention of going to sleep. Simply because he does not want to risk seeing that forsaken dream again. So he sits and stares out his window.
The Hydro Dragon is not one to admire the night sky; he does not have Furina’s skill of appreciating nature’s works, nor does he have the ability to understand them. But she had taught him a great many things. So he tries to match her description of the stars many fortnights ago with the ones before him now.
“The moon is beautiful tonight, don’t you think?”
He hums in agreement, even though he’s only watching her expression. The moon will appear tomorrow, and the day afterwards, and so forth. But the sparkle in her eyes and the small, genuine smile on her lips is a sight he cannot be assured to see again. Tomorrow her smile might look strained, or even fake, or he might not even be blessed with a smile at all. Furina is far too unpredictable.
“Oh, Neuvillette, do you actually see the beauty?” Her words make his head turn to the night sky. He’ll indulge her this once. “These beautiful works of nature are rarely ever appreciated, because everyone is so used to its presence that they forget its charm.”
He does not interrupt her, because how could he dare to interrupt Furina during her musings?
“If you look over there,” she points in a direction up the sky, “you’ll see a bright cluster of stars. That, my dear Iudex, is the Pleiades.”
He could barely make out what she is talking about, but he pretends to see the cluster of stars that she finds so fascinating.
“Over there,” she points in another direction, Neuvillette tries to figure out exactly where she is pointing to, “see the brightest stars in that spot? Draw an imaginary line between them and you will get a figure of a teapot.”
Once again, he pretends to understand what she is talking about. It seems she noticed his confusion, though, because a sigh escapes her.
“One day, you will look up in the night sky — perhaps to reminisce on something, or to simply admire it. I hope that you’ll remember what I’ve told you and try to spot these stars yourself. Then, you’ll realize the wonders this world possesses.”
“This world has a lot to offer, Neuvillette.”
He remembers waking the next morning with a book named ‘Constellations and Clusters: A Guide to Find The Stars’ delivered to him on his desk. He had read every page, yet never looked up at the sky to find what he had learned about.
Tonight, he decides, is going to be the night he heeds Furina’s words. So he observes. He starts with trying to find the cluster of stars Furina had called ‘the Pleiades’—
A loud crash interrupts him.
Neuvillette abruptly gets up from his chair to check on the source of the sound. There shouldn’t be any activity going on at this hour in the Palais, and the sound seems to have come from the general direction of—
Furina’s chambers.
Fear overtakes his body and he rushes for the door. It’s nothing serious, a voice in his head tries to calm him down, she probably only dropped something. The reassurance nearly helped until more questions popped up in his mind: Why is she still awake at this hour? Why had the crash sounded to be more than just something dropping?
Had his dream been a premonition?
He’s outside her doors before he could acknowledge anything.
“Furina, is everything okay?” He knocks on her door, but not a single sound answers him.
Strange, he’s sure the crash came from her room.
Alarm bells ring in his head, but he tries to keep his calm. Neuvillette tends to over exaggerate situations when it comes to Furina, after all. He knocks again, a little louder this time, a little more panicked. But sovereigns don’t panic, or so he thinks.
A good minute passes by with not a single noise coming out of her room again, and each second feels like a strain on him — because he remembers his nightmare and the parallels between the dream and the reality right now.
Archons don’t die all of a sudden in their room, right?
He knocks again but to no avail, so he silently prays forgiveness to her before trying to open the door himself. And, much to his surprise, it is unlocked. The room is barely illuminated save for a small table lamp on the side. Her bed is still untouched, the curtains aren’t closed, and there is a strange smell that burns his nostrils: a mix of chemicals and blood. He steps into the room, there is nothing to hide his panic now, and carefully observes everything — all of it looking normal yet there is something eerie in how in place everything is. Over in the corner, the only illuminated part of the room, there is nothing but an office table with a typewriter on the side, stacks of books on the other side, drafts scattered all around. Behind it stand the shelves with her endless amount of books and a countertop where some of her stuffs lay — he remembers the layout of her room by heart. Everything looks where it should be.
Yet the normalcy of the room makes it wrong, because he does not see her presence anyway, but he can feel her presence. He senses the aura of divinity that surrounds her, albeit feeling more like a curse than a divine power. But then he notices the red that is barely visible under the dim light.
And he sees her hand, unmoving, on the floor, hidden behind the table.
“Furina!” Neuvillette sprints towards her body. Terror evident in his voice.
Furina lays on the floor, blood all over her. Her blood is everywhere. Splattered all over the carpeted floor, some on the chair, and a concerning amount on the countertop. It fills his nostril and terrifies him. There are glass shards on the counter and on the floor, one even pricked into her skin. A razor blade lays abandoned a few inches away. And, clutched between her palms, a glass bottle. Its contents reek of chemicals and alcohol — and he knows immediately the events that had occurred. It only makes him dizzy.
Neuvillette cradles Furina in his arms and tries to remove the glass shards from her skin that’s already trying to heal itself. His mind is a cacophony, he feels dizzy, voices are screaming at him to call for help. Yet he cannot bring himself to leave her side— he cannot, he refuses to. He thinks of their last conversation and holds her even tighter.
Was it his fault?
Her blood stains his hands. He is the culprit. He killed her. He accused her and he killed her.
Storm wages outside Furina’s windows.
The sound of thunder wakes her up and she groans out of annoyance. Her vision is blurry when she opens her eyes— where is she? Furina sits up from the bed she laid in, and everything spins.
“Oh, Lady Furina, you’re awake!” A soft voice speaks from somewhere in the room. Furina opens her eyes to try and find the source, but she can’t make out much when her head is throbbing and her eyes desperately want to close again.
“You can sleep, it’s alright.” Oh, she recognizes the voice now: it is Sigewinne’s. “Monsieur Neuvillette had made sure to clear up your schedule for today, and tomorrow. You need rest.”
The memories of last night floods back into her mind.
Merde.
Panic fills her mind and she completely forgets about her exhaustion. “How—“
“Monsieur Neuvillette did not tell me the details of what happened, and I have sworn to secrecy.” Sigewinne gives her the cutest smile she has ever seen in her life. “Please, do not worry. Archons need rests too!”
Right, archons.
Sigewinne’s words reassure her nonetheless, and fatigue overtakes her again and her eyes close before she could say anything else.
The last thing she heard was the opening of a door, and hushed voices, before she drifts off to unconsciousness.
It is still storming outside when she awakens again, although slightly less than the first time. She’s out of her state of delirium this time, and fully aware of the consequences of her actions. Ugh, why did he have to find her? She was going to wake up nonetheless, and now, she has to come up with something to explain why there was blood everywhere, why she was passed out, why there was disinfectant in her hand, why this, why that.
She really wishes that liquid had killed her now, because she had definitively revealed her true self. Gods don’t try to kill themselves.
“Furina.” She recognizes his voice without even looking at him. Neuvillette. She knows it was him who found her, because otherwise there would be way more commotions than there currently is right now.
She does not answer him.
“Furina, please.” Hearing him beg is pitying. It feels unfit for the Hydro Dragon. So she finally looks at him, guilt evident in her eyes.
She still does not say anything, because what is there to say? The scene he found her in probably already explained itself.
“You will not speak, that is alright,” He sighs, setting a wrapped box on her bedside table. “Would you like some cake?”
Neuvillette opens the box to reveal one of the sixteen slices of cake offered by Hotel Debord everyday. Her favorite. But she only stares at it. He leaves it on the table.
A moment of silence between them, until he clears his throat and speaks again. “You once said that this world had a lot to offer—“ Furina chuckles, that had been ages ago— “so why try to leave it now?”
Furina stares at the ceiling for a while, she thinks about everything. For what felt like eternity, she does not answer him, simply losing herself in her own thoughts. Neuvillette was about to change the topic when she finally speaks.
What is there to lose? He probably already knows everything.
“I’ve tried everything.”
“Pardon?”
“I can’t die, Neuvillette. I’ve tried everything.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, but there is only the two of them in this room, and only the sound of the storm outside could cover her voice. “The pain is the closest thing I have to eternal peace.”
“Do you remember when a guy stabbed me in vengeance? That’s when it started. I’ve tried stabbing myself, I’ve thrown my hands in boiling water, I’ve tried overdosing myself, I’ve tried drowning, I have tried everything.”
“Furina..” His voice sounds unlike himself — too much hint of fear in it.
“Just put me on trial already.” She raises her voice slightly, “Have me declared guilty. Execute me. I’m willing to offer my head on a platter.”
The storm grows harsher, she glances over at Neuvillette. His eyes are clouded by a strange shadow.
“You know I will not have that.”
“But you must.”
“I do not. And I will not.” His voice is stern this time. So he is set on that, she doesn’t know if she is relieved or disappointed. “You are the Hydro Archon, this nation needs you.”
Does he not realize—
Oh.
It seems her charade is not yet over.
“It has you.” She hides her confusion as quick as it came, and puts on an act of a broken archon — if such even exists. “Don’t you want your authority back?”
“No.” He does not leave a second before answering, and it puzzles her some more.
“Why, Neuvillette? Are you not bitter over the fact that my ancestor had stolen the authority that is rightfully yours? Do you no longer want it back?” She is pushing the limits with her questions, she knows, but she excuses them to be under the guise of Focalors’ kindness. Even though she knows it is purely her own curiosity.
Neuvillette stares at her for a moment, his eyes a strange mix of despair and yearning. Does he know his eyes are beautiful?
“There is no point life without you, Furina.”
After Furina’s first awakening
“Here, Monsieur, is the medicaments she should take for the next week. I know she is an archon, but she had lost quite a lot of blood — enough to put even a goddess at risk.” Sigewinne hands him a bag containing the medicine, he accepts it without questions.
“Thank you, Sigewinne. I will arrange for your compensation.”
“Oh, Monsieur, it is nothing!” She waves it off, “I am glad to have helped our archon!”
“No matter, you have done tremendous help.” Neuvillette affirms, not allowing her to say anything otherwise. “I hope that this would be kept a secret?”
“You have my word, Monsieur Neuvillette.” She presses a finger onto her lips and smiles, “Please do look after the archon!”
With that, Sigewinne leaves the hallway and makes her way towards the elevator. And he is left alone once again, with Furina soundly asleep a few feet away. He makes his way over to her and puts the medicine bag on the bedside table. Then, he brings a chair over by her side and simply sits and watches her.
It is still raining outside, the pours had not ceased ever since he found her body a few hours ago. Sigewinne had reassured him that Furina would still wake it, that his dream wasn’t complete real. It calmed the rain a little, but as long as she is still unconscious, he will stay waiting restlessly.
Everything that happened after his discovery happened in a trance. Before he knew it, he was in the Fortress of Meropide, Furina in his arms, and pleading Sigewinne to save her. She suggested going back to the Palais so that Furina could have a proper resting place.
The moment the working hours within the Palais begun, Neuvillette quickly cleared Furina’s schedule, postponed his rendezvous’s, and went back to Furina immediately. He made sure to get rid of everything that pose as a threat in her room — well, at least in the areas he had access of. Furina already hides so much from him, it wouldn’t come as a surprise that she has secret compartments all around the room.
For now, he sits and studies her sleeping face. She looks troubled, even in her sleep, but her expression is calm, calmer than he’s ever seen her. It’s almost like she finds peace in slumbers. But looking at her, he can only be reminded of the sight of her unconscious body, covered in blood. He can only imagine what had pushed her to drink that liquid that is definitely not made for consumption. He is only filled with guilt.
For now, he swears to never let her fall into such depths again.
And he swears to figure out the secrets she is hiding; the secrets that seem to pull her down more and more everyday.
Ever since that fated day, Neuvillette no longer gets graced with a slumber without dream. Sometimes, the dreams are pleasant; but most times, they are recurring images: Furina stabbing herself, Furina drinking disinfectant, Furina throwing her hands in boiling water, Furina, Furina, Furina.
It’s an habit for him to check that she is still alive in her room at least once nearly every night now.
As for Furina, she never mentioned that night again — neither of them does, actually. It lays between them, stacked upon a pile of too many unspoken questions, on an unspoken line that they never cross.
Her indulgence in self-harming ceased as time goes by, mostly because she feared to be discovered again, and having to see that painful look in his eyes.
That does not mean she fully stops, though.
And it definitely does not mean she does not find other ways to indulge.