Chapter Text
The day that Sandrone died, something in Columbina died too.
Without it, she found it hard to breathe and walk. Each breath took immense effort, with a chest so tight with hurt, and it was practically impossible to step forward, when she knew that Sandrone wouldn’t be there, waiting for her to come back.
All she can think and do now is remember. And she’d be lying if she said she spent her days doing anything but remember.
The memory of that day was fresher than any bleeding cut. She can still see Sandrone’s motionless body laying on the floor every time she closes her eyes. Sometimes she finds herself reaching out unconsciously for a hand that would never take hers ever again. She would stumble, abruptly hit with the fact that no one was there, and she would hold back tears, trying not to sob in a place where people needed her.
It was so miserable, to spend all her efforts wishing for someone who was already gone. Yet it was all she did, because it was all she could do.
The thought of even starting to forget Sandrone pained her heart so deeply that she immediately banished the thought. No. Forgetting Sandrone was something she would never do. She didn’t need to think about it to know it.
In fact, she doubted she would ever forget her. Perhaps that was a curse, but right now, imagining Sandrone’s face was much better than imagining a faceless figure. So to the mourning goddess, her lacking situation was still a blessing.
Even if it was a corpse she thought of.
Sitting in the room that used to be Sandrone’s, which she had spent many nights curled up in the bed, she felt lost and small. More often than not, she would find herself lingering in places where Sandrone used to frequent. Whether it be a table crowded with her half-finished creations, or today, her room, Columbina always stayed until she couldn’t.
She never wanted to leave. She wondered when she would finally give up, and stop torturing herself with thoughts of her.
Had she been selfish to let Sandrone sacrifice herself? How had the other thought of her, in those moments? As a blinded angel with not enough care left in her miserable excuse of a heart to save a friend? A lover?
That idea pained Columbina even more. It was sickening. She could throw up.
Columbina pushed herself up to sit straighter, opening her eyes to stare motionlessly at the cluttered surface of the table.
A day ago, her acquaintance, the Fatui Harbinger known as the Knave, or as Columbina knew, Arlecchino, had visited her. The familiar presence had helped her think a little clearer, but maybe that only sharpened her hurt. Either way, Arlecchino and her had chatted, until the Harbinger cautiously attempted to inquire about Sandrone, and well, that was a whole mess of a conversation.
Arlecchino then mentioned perhaps moving Sandrone’s belongings elsewhere, which Columbina paled at. Though the moon goddess didn’t want to cause trouble, her expression must’ve said enough, because Arlecchino simply dipped her head, saying that she would come back another day to take the fallen Harbinger’s keepsakes if it bothered her.
Columbina was not selfish. She can handle it. She can handle Sandrone’s stuff being taken. That’s hardly anything. That’s nothing.
But when she has nothing, she needs everything. So maybe that’s why her chest had felt so tight. And when Arlecchino left with empty hands, maybe that was the reason as to why she felt a wave of relief through her whole body.
Columbina continued staring at the table. There were various metal trinkets twinkling cheerfully at her, along with pages of hastily scribbled notes discarded on the side. This wasn’t the first time she had spaced out staring at this table.
Although this time, something was different. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, but she reached out, fingers brushing against one unrecognizable metal part. She was not good with technology, though anything that Sandrone made, she was fascinated with.
With one hand, she picked up the object. It seemed to be half-finished, similar to a battery of some kind. Some parts were reflective, others matte. It was lighter than she had expected.
She felt so conflicted, holding it in her hand. Anything of Sandrone’s, she will keep forever, until every tree sheds its leaves for the last time, but she didn’t want that thing anywhere near her, knowing so much was left behind after what happened. Sandrone should still be here. Her belongings were mocking her lack of presence. Columbina felt disgusted.
But with nothing she could do, all she did was sigh softly, already beginning to place down the item. At least, until something caught her eye.
Under where the battery had been put originally was a… book. It was a worn shade of brown, with light embroidery and a small golden button keeping it closed. It was so normal-looking, but the delicacy of it all made Columbina do a double take.
After a moment of pause, Columbina set aside the trinket and exchanged it for the newly discovered notebook. Her nails dug into the soft leather of the cover subconsciously. Then slowly, with bated breath, she unclipped the button.
Trying not to shake, she flipped open to the first page. It was Sandrone’s handwriting.
It was Sandrone’s.
A journal. Sandrone’s journal. A piece of her that Coumbina had completely overlooked until now.
How could she have done that? What kind of person is she, to be forgetting, to not even consider, something so simple?
Her eyes felt glued to the paper. It did not feel any easier to breathe, even with something real, tangible, in front of her. Maybe it was the nerves. Or maybe Columbina was just never as assured as she wanted to be.
■ / ■ - Sunny
Alain has provided me with many notebooks. I often discard them after making a few markings. On those occasions, his expression was unreadable. Nevertheless, he supplies me with new ones. I do not understand his reasoning.
I do not know why I discarded them after making markings. I do not know why he permits this behavior. He states that my emotion module is optimal. I do not comprehend.
This is a new notebook. I do not wish to discard it.
I have learned to record.
I am beginning to record.
Columbina read the first excerpt, soaking in the strange new information with a heart beating too fast to be natural. This was Sandrone. It was so very clearly her that Columbina could practically hear the other’s voice in her ear. But this Sandrone was different from the one she knew. This was a Sandrone from the earlier days of her creation, something that Columbina had never been brave enough to ask about.
In the next passage, Sandrone went on to talk about her creator, someone named Alain, and Mary-Ann Guillotin, his sister whom he modeled Sandrone after.
Columbina read through the pages, feeling like she was relearning everything about Sandrone. Maybe it should have been hurtful, but she knew people kept their secrets.
Only now, it was impossible for Sandrone to hide anything from her.
She kept reading.
It feels as if the only companion I have left in this world is the moon.
I have to protect Pulonia. It's Alain's secret and his wish.
I found a new job, and the pay is pretty good. My boss is a woman with an icy demeanor... and I do mean "icy."
Columbina’s every action felt automated. That is, until she saw her own name written on the paper.
■ / ■ - Sunny
Columbina is so annoying!
It was quite startling to see her name on that page, immortalized in ink. And in such a way. Annoying. Indeed, that was how Sandrone had seen her.
She really hoped Sandrone’s mind had changed, at one point. If not, then how could she live with herself?
Sandrone talked about the many frustrations she had suffered with each of her colleagues next, and Columbina felt pained that she did not see herself mentioned until much, much later.
Maybe she wasn’t worth that much, in Sandrone’s eyes, compared to someone like Rosalyne or Dottore.
Columbina did not care for the relationship aspects, but she did care for the attention. She thought so much about selfishness, and now, she’s starting to realize that she truly is. Greed is a sin she won’t ever stop practicing, for better or worse.
If it was the gift of Sandrone’s eyes laying upon her form, she would pray again and again, no matter how annoying she seemed, just to receive the blessing of such warmth once more.
She’s heard of many being addicted to the rush of ecstasy. Though it may not be the same, she wonders if how she feels, when Sandrone talks to her, is what those people feel. If that’s the case, she understands the desire fully.
She did not want to be seen as annoying, especially by Sandrone, but her spirits always lift when it is her that Sandrone’s focus is on. In the beginning, maybe she didn’t mind when it was with annoyance that Sandrone gazed upon her, but later on, she knew something had changed.
In the least, she really hopes she is right. If she’s only wallowing in delusion, then really, there’s no reason for her to exist. So lonely, so hurt. It is only the possibility of something more that keeps her breathing.
Unfortunately, she’ll never know exactly what had changed between them, to better or worse, now that Sandrone is gone.
Columbina’s eyes strayed back to the page, almost reverently. Anything to get the thoughts in her head to stop.
They never did.
■ / ■ - Heavy Snow
Columbina's preference for tea is quite ordinary, not as refined as Arlecchino's. Perhaps that's just like her.
Do special people like ordinary tea, and ordinary people, special tea...?
Was I special to you?
■ / ■ - Heavy Snow
Arlecchino and Columbina came over for tea and picked Rosalyne up on the way.
It was a good day.
I should keep some cookies on hand for next time.
Would you have given me one?
■ / ■ - Snowy
Rosalyne is dead.
And now you’re dead, too.
…
Before she knew it, Columbina was crying again. She was so, so tired. She can’t take this anymore.
She just wanted Sandrone back.
Tears uncontrollably fell from her eyes. Her breath hitched and she tried to keep her hiccups silent, failing as she did. As the Trilune Goddess, she should be better than this. As a goddess, she should…
As a person, she…
She’s exhausted…
Even though her body still shook with the occasional shiver, she buried her face in her hands, covering her eyes from the light from the lamp on the ceiling. The darkness didn’t help her think any clearer, but she let out a small exhale of relief anyway.
Maybe it’s time to rest.
And so Columbina rested, with the vision of a marionette frowning down at her disapprovingly on the front of her mind.
───────────────────
When Columbina opened her eyes, she was no longer in Sandrone's room.
She was so sure she had been reading Sandrone's journal just a moment ago. The last thing she remembered was tears pricking her eyes and exhaustion making her head droop. Now, she is met with an unfamiliar, cold hallway. Even worse, there was someone walking toward her, their sharp heels clinking against the floor.
... No.
This wasn't just any hallway, this was the inside of the Tsaritsa's palace. And that figure wasn't just anyone, that was Sandrone.
Sandrone had that specific way she walked, like she both despised and owned the world. She could look so self-assured, yet get so easily angered by her companions, and especially Columbina herself.
And even from miles away, Columbina could probably recognize Sandrone. So this? Knowing that this figure, steadily approaching, was indeed Sandrone, the one she’s been missing for ages, is no big feat.
But the real question was how.
How is Sandrone here?
How had Columbina ended up here?
How is any of this happening?
And maybe, just maybe, she would get to ask why the universe decides to do this to her.
Columbina stared at Sandrone until she couldn’t. With not enough known, she couldn’t just meet Sandrone face-to-face again. Something is clearly going on, and she doesn’t want to disrupt this.
Because there’s no way this is the real Sandrone. If this was an experiment, she can’t risk ruining it. As much as she would suffer just to stand in front of Sandrone again, she can’t.
She can. She can’t. She can. She–
For a split second, Columbina’s open eyes accidentally met Sandrone’s. The Marionette’s footsteps stuttered, but by the time she was scanning the hallway, Columbina had already hid behind a wall in a different corridor.
“... Is someone there?” Sandrone sounded suspicious as she spoke out to the silence.
Columbina’s skin itched to respond. But she didn’t. Couldn’t. It hurt too much to hear. If this was simply all an elaborate joke, she can’t bear to get attached. If she is to be met with another farewell, she doesn’t think she will be able to handle it.
So she gasped silently for air, searing blue eyes seemingly burned into her mind. Her shaking hands found the surface of the smooth wall, the only thing keeping her from falling to the floor.
Why? Why now? Why is this happening? Why, why why?
This Sandrone was so real. Columbina shook, trying to stop herself from leaving the generous coverage of the wall. She was hiding, of course she was. She is so scared of what would happen, if she stopped worrying, if she simply faced Sandrone once more.
She never moved, even though her thoughts raced. Instead, like a coward, she kept behind the wall, until she heard the sound of Sandrone’s footsteps again. They drifted further and further away, quieter and quieter.
Columbina’s arms and legs felt glued in place. She hated herself for it.
She didn’t move a single hair, not until the sound of footsteps had completely dissipated. Only then did she peek her head out from the wall. Unsurprisingly, she was greeted with a completely empty hallway.
… She supposed she’s back now. In the Tsaritsa’s palace. A place she’s always wanted to leave.
Instead of thinking of Sandrone, what she should do is figure out how to get out of here. Was she once more trapped in some kind of divine prison? Maybe this time she was to suffer, for all her neglect, all her mistakes. Or maybe she was in a time loop, forced to experience Sandrone’s death again and again.
Columbina swallowed, her throat feeling tight all of a sudden. Sometimes, her own ideas are quite unnerving.
Letting out a sigh, Columbina stepped out from her cover. Seeing as there’s no one, not even a single Fatui guard around, she strode down the corridor with hardly any worry. Only, she was carefully walking in the opposite direction that Sandrone had taken.
She had only walked for a few brief seconds when something suddenly interrupted her. Something rectangular, a book, fell right into her hands, as if her walking forward had been some kind of trigger.
Taken off guard, Columbina stumbled with the new weight dropped onto her. After catching herself, she held out the book, eyes scanning the lack of title. This was…
Ah, Sandrone’s notebook.
She turned the book, checking to see if anything on the exterior had changed at all. No, it hadn’t. Then, she flipped over to the first page, just like she had done… earlier.
■ / ■ - Sunny
Alain has provided me with many notebooks. I often discard them after making a few markings. On those occasions, his expression was unreadable. Nevertheless, he supplies me with new ones. I do not understand his reasoning.
I do not know why I discarded them after making markings. I do not know why he permits this behavior. He states that my emotion module is optimal. I do not comprehend.
This is a new notebook. I do not wish to discard it.
I have learned to record.
I am beginning to record.
It was the same thing. Columbina frowned faintly. Then why had some otherworldly force dropped this into her possession?
She flipped page after page, but much faster than what was expected, she reached the blank pages. Immediately she locked onto the last written entry.
■ / ■ - Overcast
Snezhnaya is so… cold! Though it has nothing to do with me.
Short, simple. And after that page, nothing, even though she remembers what the next entries should be. It was then that it occurred to Columbina, exactly what kind of predicament she was in.
She had been transported back in time, to when Sandrone had first joined the Fatui.
Columbina breathed in and out as calmly as she could, which wasn’t very calm. In what case had something like this, had time travel ever happened in the entire history of Teyvat? Was it even possible? Or was she being played with?
Conflicted, she put the notebook into the folds of her clothes, effectively hiding it from view. Now and here was not the time to think. She needed to go somewhere where she was sure she would not be disturbed.
Without a doubt, that would be her own room.
Columbina floated inches from the ground as she hurried down the corridor. Crystal-shaped refractions of light were scattered across the carpeted floor, streaming in from the frosted windows. She did not miss most parts of the time she had spent as a Harbinger here, but the beauty of it, she could appreciate.
Knowing the breathtaking hallways, each engraved in her mind like carvings to stone, was something she had learned quite quickly. As she often liked to keep her eyes closed and under a thin lace mask she could materialize at will, memorizing layouts precisely comes naturally to her. Despite the fact that her eyes were open now, filled with worry and nerves, she barely had to think about what direction to take. The sprawling halls would be a maze to navigate for most, but Columbina knew them like they were her home.
And in some ways, it was. It used to be the only “home” she had.
She rushed down hall after hall, until she stopped at a framed, unnamed door. She didn’t hesitate before opening it by the turn of a silver handle, revealing her own living quarters from all that time ago.
It was, in other words, exactly how she remembered.
Her rather plain bed that she rarely slept in looked untouched. The carpets were pristine and new. The walls were clean. The lamps turned on automatically with no problem, when she stepped inside hesitantly.
Columbina closed the door behind her immediately upon entering. She leaned hard against it, trying not to slide to the floor from how weak her limbs felt.
Her thoughts did not get any clearer.
She was back in time. Time. Something so out of reach, at least for her, and it was especially shocking that time would take her somewhere with no suffering. Every time, she never would’ve thought that life was so generous.
But was it really generosity? Or was there more to it, something she isn’t getting?
She’s so impossibly scared. She should find a way to go back. It would be for the better.
And yet, the fresh memory of Sandrone walking down the hall, so close, so real, so not dead, it was enough to make Columbina stay.
So should she?
Columbina held out the journal again. It seemed that this was the thing that connected her here, based on her assumptions.
What if she destroyed it?
The harder she stared at the worn surface, the more she wavered. Even if destroying it could take her back, what was there to go back to?
But at the same time, there’s nothing to stay for here either. Columbina is too cowardly to try and change this timeline. What if she ruins things even more? What if she loses even more people she holds dear, this time?
So to keep what she has now, even if it’s not enough, she would do nothing. If it made her miserable, then so be it. Her own views on herself are nothing.
Columbina wondered who brought her here.
They must be so cruel. She thought this was a reprieve from the suffering, but no. It was still suffering, just in another form. And oh, how she hated it.
Outside, she heard footsteps. It was calming in a way, to know there were still other people, not just her and all her worries. Perhaps it made her peculiar, to find comfort in something that should be jarring.
She didn’t mind that, though. She thinks.
Columbina isn’t sure exactly how long she stood with her back against the door, only that eventually, her breathing steadied and her blood stopped rushing through her veins as fast. She clutched the journal tight in her arms. It helped, to a degree.
Feeling not certainly better, but not as bad as before, she turned slowly to face the door. Not sure what to do, she opened it again.
The halls were dimmer, the sun having set during the time she spent holed up in her own past room.
Sunset… The moon would be out soon.
With that thought in mind, Columbina, like a goddess driven solely by hopeless desperation, slipped out the room. She quickly made her way down the hallway, taking note of the quickly fading orange light. Darkness was beginning to bleed through the skies.
She rushed until the oppressive stone walls were replaced by the sudden shock of cool wind.
Her wide eyes blinked, recognizing the small garden she’s found herself in. Moonlight, although barely visible, was beginning to shower the abundant, pretty vegetation.
The decorative stones inlaid in the ground, surrounding the winding path she could take through the garden, reflected the light better. They shone like the moonfall silver back on Hiisi Island.
And, additionally, there was also a person standing near them.
Their blonde hair, curled ornately, glittered. Their long dress was smooth and beautiful, falling down their legs like a waterfall of fabric. Their attention was elsewhere and not on the anxious newcomer, which was fortunate for Columbina.
La Signora, the Fair Lady, or as Columbina and a few peculiar others knew her, Rosalyne.
The woman looked ethereal under the moonlight, with her usual headstrong and sometimes aggressive personality nowhere to be seen, in a place like this.
Columbina appreciated it. But at the same time, she had been hoping not to run into anyone else. It was much too early, and she’s not talking about the time of day.
Or maybe she should stop being so pathetic and face what is already inevitable.
She took a deep breath and exhaled, the sound most likely already enough to alert the Harbinger.
“Rosalyne? What are you doing out here?” Columbina asked, taking a few steps forward, floating steps gentle.
At the sound of her name, Rosalyne turned. But there was no hostility in her gaze, the same kind that others spoke of, when her eyes met Columbina’s. And if there was any surprise she had from seeing Columbina’s eyes open for the first time, she didn’t show it.
“I could ask the same for you, Columbina.” Her tone was more subdued than usual. There was no sharpness in her tone. “I found myself unable to fall asleep. The whole day has been rather… Unusual.”
“Oh…” Columbina blinked rapidly. “How come?”
“Just a rather unfortunate headache. Maybe the work has finally gotten to me.” The Fair Lady let out a soft laugh, her lips curved in a small smile. “Although I doubt it. Perhaps a poisoned cup of tea, then.”
“Hm. I would hope not.” Columbina didn’t exactly smile, but the distant familiarity of an interaction like this was relaxing. “Poison doesn’t go well with tea.”
Rosalyne looked faintly amused. “Indeed so.”
Columbina couldn’t help her own smile, although it carried the smallest hint of bitter sadness. Her time with the Fatui had not been perfect, she knew that, but it was the moments like these that made her think twice.
Maybe she should stay.
Maybe she just would.
“Join me?” Rosalyne beckoned during the quiet, extending one open palm.
Columbina dipped her head, approaching the other Harbinger steadily. Once reaching her, Columbina let Rosalyne take her hand. They stood beside each other in peaceful silence, neither wanting to break it.
Yet despite the peace, all Columbina could think of was Sandrone. If she can hold Rosalyne’s hand, and feel a pulse in her wrist, knowing she was alive, she knew that Sandrone, the Sandrone who she let walk past her earlier, would feel just as real.
To satiate her own hollowness, Columbina wanted, and needed, to have Sandrone. Again. Or maybe for the first time. Was Sandrone ever hers?
Maybe this was a chance at a new beginning. Columbina can feel it. She was not trapped in the prison of fate. She knew it was possible to change this timeline she was in. She could spend everything in her power, and then have a perfect life.
So… what’s stopping her?
“You look like something is on your mind, Columbina.” Rosalyne noted. “Care to share?”
“Oh.” Columbina was abruptly stumped. Then she averted her eyes. “I’m not feeling my best. But I doubt it’s anything compared to your headache.”
The words made Rosalyne tilt her head. It was hard to tell whether the other woman was flattered or unimpressed.
“I’m sure you would find the solution to whatever problem you are having.” She reassured, voice suddenly sweet like honey. Columbina can’t tell, can never tell with La Signora, whether it was meant to be demeaning or honest. “There’s no need to downplay your own worries.”
“How… nice of you.” Columbina managed to say, feeling weirdly awkward. She did not belong here. She was not meant to be here, hearing Rosalyne’s reassurance.
“Of course.” Rosalyne smiled, sharp. “Now go back. Even the moon needs rest.”
She shook Columbina’s hand off of hers, making the other jump back lightly in surprise.
“... I suppose so. Goodnight, Rosalyne.” Once recovered, Columbina said.
The other Harbinger simply nodded in response. There felt like something Columbina was missing from this small interaction. She should say something else, like…
“Rosalyne?” She called out quietly.
“Yes, Columbina?”
“Thank you.”
And with that, Columbina turned before she would have to see Rosalyne’s inevitably confused expression. She hurried away, even faster than how she had come here. Down the halls she went, until only darkness soaked her in.
Tonight, she will stay here. In this timeline that wasn’t hers. Tomorrow, she would likely do the same.
But she promises herself one thing. Tomorrow, she will speak to Sandrone again.