Work Text:
because - yes, yes - it is always me, right, every time, is it not? and your words did not make much sense to me then, so, pray, yes, do tell, enlighten me, my dear focalors; what is it i must do - what part do i play now, or which tragedy must i inevitably fail to prevent? because it comes to that point every time, every, every, every, every, every time, and i am sick and i am tired and i am confused, and i need someone to see this, see me, to recognise me, and i say this - and i beg for this with a desperation i have never felt before.
how long until this ends? this everlasting act of back-and-forth. on meaningless days, i try to remember, again, and, what, what was it exactly - ? and it sends me clawing with hopelessness until my senses have dulled, where i am in a state of yes, yes, yes, of course, for i am focalors, the hydro archon, your hydro archon, and to doubt me is preposterous, mere mortals cannot even begin to comprehend the mind, my mind as a god.
no, no, no, no, no, not this, never this; again.
cast aside your mistrust and your suspicion and the seed of doubt that lingers in your heart - believe in me, focalors, your hydro archon, and witness my magnificent chapter - put your unrelenting faith in me, my citizens of fontaine; your devotion will bring glory to this nation, to teyvat, to you.
yes,
yes,
no.
too unconvincing, too unrealistic - ! someone, i need someone, tell me what to do, tell me what to say. i cannot go on further pretending to be someone i am not, as someone who is loved and revered, because i am just merely a fraud - so tell me, exactly who is able to carry this burden?, and i am certain it is not me - cannot be me - help me, help me, help, please; i cannot and i am miserable and i want to pretend i don’t despise every aspect i consider myself - if there even is any, i wonder and wonder and wonder and wonder.
…
i avoid mirrors, just a bit, sometimes, maybe, constantly. i curse the view i see, and in my reflection, some days, behind me, i can capture the light that escapes from beyond the curtains of my little grand room, dancing, so beautiful, so free, so terribly mocking. i find myself in shackles - and most of the time i cannot discern whether it is reality or simply a figment of my imagination - a poor sight that makes me cry and cry and cry again, how pathetic. because it’s always poor furina - poor, innocent, insecure, self-pitying furina.
it is never useful, anyway. my reflection only holds what i have moulded over time. who i am is no longer known to me - but of course, i have never known that anyway.
…
i stand with the knife in hand, and it tempts me, whispering in my ear words of bliss and sweetness, but i find myself frozen, stuck in the moment with fear and bitterness digging into my skin, and i am unable to do anything - hah - as always. instead, i pretend it had never crossed my mind, and i indulge in my favourite tea and cake as i ignore the tears that fall and fall, ruining my food - a shame.
…
tick tock, the clock says, repeating, taunting me, taunting me how it has all the time in the world, whilst i struggle and struggle and struggle to find a solution to anything, how i do not do anything but let people down - i laugh at how wretched i am, and it is a refreshing sound, one i have not heard in a long, long time.
and again, i am reminded, time and time again:
i am never to be free, forever imprisoned in my duties and promises i cannot keep. tell me, who am i when i'm not performing?