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‘It hurts’. The thought echoes inside Furina's mind as she staggers through the back of the Opera house. It hurts so much; the second thought repeats across her scattering mind. The wound on her side aches with every step she takes. Her left arm is bent wrong, and she is sure the metallic taste in her mouth is her blood. She knows that because of the role she had once played, there will inevitably be people who are unhappy with her existence. So she had come to expect insults and perhaps a slap on occasion. But this? Murder? At the very least, she has thought her people were more intelligent than this, or at the very least, more logical. She understands their grief and their rage but cannot fathom why this would help them feel better. Not when it would simply land them deep within the Fortress of Meropide and away from anyone who could and had loved them.
Furina's vision blurs as she struggles to stay awake. With each drop of crimson that leaves her, it gets harder to think and tell where she is. It hurts to breathe, and she wonders if, in the scuffle that has ensued, she has broken a rib. The gem at her waist glows as she forces her energy into it. The sharp pain that lances up her side causes her transformation to sputter out. Leaning against the wall, Furina sucks in a shaky breath as tears track down her cheek. Is this how she is going to die? Alone, in the dark of a place she is just learning how to love again? Breathing becomes an uphill task; momentarily, she sees a flash of blue and a familiar face.
The realization that something is profoundly wrong seeps into Furina's fading consciousness. Neuvillette's unexpected presence, his visage etched with a mixture of shock and distress, only intensifies her confusion. Her mind, clouded by pain and the encroaching darkness, struggles to grasp the paradox of the situation.
"Dying," she muses, the thought echoing like a ghost of a whisper. It seems a logical conclusion. Why else would Neuvillette be here, bearing such a grave expression? Neuvillette is supposed to be nestled in his office, immersed in ceaseless work. Furina blinks, attempting to clear the haze that threatens to consume her perception. Is this the surreal tableau one witness on the precipice of the beyond? If so, dying is not as dreadful an experience as she had expected, not when she is not alone. That had been almost scarier. Her consciousness slips steadily, like grains of sand through an hourglass.
"Glad... it's you," she murmurs, her words hanging like a feeble sigh.
"Furina…Furina, stay with me." Oh, could a mirage talk? She hisses; is the palm pressing against the wound hers or this ghost's? She finds that it doesn’t matter when her vision wavers, rippling like the surface of a disturbed pond. Perhaps this mirage can listen to her last fears. Maybe she can be more selfish and tell it what she wants. She does not want to die. It is scary. It is petrifying. Her tears continued to roll down her cheek and through the muck. She knew she was there. Now that she faces it again, she feels the thrum in her chest that is fear. This time, a trial is not causing the anxiety. There is nothing to lose now except the freedom she has just earned. She is just learning to live, to be selfish, and to want things; she has just known how to be herself, and it will all end like this. In a dark corner behind a stage, she loves. It is unbearable, this conclusion of hers.
"N-neuvi, I don’t want to die." It's so unfair. The admission spills from her trembling lips, a raw and vulnerable truth. She wants to smile at the phantom that holds her tight. At least death was giving her this much. For an illusion of her mind, Neuvillette feels solid beneath her fingertips. "I…" She has so much she still wants to confess before she no longer can as her breath hiccups. She will miss him; she will miss her new friends; she will miss everything and all the things she has yet to do. Tears spill down her cheek as she clings to the illusion before her. "I..don’t," she chokes. Pain lances through her as she tries to fight. Fear clogs her throat. She sobs as her limbs feel heavy as if bound tight.
‘I don’t want to die.’
‘I don’t.’
‘I don’t.’
‘I don’t.’
Her mouth opened to babble words she could no longer hear. The world swims a myriad of blues and silvers.
Darkness swallows her.
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There's an unsettling feeling beneath Neuvillette’s skin. It spreads like thin spiderwebs, soft and pesky. It only grows as steady rain splatters against the glass of his office’s window. It's jarring, this unease that continues to permeate the air. It's a persistent state of foreboding, and as the day drags on, he cannot pinpoint the exact reason. His morning begins well. His lunch is splendid, and even the day's workload is manageable. There is, objectively, nothing wrong. Well, in Fontaine, anyway. The recesses of his mind tell a different story. Ever since that trial months ago, he has been…wrestling with himself. Or, more accurately, wrestling with the creature that now inhabits his mind. It is not him. No, that thing is too uncouth, too…feral; it followed no law or logic, merely instinct. He may have never been fully human, but whatever that is, it is much more intense. He scowls at his paperwork as he feels it stir, an ever-present pressure in his mind that claws at all he has. It wants to undo him. He does not want to let it. He refuses to fall to base instinct when it is unnecessary.
But the more he denies it, the stronger his gnawing worries grow. The incomplete void pleads for fulfillment but faces outright rejection. This back-and-forth exhausts him more than the endless work and repairs he must oversee.
The minutes tick by, and the rain continues to fall in a steady sleet, affected by the difference of opinion between his instinct and logic; the whisper of ill-ease compounds. Something is very wrong, his dragon whispers. Its echo in his mind is insistent. Neuvillette's quill forcibly returns to its holder with a clack. He rubs his face, ignoring how his head throbs as he shuts it out. This will not do. He is being affected by something beyond his control and understanding. Ever since he became whole, the dichotomy of ‘human’ and ‘dragon’ seems to be constantly at odds more often than not.
The logic of humans would state the facts, yet his dragon’s instinct would murmur something else. They are in times of peace now, so there is no need for this…worry. Neuvillette’s exhale is shaky as he moves to pinch the bridge of his nose as he attempts to reign in the other side of him. He has lived just fine as a ‘human’—one breath and then two. On the third exhale, he feels his shoulders ease a bit. Perhaps he thinks a break is in order. The notion is tempting; he had already completed much of his work. He deserves this reprieve, right? Neuvillette’s finger draws restless circles against his wooden desk. A melodic tapping echoes as he closes his eyes. For just a little, he will allow himself to indulge.
His senses spread, darting through the water of Fontaine. Through the flow, he can feel all the steady thrum of overall content, the occasional flicker of sadness, the mourning of those who have lost, and the joy of those welcoming new life into the world. Peace is as bittersweet and nuanced as humanity itself. He lets himself drift further, following the flow until he finds the one he wants to see the most. If the people of Fontaine are stars in the inky sea of the galaxy, then Furina is the sun. Bright and warm, a solace he seeks in a greedy corner of his mind. It is always easy to find her. It will always be so now that she wears his vision.
Neuvillette never intended the gift to be intrusive when he gave it to her. He only dwells a little on the intricacies it would involve when he had. Yet he gradually came to realize its implications; he harbors no regrets. He has merely returned a part of himself she had once given. It feels just, and now, his abilities are at his discretion. Furina deserves this and more for her sacrifice. If he can precisely locate her and ascertain if she is in trouble, it is a beneficial side-effect, not an abuse of power. Even now, he is merely content to feel her use his gift, feel the fluctuation as power surges, steady and true. He idly wonders if she is engaged in a battle with another local legend; it seems likely, considering her whereabouts—
Neuvillette tenses as he realizes her exact location. There should be no local legends where she is, no monsters to fight. The gardes surrounding the opera house should still be on patrol. No one should even be there, but it is minutely understandable if she is catching up on some of her director duties. He coaxes his worry to calm. Maybe he is too afflicted by this ill-easy instinct. He exhales, only to be still in the next moment. His heart stutters as her vision flickers, sputtering like a candle flame left to the wind. The instinct he has been ignoring thus far roars loudly and viciously.
Something is wrong. Neuvillette registers his reaction a second too late. His world wavers in muted colors as he feels the familiar tug in his center. He drops as a graceless heap onto the tile within the foyer of the opera house. Neuvillette barely registers the ache as he searches for the wavering flicker of her.
It is silent as if Teyvat is holding her breath.
‘Furina.
Furina.
Furina.’
Her name is his only solace as he scrambles through the doors into the auditorium.
‘Use me.’ That part of him hisses. ‘Use. Us.’
She needs us .
He no longer has a reason to refuse. Neuvillette flings wide the door within his psyche, letting in the sovereign he usually keeps locked away beneath the constraints of human rules and the humanity he has grown with. The scent of everything hits him at once: ancient teak, water-stained curtains, the remnant of sweat and tears. Every filthy smell that could exist in a 500-year-old opera house assaults him. If he had the mental capacity, too, Neuvillette would have gagged. Instead, the heightened fear yanks him past the nausea.
They smell blood.
They can feel her burning brighter than ever despite the dimming.
There .
Bright blue encases the dragon's body.
His boot squelches as he lands in her blood.
Rage pulses a violent ripple. Fontaine shudders.
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‘I’m scared.’
No, please! Neuvillette’s mind howls.
‘It hurts…it hurts so much.’
He spies her body collapsed on the floor. He sees his hand reach out to her. Fear squeezes the air from his chest. All he needed to do was touch her. Then he can…then… then what?
‘Neuvi, Neuvie…why…?’
Furina feels like ice beneath his fingertips. Ice that was steadily growing warm and dripping down his arm.
"Furina?" Silence meets Neuvillette’s question. His mind is a racket, a whirlpool of broken thoughts that swirl and swirl. "F…Furina?" He looks down; his hand is buried wrist-deep in her chest. Furina’s eyes are dotted with tears as she sobs. Her mouth moves silently, but she might as well be screaming the accusation.
“Neuvillette…why did you kill me?”
He did not. He would never . Furina’s smile is bittersweet as he scrambles backward. His gloves are soaked and stained with viscera and flecks of hers that he does not want to name. She steps towards him, a hand raised to paint his cheek with scarlet as she traces his jaw. “But you did. If you were better, smarter…if you trusted me, I would not have to lose my divinity.” He watches, pinned in place, as she skips past him. Her feet drag with a twirl through the blood that is still spilling from her wound. “I wouldn’t be dying~”
She turns to look at him, and he cannot find anger in her face. It is still a smile, except this time, it is the one he has grown to look for and cherish. He holds his breath as she slinks around him once more. Her steps are soundless as she glides across the ether. He whirls as she gasps, just in time to watch the light in the distance grow brighter—the light flickers and dances, casting eerie shadows that seem to reach out for Neuvillette. The air thickens with a sense of foreboding as if the very atmosphere grows tainted by the act unfolding before him. He is anchored to the spot, his limbs plastered to his side, trying as he might to stop her from going forward.
Furina's voice echoes hauntingly, carried by the chilling wind that causes him to screw his eyes shut. "You let me die, Neuvillette. You let me wither away." He stumbles backward, his surroundings warping and contorting, as if reality is distorting in response to his guilt. The ground beneath him seems to pulse with evil energy, and the air resonates with whispered accusations.
"I placed my trust in you," Furina's voice warps, now seemingly resonating from every direction but still gentle and patient, the same tone she had once used repeatedly when she had urged him to learn about humanity. "But you turned against me. You used that trust to lay a trap. And all that for what? I’ve been made fragile — by you, for you."
Neuvillette's heartbeat pulses in his ears; each beat mirroring the accusations echoing through the nightmare. Had he indeed betrayed her? It had seemed the right course of action at the time. All those hidden truths... he had only sought what was best, and she… she had only been doing what she thought was right. Furina continued her dance, her figure illuminated by the eerie glow of a distant light that grew. But something feels off when he turns his gaze back to her—this is not his Furina. She would never be so cruel, cold, accusatory... not even in her anger. She had already forgiven him. She… had.
"Now that you wield all that power, what can you achieve?"
He has no time to answer as a ghastly figure crawls from the hole in her chest, a grotesque reflection of Neuvillette himself. Its eyes glow with inhuman light, and its movements are erratic, mirroring his panic. The dream seems to mock him with his darkest fears and insecurities. “Nothing. You could do nothing. ”
As the grotesque figure closes in, the distant light transforms into an ominous portal, its glow intensifying with an otherworldly brilliance. The dream's gravity seems to pull Neuvillette towards it, a force beyond his control. With every step he takes, the dream twists further into a surreal nightmare. The ground beneath him turns to liquid darkness, and the walls of the dreamscape seem to close in, suffocating him. Waters, not his own, tug at his feet, forcibly guiding him.
He is dragged back onto a stage, and a familiar blue blade hangs in the sky. This time, the figure beneath the gallows is familiar. This time, he is standing before Furina, not Focalors. Her eyes reflect trust. “Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don’t cry.” He is close, closer than that day. All he has to do is reach out and pull her back. He can save her; everything will be alright. His body at last moves, but it is without his consent. He instead pushes . Her eyes dim. The blade falls, and her head rolls. “Your failure to act is a transgression.” His voice condemns him.
The ground beneath his feet shatters amidst a roar.
Neuvillette wakes to a pressure on his chest and a chill across his limbs. He opens his eyes just long enough to register Wriothesley and Siegwinne staring him down. The doctor’s tranquilizer is in hand. The dragon can hear a crack as he tugs at his limbs, the chill rapidly regrowing across his arm as he struggles. He vaguely hears an inhuman growl.
“Siegwinne, just do it!”
A gun cracks. Neuvillette is drowning in darkness once more.
This time, he does not dream.
When his eyes open again, Neuvillette is greeted by the unfamiliar sea view and intricate pipes. Amidst the haze, he discerns the murmur of subdued conversations and the rustling of paperwork. Tension grips him as memories flood back. The room falls into silence as he abruptly sits up, his gaze darting wildly around. He looks at Wriothesley and Siegwinne, both watching him cautiously. The melusine child has her hand resting against her firearm.
“Where is she?” Silence blankets them, and his mind sinks. “Where. Is. She.” Each word is punctuated. He can feel his mind slipping. Where was she? Was she alright? Had she died? Was that why they refused to answer him? He reaches for her vision, for any part of her, only to feel it muted. Fear and rage are a heady mix, and the ever-impassive man's expression must have had something on his face, for both of them tense.
“We had her moved to my quarters; leaving her in the infirmary would have been…an issue, thanks to you.” He reigns in the urge to growl as they shift. The duo shares a glance, a quick conversation privy only to them.
There is a resigned sigh as Wriothesley stands and strides towards the door on the left. It clicks open smoothly. Beyond the astringent smell of antiseptic and ointment, he can find her.
“Here, take a look for yourself.”
Neuvillette briefly nods to the duke, then quietly enters the room. Only when he lays eyes on Furina does his tense shoulders relax. His breath catches in his throat, resuming only when he feels the steady pulse beneath his gloves. Furina is safe, and therefore everything is alright. He can hear Siegwinne’s steady steps as she approaches.
“Lady Furina will be just alright. You got her here in time.”
“Thank you, Siegwinne.” For the first time in the last hours, he sounds like himself. The nurse merely hums before pushing him towards the door. “She needs to rest, and you need a bath.” Neuvillette stiffens. The notion of leaving Furina makes him uneasy. “Monsieur…please, I’ll take care of her. Go clean up.” The melusine would not give up, but he is equally stubborn.
“What if she wakes up and you’re a mess?” It is a paltry excuse, but it is enough to get him to loosen. “What if you upset her by not taking care of yourself?” His will crumbles. She would undoubtedly focus on his less-than-amicable state over her wellbeing.
“Alright then…” He is covered in her blood still; all it took was a quick sniff to confirm that. Furina would most likely find him distasteful, which is the last thing he wants. He allows Siegwinne to push him out the rest of the way. Yet he finds himself once more, an immovable statue, as the door clicks shut behind him, and he is met with silence and a stare loaded with a question—one. to which he owes an answer. The duke had been more than accommodating when he had…stormed, for lack of better words, into the fortress and demanded Siegwinne while barking orders as if it were the Palais. This was not his domain, and that had been rude in hindsight. At that moment, however, Furina came before anything.
The pale-haired man’s mouth opens, only to be interrupted by the creaking of the main entrance. His eyes widen imperceptibly with surprise. Wriothelesy's voice supplies an answer. “I took some liberties and asked her to come…seeing it was Lady Furina.” The familiar figure of Clorinde soothes over the edge. He closes his eyes as he sinks into a chair. It is going to be a very…very long night.
By the time he finishes, the silence hangs between them, heavy with a realization they all put off in the aftermath of the flood. It was a fact they knew well, but now it was put into perspective. Furina is now human ; Furina is now fallible . No longer can they overlay the image of immortality she had once used over her current life. Neuvillette lets his gaze rise from his lap to soak in the expressions before him. Humans have never been easy to understand, but his extended time with Furina has allowed him to pick up certain tells. The minute signs of distress and worry drag Clorinde’s shoulders.
“When you were…temporarily indisposed-" She shoots the duke a sharp look, which he returns with a shrug. Neuvillette now has the mind to wince at that. It seems like he had…thrown a nightmare-induced fit.
“My apologies…”
“I took time to investigate, and we found some…suspects.” The dark-haired woman ignores the piercing gaze leveled her way. Her skin crawls. “There were four of them.” Her voice is calm, but the undercurrent of steel is unmistakable. “We found them knocked unconscious a little way off from where you found Furina.” He is displeased; the air grows stuffy.
“According to witnesses who recognized them, they had snuck through the employee exit. One of them had previously worked as a stagehand before the flood.” The displeasure grew, a violent maelstrom. “They–” He holds his hand up and waits as Clorinde falls silent. The back of his head pulses with an ache that would not quiet.
“Where are they?” He murmurs.
Everyone stiffens . The duelist glances at the duke and watches as the other man grits his jaw. Wriothesley's gaze is sharp as he eyes the dragon, who is, in his opinion, too serene. Yet a closer look at Neuvillette’s eyes reveals a rage within. He weighs his choices and comes to a grim resolution. He doubts a good brawl would soothe over whatever is making their esteemed leader twitchy , doubts they could do much if he were to be set off truly. They would not even have the element of surprise in this scene.
“I’ll move them into a private cell.” In the end, what were the lives of a few for the greater good? He would not say it was an expression of delight that darted across the Iudex’s face, but it was close enough.
“If you excuse me, then.” The chair makes a sound as Neuvillette stands and approaches the large doors. The dragon stands at the precipice for a moment longer before deciding.
Clorinde gazes at the door where Furina's battered body lies and then at the metal door that Neuvillette had just walked through. A shuddering inhale is taken. It is finally easier to breathe.
"I believe it is a mistake to let him go alone.”
The duke in front of her casts a glance before redirecting his attention to the reflections dancing on the office floor. "I doubt anything we say will penetrate his mind. We both know we cannot control him if it comes down to it." Nor can they beat him head-on. His shoulder still aches from the latest blow. How does one handle a being resembling a god? Wriothesley shifts his gaze toward the sea. Though not a man of faith, he offers a prayer—not to Celestia, but to another human. The water roils, and the metal of Meropide groans. The realization is grim for both of them; Fontaine's destiny rests again on Furina's shoulders.
Clorinde’s voice eventually breaks the somber air as she takes an offered tea cup. “Want to have a wager?”
His attention snaps towards her.
“I wager Furina will wake up, and everything will be fine.” The duke snorts. “If I win, you can confess to your magical lover .”
His cheeks burn. “That bet is skewed. We both want her to wake up.”
Wriothesley scowls. “I say she wakes up in four days. If I win, you owe me a favor.”
Clorinde rolls her eyes. “Fine, five days for me then.”
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Neuvillette observes the figures in front of him. Two men and two women are bound on the floor. He thumbs through the records Clorinde had left behind. He recalls their faces and names with a modicum of hazy realization. It had been attached to the list of people who had lost loved ones in the floods. He almost understands. But if they genuinely had grievances, they should have gone through due process instead of attempted murder. There are reasons laws are put in place. His grip wrinkles the papers. His stare is icy as he surveys them. The bruises on their skin do nothing to mollify the creature within. Not when Furina had needed to be sewn. Not when she was still unconscious, just a few floors above. The newly released dragon wanted retribution. He wants this over with; Furina is waiting. The file snaps closed.
“Would you like to explain to me why you thought the attempted murder of your arc–” he catches himself, “the previous archon was a good idea?”
Unease settles in their limbs. Were they not supposed to plead their case first? Or, at the very least, ask for leniency? Time is a construct marked by splattering droplets out of a creaky pipe.
“She is a monster. She has let people die for her lies! Save Fontaine? She could not even save my family!” Maybe on another day, if they had hurt any other person, Neuvillette would have been inclined to agree. Perhaps he would have felt something akin to mercy. Now, though, they can only feel something he likens to annoyance.
“She lied to everyone! Even you, Monsieur.”A woman on his left hisses.
Furina had, and for that, the people before her had lived.
“She is a fraud! If you had been an archon from the start, none of this would happen.” He shakes his head. If he had judged them from the start, they would not even exist. His fingers laced together atop his cane. His thumb taps the wood idly. How little they know, how little they understand. He almost pities them. He wonders if they could even fathom Furina’s suffering if he explains. All the pain she put herself through just for a slim chance. The dragon inside him hisses at the insipidness. It growls at their audacity.
“So you attempted to kill her?” His voice is impartial even as he is inclined to agree with his other side.
“Kill? It was justice !” Justice ? After all, she has done? He reigns in his temper, which is bolstered by the assimilating sovereign. It is not like they know the truth. The argument is a token one. The dragon he shut away snorts. They know she lost her power for them. Was that not enough?
“She did not even do anything! Why did she even get a vision? What did Celestia even see in her?!”
Neuvillette exhales. The pounding ache in his head grows, as does their incessant and nonsensical chatter. Maybe it is the residual from the sedative, all the stress, or the side-effect of letting out the being he had kept away, but Neuvillette can feel his patience fray faster than usual.
“Why are we in the wrong? She should pay for her crimes!” His cane slams against the metal floor—the room trembles.
"Quiet," his eyes radiate in the dim light, brimming with irritation. He had gotten the answers he wanted. There was no longer a need to prolong this.
"While she might have chosen to spare you, my inclination differs." A stillness settles over the room as the weight of his words takes hold.
“You c-can’t do this! It is against the law.”
"The law would have held sway had we not been in Meropide." Recognition and dread sweep across their faces. Any trace of confidence and disrespect crumbles away wholly. Here, deep within the bowels of the fortress, there are different laws and rules. It is akin to a nation in its own right.
“W-wait! P-please, I am begging you. We didn’t mean to! I was just angry. It was a moment of weakness!”
“And you said attempted; that means she’s still alive–”
“Please! I didn’t even do anything. It was all them!”
“H-hey! You were the one who got her there.”
“Don’t listen to her. She’s a liar!”
“You were the one that stabbed her when she—’”
“We did not mean to!”
The cane cracks against the floor again, a booming echo that instantly subdues the clamor. A fleeting expression crosses Neuvillette's face, too elusive for the others to decipher amidst the encroaching fog of escalating terror. Water condenses around the dragon in droplets of iridescent pinks, purples, and blues. The bubbles remain suspended. He is curious.
“Did she apologize?” He watches as their heads bob. It feels as if the sea is pressing against them.
"Did she plead for mercy?" The dragon observes the collective hush. The assembly before him squirms, and he holds his silence and adjusts his gloves.
“N…no,” comes a whisper. Neuvillette’s chest swells with pride. Furina has displayed strength, a marked contrast to those who are now before him. There is another flicker, a hum of contemplation before Neuvillette raises his hand. His index finger presses against the man’s forehead. The tip glows blue.
How could he possibly want the awareness of those with such feeble wills? They do not deserve the primordial sea. They do not deserve to return.
“P-ple–”
Water when pressurized. Cuts.
Silence.
Then, a scream.
“Murderer!”
“Mon–!”
He heaves a sigh. Had they not just called murder justice?
Water encases Neuvillette’s fingers, seeping off the red from his gloves until it drops onto the sticky floor. The human flinches at the viscera; the dragon is displeased at the merciful execution, and the sovereign is content with the resulting balance. He turns towards the exit and spares the bodies one last look. He concludes that there is no necessity for Furina to be informed about this matter; it would only distress her.
Sea water seeps from the pipes, bright blue and violent, as Neuvillette closes the iron doors behind him. He stills at the taste of metal on his tongue. His middle finger meets sharpened fangs. In the darkness, he stills. This is mildly concerning.
The next time Neuvillette sees Furina, precisely six hours have passed since he left. Each one that goes by has filled him with restlessness. Only when he has her within sight, just a finger-length away, does he feel remotely calm. She looks so small like this, nestled under the sheets with pillows framing her slight form. He reaches out to tuck a loose bang away from her face and frowns when she does not react.
Siegwinne had told him this was normal, but it was unsettling. Seeing Furina, this still is peculiar. He is used to her vitality, her bubbly personality that lingers wherever she goes. He misses her voice and scent, and even though she is here, it is disquieting how much of her is still missing. It is as if time has shifted sluggishly, amplifying the void left by her usual lively spirit. He gazes at her sleeping form, searching for any sign of the energetic woman he knows so well. His gloved hands curl against his knee. The force with which he grits his teeth causes his jaw to ache. He wants to reach out to her, touch her, and ensure she is real.
However, doing so would be improper and selfish. Nevertheless, an inner voice whispers that it wouldn't pose harm. A little reassurance would not hurt. Neuvillette's nails bite into his palm, and he winces at the sudden jolt of sharp pain. Glancing downward, he fixes his gaze on the pointed impression etched into his leather glove. Easing his grip, he removes the glove to reveal a smear of pink across his palm. Releasing a sharp exhale, the dragon forcefully quells the turmoil within himself. It has been an exceedingly long day. He closes his eyes and tells himself he will return to the Palais momentarily. For now, he just needs to stay close to assure himself that Furina is alive and here.
Rest will not come to him. Not when his fingers continue to furl and unfurl across his lap. Lace and unlace, with the itch to touch her growing violently in the back of Neuvillette’s mind.
‘Just a touch.’ His mind croons.
‘Just one second.’ He mentally echoes. ‘ For reassurance.’
Would it be so bad? He craves the reassurance of her presence, a confirmation that this isn't the onset of yet another nightmare. Mindful of his nails, he extends his hand, fingertips delicately tracing the sheets before securing around her petite hand. Although Furina's palm emanates warmth, her fingers feel cold. Neuvillette's brows knit in concern. Fortunately, he has taken the initiative to check. His thumb glides over her knuckles, tracing every callus she has earned and then along the length of her hand. He holds on a bit tighter, hoping his warmth will be enough. The rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing, the subtle heat of her palm against his, create a comforting lull. The room, once filled with the weight of worry, now seems to soften. Time slips away unnoticed as he sits by her bedside. His hand never leaves hers.
In the tableau of peace, he finds peace by the simple act of holding on.
He also learns that he does not want to let go.
It is easy enough to find logical justification for his actions. Is there even a reason for him to leave? She had been so small, so scared when he saw her. She had told him as much. What if she were to wake? Would she not be terrified to be alone in such a strange location?
A pregnant pause envelops the air as he leans in, a mechanical jolt coursing through him as he ponders for an extra heartbeat. His fingers intertwine with Furina's, palms pressed together. The chair groans in protest as he edges forward, and with a fraction of shame in his gesture, he rests his cheek against the back of her hand. His eyes trace every rise and drop of her chest until they can no longer stay open. In the tranquil ambiance of the room, he succumbs to the call of desire enveloped by the rhythmic pulsation of her heartbeat and the lingering fragrance of lilies. An ancient saying echoes through Neuvillette's mind – the road to hell is paved with good intentions. As he continues to hold her, that proverb feels more pertinent than ever.
He makes up his mind when she whines softly in her rest, a low sound that reminds him of a wounded animal. The panic rears its head, and the sovereign feels his throat tighten. This incident could never happen again. Losing her will no longer be a viable option.
A soft trap for a gentle lady. His last one may have failed in specific aspects, but Neuvillette is adept at learning and adapting.
When Siegwinne enters an hour later, she is met with dragon-slit eyes that pierce through her. Tactfully, she ignores the sigil that she finds on Furina’s wrist. It is not there when she looks again, so she pretends it is merely a trick of the lights. All Melusines have their token, so it was only fair that a sovereign had his, even if it was unconventional.
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When Furina wakes for the first time after four days, she realizes through the fog inside her brain that she feels warm. A dizzying type of warmth that seeps through her front and makes her relax. She feels oddly safe, floating through her haze as she nuzzles more snuggly into the heat around her. A rhythmic thrum lulls her. The bubble of peace pops when a sharp pain shoots through her side.
“It’s alright, I have you.” She knows that voice and trusts it more than she sometimes trusts herself. Yet she can’t quite pinpoint why it would be so close. Furina bites back a sniffle at the sharp chill on her back once more. Her thoughts scatter.
“C-cold…” she whines.
Neuvillette's soothing voice cuts through the mire.
“Almost done, Furina, just a little more.” She feels pressure on her back and buries her face into the scratchy surface before her. Belatedly, she wondered if it was standard for rough but pliant surfaces to smell like the ocean and lilies.
“Monsieur Neuvillette, please turn her over a little more?” Her whine is more apparent this time as she feels herself get shifted. A shiver runs up her spine, but a comforting hand keeps her steady.
“It hurts…” She feels fingers curl against the base of her neck and realizes they are entwined with her hair.
“We are almost done. You’re doing so well.” She feels the rumble and finds it distracting. As Furina tries to rise, she feels herself pinned in place. Nevuillette's voice washes over her. She feels a weight on her shoulder. “Sleep, Furina, you need it.” She can not find it in herself to fight the lull.
The second time she wakes, Furina feels worse for wear. The sky is awash in midnight velvet, and the stars glimmer through the high ceiling of the Palais Memoria. Her body wracks with shivers, and she can not get the shivers to diminish no matter how much she tries. She feels the bed shift and turns to see draconic eyes staring at her. Her heart skips. The bed creaks and the pressure against her leg eases. It leaves her feeling chilly. She thinks Siegwinne needs to change her medication, or maybe she needs more. For when has Neuvillette grown a tail? Or claws? Or fangs—
She must be dreaming still, for why would Neuvillette be in bed with her? Furina must have asked that question out loud as a warm chuckle made her mind tingle.
“Because it is my bed.” Her head pounds as she tries to fit the fragmented pieces of her memories and understand his words. Furina can not tell if the warmth that blooms from where the dragon touches is from her fever or something else. However, she knows it is nice when Neuvillette covers her face with a cooling hand. She thinks he would make a nice compress and tells him as much as she leans into the pleasantness. The dragon’s soothing touch is the last thing she recalls before her body once more succumbs to its need for rest.
The third time she wakes, Furina opens her eyes to the soft scritching of quill over paper. It takes her a few minutes to register just where she is. The room was familiar, a copy of the one she had inhabited for almost 500 years, but it was also different. For one, she does not recall her room housing a particular dragon. Nor did she have a water collection neatly stored in a cabinet. If she had half her mind, too, Furina would have felt mortification for openly staring. However, she could only sink deeper into the comfort this familiarity bred as she observes. She is tired; her body aches, her limbs feel like lead, and she is too lax to move.
So, instead, she settles to watching the Iudex work at his desk just a few feet away. She takes in the way his brows furrow as she marks off the pages and soaks in the contemplative murmurs she can faintly make out. She blames the medication for the urge to reach out and brush away his bang. As if feeling her gaze, the Iudex looks up, his piercing gaze meeting hers. Caught in the act, Furina feels a rush of sheepishness at being caught staring, but the feeling quickly disappears as she yawns.
"Having trouble staying awake?" he asks, his voice blending understanding and amusement.
She nods, admitting defeat as she blinks owlishly. "Mhmm…whatever Siegwinne gave me is really…really, effective."
His form blurs as she yawns again, and when Furina opens her eyes, Neuvillette has already closed the distance between his work and her bed. A cup is pressed against her lips, and she only realizes how thirsty she is when she takes a sip. His unwavering hand prevents her from hastily finishing the cup's contents in one gulp. She feels the ghost of fingers across her body and protests when the sheets are tucked under her chin. She wants to ask so many questions, yet none of them manage to leave her. She falls asleep embarrassingly quick beneath a watchful gaze.
This time, when Furina wakes, she stays awake. She also feels energetic enough to swat away the dragon, holding up a tincture and jar of ointment as he all but hovers next to the bed. “I can do it myself!” Her cheeks were ruddier than they had been for the past few days, and her liveliness only seemed to make Neuvillette even more stubborn. She has already imposed on him enough in her sick state she did not want to be a bother. Yet the taller man was making her attempt at independence complicated.
“Furina, you can not apply this all by yourself.” She knows she can not, but the last thing she wants to do is bother him with this. Now that she was beyond the state of delirium, it was embarrassing to be helped. It was…a foreign feeling she was unaccustomed to despite living for 500 years. Plus, she was already imposing in his room by taking his bed over the previous week. Sure, she had been indisposed due to the attack, but it is the principle of things!
“Yes, I can.”
“You can not.”
“I can, too!”
"Furina, are you so unwilling to accept my help that you would rather risk pulling your stitches?" The tiny quirk at the corner of his lip tells her he is not mad, but there is a harshness to his gaze that leaves her feeling off-kilter. It is as if she is doing something wrong by denying his aid, but she must be mistaken. For in the next moment, the sigh he heaves is very much like the one he gave whenever she used to bug him.
“Furina, you can not even reach the wound on your back. At the very least, let me help you with that.” He did have a point…
“I…” She tries to reach the spot three times but to no avail. Her fingers dig into her gown.
“F-fine!” She hopes her cheeks are not as red as they feel.
The petite woman stiffens as she feels the bed dip. The sheets rustle, and her grip tightens. Furina forces her body not to quiver as she feels his fingers slip beneath the cotton. She forces herself not to gasp as ointment-covered fingers press against her bruises and wound. It hurts just a bit, a sting that numbs into a pleasant tingle. This is the closest they’ve ever been, and the realization makes her squirm. It's an intimacy she hadn't allowed herself to experience in centuries, a vulnerability she had guarded against like a precious secret. For 500 years, she had been wary of letting anyone close enough to offer help or solace. Neuvillette's presence is a revelation; Furina realizes that reassurance can be found in a gentle touch.
The tension eases off her shoulders, and her head bobs in the lull.
“I believe I am done, Furina.” The sovereign’s voice shatters the moment. Furina’s fingers tugged at the sheets as if they could shield her…from something she did not quite understand.
She finds her voice as she watches him tuck away the medicine in the bedside drawer. “Thank you, Neuvillette.” She is unsure what else she is thanking him for, but she is.
The room feels like a gaping chasm when he leaves with a quiet apology about his workload. He does not return that night but instead sends a message. The rest Furina gets is fitful as if something -or someone her mind supplies - is missing. She grits her teeth and shuts her eyes as she curls into the sheets. She would be fine. She just needed to adjust. She has to.
Neuvillette won’t be there forever. Tomorrow, she was going home. Furina tries not to think of how comforting his bed has become.
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Despite occasional challenges, Neuvillette discovers that understanding Furina is relatively straightforward. While humans can be complex, he has had 500 years to familiarize himself with aspects of Furina. During her unconscious days, he devoted ample time to sifting through his memories, distinguishing between her authentic self and any pretenses. It was not easy, but he was confident in his understanding.
The sovereign knows two facts through trial and error. The first is obvious: Furina is intrinsically kind, which has not changed. She would rather suffer before hurting another. He could use that. The second is that she is lonely, and perhaps it echoes the emptiness in his chest when she is out of his sight. It is a pesky feeling, but if it is anything akin to his, it is also something he can leverage. He also knows that her will is indomitable. There is no contest against that. If Furina were coaxed into doing anything, it would only be because she is…guided to that option.
He learns distance makes the heart grow fond, so Neuvillette bides his time and waits until her scent has faded from his sheets before seeking her out.
The dragon hopes she misses him as much as he misses her.
He finds her quickly enough with his mark and walks toward her home. He can feel the hum of his power on her skin, and it does not take long for him to find her milling around the market stall just a few blocks away. He is keen to observe and watch as she shifts through the item and mulls over what she wants. It is nothing he approves of; macaroni is not a healthy staple, but he knows better than to point that out when she had so enthusiastically told him of her experimenting and learning. It does, however, please him considerably to see her pick up a bit more variety this time. She is recovering, meaning she needs all the nutrition she can get.
He tells her as much as he eyes the potatoes in her hands before letting himself soak in her surprise. She looks adorable, with her cheeks all ruddy.
“Neuvillette?!” Oh , he missed her voice, too. He catches her bag before it hits the floor.
“Furina,” the dragon echoes as he watches her surprise melt into happiness. It pleases him. "I did not intend to frighten you. I was en route to your residence when I came across you. I trust you have been in good health?"
“Oh, uh– yes, yes, I’ve been well. Was there something you need?” He refuses to hand her the bag, opting to be oblivious to her unrequested desire until she moves to add more. Like an overgrown dog, he follows her as she strolls around the stall.
“There is nothing I need. It has been a while since I saw you, and I thought it would be appropriate to visit and see how you were doing.”
“Aw~ Were you worried about little ‘ole me?” And there it was, as he expected, the bluster to cover for her embarrassment.
“I am.”
This time, she can not hide how her eyes widened and her cheeks warm. He likes this look on her far more than she used to have around him. The dragon wanted to preen. Like this, Furina felt closer, less distant, and he would stand in the desert if it meant she would always be like this. He reaches forward to brush her bang away from her face.
“Is it such a strange notion to you?” As they walk away from the bustling market and onto the quiet street, he places his hand gently on her back, guiding her along. Despite the curious glances from passersby, he pays them no mind. All that matters is the woman by his side, the one he is determined to protect, no matter what anyone else thinks. Let them talk and guess. It would only work for his benefit. Neuvillette turns to Furina, his voice gentle yet tinged with hurt as they slowly stop by her door.
She does not face him. Instead, her hands are still on the doorknob. "No! Not at all." He dislikes the uncertainty in her voice. The bag in his arms crinkles as he leans forward, eclipsing her as his hair falls and creates a curtain around them. This close, he can see how her cheek turns a delightful shade as the seconds pass. "I may not be the best at expressing myself, but please know I care for you. How can I not after the centuries we spent together?"
She finally looks up at him, her eyes wide. "Neuvillette..." He had also learned how to guide her actions in those centuries with just a few words.
"Did you truly believe me to be so unfeeling?" The hurt is genuine.
He does not allow her time to think. The bag he places into her hand is a distraction.
"Now, excuse me, I must return to the Palais."
The sovereign feels nothing but satisfaction when he sees Furina shuffle into his office that evening. He accepts the cake she bakes as an apology and asks her to stay for tea. When Furina agrees to the invitation, he all but shoves his work to the side. To disregard her, his god, would be tantamount to committing blasphemy.
He asks her if she would oppose having tea with him whenever he is free. They scheduled one for next week.
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Furina would NOT admit out loud that she looks forward to those scheduled tea times. They do not do much; sometimes, it happens only once a month, but it is a break in her increasingly busy schedule that she comes to expect. She knows she gets to see him, bringing her a modicum of comfort in the life she is still adjusting to. So that is why she supposes it is not too strange that she feels slightly upset when he does not show. It is an irritating feeling that bleeds into remorse quickly after Sedene comes running into the office with a hastily penned note. Neuvillette is working hard, managing trials, and she is here feeling unfathomably upset about something out of his control. He could not help it if work ran longer than expected. So she does the next best thing. She waits.
The sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows deepening her unease. "He can't take much longer...right?" she reassures herself. But time stretches, and darkness claims the surroundings.
Furina's anticipation warps into a chilling blend of anxiety and uncertainty. The script she had annotated to pass the time is scattered on the table. The notes on the margins were still fresh. As she glances at the clock, the smile of pride wanes. It is taking him much longer than she expects. The tea had gone cold, and this would mark the fourth time that Sedene had peeked her head in and asked if everything was alright.
The truth is that, no, nothing was alright. But all Furina can do is plaster on the mask and wave away the melusine’s worry. It’s uncomfortable, this gnawing ache that spreads from the center of her chest. She is no stranger to loneliness, but it feels harsher and colder this time, and the cake she begins shoveling into her mouth to feel better only tastes bitter. She understands the implications and promptly shoves it into the back of her mind. She should be content with this, content with their friendship. There is no need to ruin what they have with her pesky human emotions.
But the heart does what it wants anyway, so under the velvet of the night, it yearns.
Wants and twists until the room feels utterly wrong. She should leave, she should go home. She needed space before her mind could-
Furina stands, her heart pounding, as the door slams open more violently than usual. The hinges creak, and a figure, looking as chaotic as her emotions, fills her line of sight.
“My apologies,” Neuvillette gasped. “The hearing took much longer than anticipated—Furina?”
He stands there, disheveled, with his cravat askew and hair in disarray, yet his mussiness has a certain charm. Furina wondered what expression crossed her face as he closed the distance between them. If the furrow etched in his brow is an indication, it could be a relief. “You don't have to wait,” Neuvillette's voice chides as he stands before her. “You could have rescheduled.”
She blinks, distracted momentarily by relief and the soothing scent of the ocean and lilies. “I could have, but,” a dust of pink settles on her cheek, “I wanted to wait.” The ‘ I missed you’ remained unspoken. Instead, Furina gestures towards the table. The smile she wears is only a fraction of its average brightness, but it is honest nonetheless. “Plus! Why would I waste such delectable desserts~” She holds her breath at his raised brow before sighing in relief as he lets it go.
Her heart traitorously skips at his following words.
“Have you had dinner yet?” Snow-like hair flutters as Furina shakes her head.
“Then would you like to have dinner with me?” The director is glad she was not walking lest she trip. Her cheeks heat, and she has to remind herself that Neuvillette does not know what his question sounds like…right? Like courtship. Yet he is offering her his elbow like a gentleman. Furina hesitates a second longer before curling her fingers into the silk.
“Monsieur Neuvillette, I tell you this as a friend! As someone who is very worried about you.” She minds the steps on the stoop of the Palais. “You must be careful when asking anyone out to dinner; someone may think you are interested in them.” The thought feels like pebbles in her stomach, heavy.
“Interested?” She can not quite make out his tone, but she vaguely feels as if he is amused.
“Yes, interested, as in they may think you want to…uh–” Realizing the sheer inappropriateness of what she is about to say, Furina’s words sputter. The warm hand against her back is equally comforting as it is distracting.
“That I may want to what, Furina?” She follows him wordlessly before she clears her throat.
“That you are asking them out intending to court.” With her gaze locked on the cobblestone, Furina misses the satisfaction that dances across draconic eyes.
“Ah, and if I do?”
Furina does not know if she should be glad he is holding her steady the next second as she stumbles at his reply.
“Y-you have someone?!” She wondered if she had said something wrong when he still, but their pace resumed.
“Would it upset you if I do?” he asks, his voice carrying a cryptic undertone that leaves Furina's mind a whirlwind of confusion. The revelation that Neuvillette might be considering courtship sends a subtle tremor through her, stirring emotions she had not anticipated.
"I—uh, no, it's not that it would upset me. You just caught me off guard, that's all," Furina stammers, now acutely aware of the warmth emanating from the hand at her back. Neuvillette chuckles, the sound rich and low. It sends a shiver of something odd up her spine. "No need to worry, Furina. I was merely testing the waters, so to speak." His words carry a playful tone, yet there's an underlying drawl.
“Y-yeah, anyways, so to speak, not all dinner invitations are borne out of courtship. Sometimes, they are just a chance to share a moment with a friend. Like, what we are doing." She likes this notion even less. The pebbles in her stomach become boulders, and the idea of this being a friendly dinner becomes increasingly uncomfortable. Jealousy settled over her like a cape of emerald and ivy. It slithers across her heart without consideration. Envy whispers questions of unspoken desires that only serve to stir the cacophony within.
Furina all but flees after dinner ends, a feeble excuse on her lips that she knows Neuvillette sees through. She distantly hears his parting wishes of a good night. The dimly lit street echoes with the sound of her heels at her departure. She is grateful that the dragon is, at least, kind enough to let her go anyway.
Once safely behind her door, she curls up in the chilling embrace of her solitude. The emptiness of her hallway is the only witness to her thoughts shifting. An unsettling question lingers, clawing at the edges of her consciousness—when had the admiration and care she once held for the Iudex morphed into a want ? Was it a recent development after he had nursed her back to health? Was it even earlier, born between the moments stolen with tea? Or, perchance, it started much earlier.
Maybe her love for him had taken root far earlier. So far back and continuously compounding with trust, to the point that the sight of him averting his gaze from her during the trial had seared and shattered the remnants of her resolve. The revelation brings her no comfort.
Furina is left to grapple with the unsettling comprehension of the metamorphosis of her feelings.
She wakes up to a bouquet of lakelight lilies on her doorstep; out of the dozen, one is missing. She wonders if he knows what these flowers mean.
She doubts… but.
But…what if he does, and if so…what is Neuvillette waiting for?
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The single lily in Neuvillette’s office wilts before he orders another one. Like always, he plucks one out, replaces the dead one, and has Sedene send a runner to Furina’s home or the Opera House. Time flows differently for long-lived beings, but having markers made it slightly more manageable for the dragon to tell. That night, when she had run, it took all of his willpower to let her go.
Seeing her back shrink stirred a resisted instinct in him. The sovereign had wanted nothing more than to chase her. Hunt down his sweet prey and bite. His instinctual desire, though sporadic throughout the centuries, had always lingered within him, an integral part of his essence, now heightened by his newfound completeness. In retrospect, his craving for Furina made macabre sense –etched into him since birthright. It flowed through his very blood, this desire to conquer.
Furina is his to covet, to have, to dominate. They were always meant to be like this. Sovereigns were made to hate the usurpers and despise their very existence. The line between hate and obsession has always been thin, and now they are irreparably irrevocably entwined. And all of this is because humanity had been a tempting curiosity centuries ago. And then that very humanity had been handed to him by fate with all her imperfect perfections. With her, he felt almost complete. What is a human-shaped dragon without its heart? For years, a divine part of her held it. Then what is the heart without a soul? From Furina, he discovers the essence of beauty. She is everything to him.
So he wants her heart. He wants her to miss him enough that she would willingly offer up her very existence on a silver platter. It is a twisted and unhallowed longing to harbor such monstrous cravings, but a dragon, veiled in human guise, remains forever a creature.
Two flowers die before Neuvillette deems it fit to hunt. The time Furina had to hide herself from the dragon amounts to fourteen days.
He finds her not at the Opera House or her own home. Instead, it is at the sandbar near the sea. He knows this place and remembers it with a certain degree of fondness. They had met here for the first time. Her feet are bare and buried in the sand; if not for how her shoulders stiffened, he could have said she is almost serene. A shiver betrays her nerves, and he waits patiently as she gathers to stand before him.
Her gaze this time is sharp, and he preens in the face of it. Oh, oh, in her hand is a file. A file that he should have burned. In hindsight, he should not have let her spend so much time alone.
Yet, the mere presence of her here diminishes any apprehension. If Furina harbored hatred, he would know. But how could she, when not even his betrayal had elicited not an ounce of disdain?
‘ Furina, sweet, sweet, Furina …’ Neuvillette's mind croons. ‘You should have run .’ Never far, though, she would never be able to. Teyvat was created from the very blood waters the sovereign now controls. There was no place she could run and no place he could not go to if he so desired, but he would let her try. He would let her do almost anything she wanted as long as she returned to his side. It is where she belonged.
“Neuvillette…what did you do?” He does not need her to expand on the topic. He knows exactly who was in those files.
He could never deceive her, especially under the unyielding gaze she fixed upon him. Thus, he confesses, "I killed them."
"They attempted to kill you," Neuvillette murmurs, "So I punished them for it." The words hang in the air, the chilling justification for an act that blurs the line between retribution and a descent into skewed bias.
Perhaps Furina had expected him to deny it, to save the image of the impartial Iudex he put on for her—the sovereign watches as her expression drops.
“You can’t do that. It doesn't make it right, Neuvillette! You didn't have to kill them,” she hisses.
He clenches his teeth as he gazes down at her. Rage, he silently reflects, gives her a radiant glow. It's a stray thought he refuses to voice as he moves closer, observing her stiffen. His archon, his beautiful and resilient god , despite her temporary human guise.
“Perhaps I did not, but I wanted to, so I did.” Neuvillette straightens the bow around her waist. Who were they to lay hands on her, to utter such words to her? She was their archon, their goddess, and they ought to be respectful to someone who ensures their safety. Humans, he thinks with disdain, are not worthy of her. They do not deserve her kindness, not even now. He is glad he has done what he did. He was unsure if he could have handled it if she had pleaded for leniency on their behalf.
“Dragons are covetous, Lady Furina.” He is looking at the sky as he continues to answer her. “They do not take it well if their treasure is hurt .”
As his eyes return to meet hers, he soaks up the shiver running through her.
"I will die one day, Neuvillette. I am human," Furina asserts, though doubt lingers in her voice. The dragon’s gaze gleams as his lips curl upward, almost mockingly, as he steps closer, observing her stiffen in response.
“Perhaps, but that day is far off.” So she had not discovered that.
“What... do you mean? What did you do?” Furina whispers. His fingers fiddled with her vision. Oh, his treasure is so clever.
"The query you may wany to ask is, what would I not do?"
In the echoing silence that follows, Furina gathers the courage to pose a chilling query, "What if I want to die? What if I want to live my life as a human to the fullest, to the end?"
The air grows heavy with the weight of her words, and an unsettling tension settles between them as the Neuvillette contemplates her declaration with an inscrutable expression.
"I would respect that wish." It's the truth, yet not the whole truth. Words left unspoken hang in the air, but Furina can sense them. Her mind was churning, and he was waiting for her to connect the pieces.
"But I will be back. You would make sure I come back."
"And what if I do not want that?" His face has a subtle frown, but Furina reads the displeasure plain as day.
"Then I'll join you anew." He finds it droll that she thinks death would deter him.
"You-"
She turned away, and he only followed to hold her close, back to chest.
“Why are you doing this?” She murmurs.
"Because I covet you. Because I care for you," Neuvillette confesses, and a quiet pause follows as he hums to himself, cradling her in his arms. "I want you at the same time I want for you. You deserve so much."
In the stillness, he wonders if she could muster the strength to push him away, but her fingers only tighten around his sleeves. "Not like that. "
"What defines the transgressions of a sovereign if not the establishment of order?" He smooths his palms over hers. “They did not repent, gave you no choice, and dared to besmirch your existence.”
Like flotsam, the conversation drifts out onto the waves.
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Furina is the one that turns this time. She soaks in the expression on his face, taking in the way he looks at ease with his confession. It was like they were meeting again on the sandbar for the first time. This time, not as ‘Archon’ and ‘Human,’ but as ‘Human’ and ‘Dragon.’
She wonders what kind of person she has become when his admission is met with an eerie absence of fear and repulsion.
"Furina, do you truly want to die?" His chin rests against the top of her head and breaks her reflection. “Perhaps you do not remember: you told me you did not want to die.”
“So, Furina, do you honestly want to die? Being human and experiencing humanity is not an exclusive concept.” She had taught him that. He was a dragon that had learned enough about humanity not to condemn it. Furina was proof of that, so painfully and beautifully human, without falling into greed or madness during her time as a ‘god.’
“You have already given 500 years to Fontaine. Now, let your future be as long as your past.”
Furina exhales sharply. It would be a lie if she said she never thought about how unfair it is that she had given up 500 years for a paltry amount in comparison. How wretched it is because how can she unlearn and relearn to be herself in that short time?
But... would this decision be alright?
Did she want to die? The answer is still the same as it was when she was crying in her room months before after that woman’s attack. She closes her eyes. Fontaine is safe now; she can be more selfish. Everything will be alright, and it's okay if she passes. And this... man before her.
Furina mentally shakes her head. No, everything would go wrong.
Her Neuvillette had once been so much more human. This Neuvillette is less so. This one is feral, wild, and unpredictable. He is like the sea amidst a storm, and it is all-consuming. But he... is still hers. He is insane; she is his anchor, and perhaps she has finally fallen into madness, too, as giddiness stirs in her chest. To be so lauded… she is not opposed to the notion of his eternity, as she thought... yet...
Detecting her uncertainty, Neuvillette slips a distracting finger beneath her chin, coaxing her to lift her gaze. Her fingers inadvertently wrinkle the silk of his jacket, trembling in response to the intensity she discovers in his eyes.
"After five centuries side by side, do you genuinely wish to part ways with me? Furina, you have been my only constant in this time. The sole person who can still meet my gaze without fear. You are the only one who knows me." His voice is low and coaxing. "I would be left desolate without you."
Guilt lances through her as sharp as a knife. “There will be others. I can not be the only one..”
“There is no other. It has always been you. ”
His words are like threads weaving through her defenses. When has Neuvillette ever lied to her? As her gaze meets him, she finds a familiar honesty in his eyes.
“I need you.” When he looks at her with such a lost expression, it makes her ache. In the distance, she hears the pitter-patter of rain. “Please. I cannot do eternity without you.”
Will wavers in the face of care. “Did you not want to learn about humanity? Humanity, too, can be selfish, so take that liberty with me.” The supine words wrap tight and squeeze—her resolve falters.
“I…”
"Allow me to cherish you for the rest of time and not merely the echo of your memory." Oh, how can he say that to her? She is already so weak to him. Soft from the boundless adoration he gives her. She can't deny the creeping sense of possessiveness that has taken root within her, fueled by his constant attentiveness. Would eternity cherished be that bad?
“Alright… I… yes.” Yet he does not move. Furina shakes her head as if it would help her dispel the last of her worries.
“Yes. I’ll stay with you.” He is beautiful to her in his happiness.
She gasps as Neuvillette presses his mouth against her wrist. The sovereign mark he left on her glows beneath his touch. Furina's eyes close as his lips brush against hers. The gleam of satisfaction in his eyes escapes her notice.
The beast’s maw clenches tight on its prey.