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“Do not go near Lady Sandrone’s house child. Some say she is cursed!” An old NPC Fontainian villager scolds her grandson. “Or perhaps she is the curser! Pah! Who knows! For all we know, she could be nothing but a rotting corpse in that expensive house!”
The kid’s eyes light up at the thought of an expensive house. “Can I go knock on the door grandma? She has a huge garden and I never see her play in it. It’s such a shame, maybe she’s nice enough to let me innnnn.”, whines the child.
“No!” comes the retort, but this time from the male NPC, presumably the grandfather. But his eyebrows are furrowed as if distressed. “I’ve heard the poor woman is sick with a chronic illness and can’t walk very far. She tires easily, you’ll only disturb her. Now run along, go find someone else to bother.”
The child’s eyes still glimmer with interest. And his eyes are not the only ones. Behind a thick berry bush is a thief- who was originally here to pickpoket the elderly folk but stumbled on a pot of gold! That gold, of course, being that this barely occupied house was probably full of treasures! The amount of gin and weed he could buy with this treasure- just imagine!
So he rolls to the side and dashes for the overgrown forest toward the house. His mouth was watering with anticipation. Like a wolf ready to devour a handsome meal.
In the open foyer stood a breathtaking sight. Even our resident NPC thief had to stand still in awe of the art before him.
The ivory statue is radiant. Every intricacy, every carefully carved detail, from the strands of the statue’s hair, to the wrinkle on her palm - everything is deliberate and handcrafted with a devotion that few could ever hope to come close to. It’s a product the sculptor herself, Sandrone, spent early morning and midnight refining, detailing, and polishing it. And in Teyvat, this statue is the sole kind of its existence. Rarer than the finest stone you could find. No two nails were the same. The expression seems melancholic, or maybe slightly serene. Despite the cold touch of the statue, there’s a certain warmth to it that’s hard to describe. Or at least, Sandrone thought so.
She’s seated by her bedroom window staring out at the early evening. A blank look in her eyes. Her mind dulled, and her heart barely beat. She’s always cold. Even now, next to a fireplace, it’s like the flames are a million miles away, or simply just trapped behind a thick glass wall. Visible, but the warmth is decorative.
She heard the thief come in. Saw him through the window when he crawled out of the bushes, stayed low for at least half an hour to examine for security - of which she had none - before breaking and entering through the back door. Sandrone had no use for security, she used to have her brother Pulonia who was much larger and stronger than her. His death 3 months ago finally pushed her to let go of life.
Pulonia loved her ivory statue. In fact, he was the one who suggested she carve it. Their father passed away 5 years ago, and when that happened all she wanted to do was join him. She owed her life to her father, who brought such colour and life to an otherwise poverty stricken life. Losing him wasn’t just losing a person she loved. It was losing her entire purpose of living.
It was she who was reckless in her youth and nearly cost him his life a dozen times. He stayed by her when everyone thought she was a psychopath with no heart. Yes, Sandrone is guarded and some may even say robotic. But she had a heart, and she knew that only because what she felt towards her father was more than mere obedience and respect. It was love. The unparalleled depth of a child's love towards her dad. So it was also she who had been the one who was by his bedside day and night tending to his needs and illnesses for years.
Time was hazy after his passing. The house became unbearably big. And grew colder without her father’s warmth. Pulonia was often out before, but after their father died he stuck closer to home for his sister’s sake.
Pulonia was thrilled when Sandrone finally agreed to pick up a carving project. She only agreed in order to soothe her brother’s worries. Knowing not what she’d carve when she first picked up her tools, you can imagine the last thing she expected was the beautiful woman sitting in her living room. She kept up for her brother’s sake.
Not expecting it to be the very thing that cost him his life.
She pushes the sad memories to the furthest part of her mind and decides to abruptly get out of her chair. She pays no mind to the thief, she wants to end her life soon anyway so getting him to go away is more work than its worth. Perhaps someone will find her possessions useful rather than being reminded constantly of the ugly memory of a deceased loved one.
But she does go downstairs for a cup of tea. The thief is raiding one of the sitting rooms, presumably the one with the expensive paintings. So she sits, perched on the chair beside her finished work. It already feels warm. The sight of the ivory statue brings an indescribable sense of joy to Sandrone.
“Kuutar…” Sandrone whispers. She doesn’t know when she settled on this title, but it’s fitting. Kuutar shines like the moon, her white garments ethereal and graceful. Sandrone runs her hand along Kuutar’s hair. It’s hard but smooth. Glimmering like a goddess on a throne. No detail is spared in her 5 year project.
But Kuutar is more than a project, Sandrone reflects. It’s honestly kind of embarrassing the number of days and nights Sandrone has cried sitting at Kuutar’s feet. After Pulonia passed, the statue was all she had. So she talked to her, as if she was alive. Even if the statue herself never responded because it’s not alive. Sandrone’s emotions blossomed over this time, developing a love that she can’t properly describe or express.
Sandrone’s white night gown spreads all over the floor as she drops down once more, her head hanging low. She reaches for Kuutar’s hand and restes her head on her knee, savouring the rare moments of warmth.
When the thief entered the house earlier that night he nearly shit himself when he saw Kuutar, thinking she was an actual human being. Because she looks terrifyingly lifelike. Beautiful, yes. But that weird statue almost gave off a scary get-the-fuck-out vibe. But he reaaally wanted unlimited drinks at the tavern, so he just told himself to man up and be the thief he was born to be. It really was a weird statue though. It looks normal and all except for the lace cloth tied around its head covering the statue’s eyes.
Kinda like the statue was a hostage…but Mr. NPC shrugged and thought maybe the sculptor just messed up the eyes and couldn’t stand the sight.
That was certainly not the case. Sandrone had covered Kuutar’s eyes moments after she finished. Not because her eyes were hideous, but because her eyes were awfully beautiful. And Sandrone, for the first time in her life, fell in love.
With her own creation. So she wrapped a lace cloth around her eyes hoping it would diminish her odd love. It helped, but barely. Because Kuutar was truly beautiful, not just externally, but internally as well. She felt so alive, like she had a soul in those eyes.
Those eyes move to look down at Sandrone through the lace. A gentle ghost of a smile reaches Kuutar’s face as she looks lovingly at her sculptor. She wishes she could bend down to hug her maker, but that would give her away you see. When she was a young spirit waking up to this world, she was terrified. She had lived on the moon her whole life, and now she’s here, on this grassy field lost and worried.
But a warm hand shining like the sun reached toward her. A young girl, her maker, staring down at her with a beaming smile. That’s a warmth Kuutar, or Columbina as she went by in the human world, had never felt before. She had been helped up by a foreign child, and was given a beautiful pearl-like flower to cheer her up.
What a blip it must’ve been in Sandrone’s life, but Columbina held onto those mere hours of friendship for the past decades after she returned home. Remembering the human girl’s kindness, and radiance. So when she came back down a decade ago to the human world, she was grieved to find the girl had grown into a melancholic woman.
The Tsaritsa finally granted Columbina her wish to inhibit this statue that Sandrone was carving. Her Majesty knew what it was like to lose your family, and felt great sadness for her servant.
Thus began the decade of silently watching and, in her own way, caring for Sandrone. Which is why the moment this thief spots Sandrone and charges at her with a knife, Columbina reacts without regard for how Sandrone might take it.
She grabs Sandrone and pushes her behind her. Releasing a shockwave of power towards the thief and sends him straight for the pillar behind him. The force crushes him instantly.
“WHAT THE-” yells Sandrone. Which is all the woman could say before getting transported into a foreign house.
Or is it a garden? Regardless, Sandrone is now sitting on grass with what looks like a moon throne or something in front of her. And her STATUE is staring down at her in concern, and shaking her shoulder to make sure Sandrone is alive or something.
She wants to puke. Honestly. Her fucking statue just came to life. What the fuck. No way. Nuh uh. No. Not happening. So Sandrone just slumps back towards the floor and plays dead.
Well, until Kuutar spoke.
Pushing aside the horror that is her statue talking, Kuutar’s voice was mesmerising. Soft, gentle, with a lightly amused expression it seems. When Sandrone refuses to move, Kuutar just plops down next to her and sings.
And sings. And sings for what seems like hours. Until Sandrone’s heart beats at a human pace instead of wrecking the inside of her chest from beating so fast.
“You’re finally up, Sandrone!” Kuutar beams! Pushing back the loose hairs on the other’s face and cups her cheek with a seemingly practiced gesture.
“GAH don’t touch me!” Sandrone yells, standing upright to regard the moving statue in front of her. Before she grips Kuutar’s two wrists and pushes her down onto the flower bed. Determined to regain control, she straddles Kuutar to pin the girl’s hands above her head.
But Kuutar doesn’t struggle. She just smiles. She smiles and she giggles. And in a singsong voice goes “Sandroneeee don’t be mad please.”
Too late. Sandrone is mad. She can’t figure out which type of mad but certainly mad. There’s no way it’s actually Kuutar, Sandrone thinks. It must be a fake! Her statue’s eyes are the one thing no one else can fake! So she rips off the lace cloth on the girl’s face ready to reveal the godawful prankster-
Who had purple eyes. Purple. An inhuman lilac that Sandrone herself had painted painstakingly with paint she made herself. A very inhuman eye colour. That could only belong to…her.
But more than that, the warmth those eyes held. The familiar soul staring back at her. Family. Love. Familiarity. Flooding right back into her after so many months of nothing but grey empty space.
Columbina touches her index finger to Sandrone’s forehead. A light blue light emits before a chill runs down Sandrone’s spine.
“You’re in my memories, Sandrone. It’s hard to explain so I’d rather just show you.”
Images come and go from the last decade, ending with the memory of young Columbina with Sandrone. With all that’s before her Sandrone breaks down in a sob. Warmth fills her chest at the light of those memories. In her depression she had lost most of those memories, remembering only the dull ache of emptiness, loss, grief, regret, and bitterness.
So Sandrone does the only thing she can think to do- she leans down and gently kisses the goddess.
Of whom smiles against the soft lips and kisses back passionately, slightly dazed maybe, but beaming brighter than the sun.
Somewhere off in the distant lands of Mondstadt a bard is finishing up his song-
“Lips met in hesitant haste
And softness caught a match,
With savoured taste.
The two lovers dance-
With their lips. With their eyes.
Swimming in a cloud of bliss.
Like the tide to the moon.
Does one pull and the other draw near?
Moonlight shines on those who love;
Lovers may find favour with the Sun
Burning like fire, beaming from above.
But oft forget the loveliness of Moonlight,
Where light oft run,
Like streams of a calming river; no fight
Ensues.
Instead it loves without consuming.
Beams without conditions.
And illuminates without burning.”
Off seated on the high throne, the Tsaritsa is seen smiling, her eyes turned toward the moon.