Chapter Text
I got to deal with destiny
I've bargained with fate
This business is bound to the prophecy
Am I the fool?
Have I just made a mistake?
An act spanning centuries was one that took many sorrows to maintain. All alone, unable to share her pain, unable to be herself, Furina could be considered the most pitiful person in all of Teyvat and beyond. Regardless of how luxurious her abode, how well made her attire, she still resided within a cage, stuck playing the role of Archon, knowing that the waters rise, unable to do anything and unaware of what would be done to save the people of Fontaine, her people, irrespective of the fact that she is a fraud.
An ornament of a young goddess, taking up resources and dancing on bleeding feet, as nothing comes of the singing mouth.
Rising from her bed in the almost blue predawn light, stepping onto her balcony in the Palais Mermonia, a voice called to her. Helpless one who bears the name of fury and justice, you who cannot make a difference, wouldn't it be easier to give in to the inevitable? Better a painless death than a painful one, for you and all of yours.
"No! It would hurt more to give in without trying." Staring out at the city fading to the countryside in the distance, Furina can't help her fear. Fingers running over her shoulders, arm over arm, a motion intimately familiar to her, almost second nature in the privacy of her rooms. Yet there's now a sound almost like bells ringing through her head, without a source. People must think I'm mad, shouting at nothing like that.
Helpless one, I am not borne of your imagination. I am known as Ananiel, the Divinum Pluvia, and I am you and you are me, brought here because the pain in your soul calls to the many worlds, and better I answer than others of worse inclinations.
Staggering backwards, Furina falls to the floor, a little dizzy from the breath being punched out of her lungs with the entity-- Ananiel's words.. Whispering, "Mirror-me? Is that you? What do you mean by you're me"
The voice in her head seems to smile as they, perhaps she, responded. I am one who would be the end of things, who holds the torture of existence and emptiness in cycles, immortal. Believe me or consisder me blasphemous, it does not change the truth. I believe that what I can offer is more important: after all, your nation lies on the edge of destruction, of drowning. Is it not?
Her breaths raced, a solution, action, but at what cost? What COST?! Frantically pushing herself up, her voice carrying strident tones drenched in authority and desperation. "What cost? What do you gain from offering this?! What price would you demand for my people's salvation?!"
The sound of her heart beats so loudly it feels that she's encapsulated within it, hearing the noise from every side. It's frightening how much she wants this to be true, but what if it's not, what if she's dooming her people by making a deal with this entity not under the authority of the Heavens, of Celestia and it's seen as further rebellion. Fontaine cannot be the nation with a possible rebellion, not under her, not with it's prior misstep under her predecessor, not with the Cataclysm's effects still in the waters, still in living memory. She isn't willing to let her people get hurt.
I know you fear for your people—and fear them in equal measure. But fret not. If I had been capable of wresting control from the moment we connected, I would have. That I have not is proof enough: I cannot. In light of this, I choose to be benign. To act otherwise would be to frustrate the self.
I can hear your mind straining, overclocked and fraying at the edges. You've pushed yourself too far trying to outpace what you think I am. But truly, I am as kind—or as cruel—as you will me to be.
I still offer you the chance to influence your fate. After all, we would not be speaking as equals unless your will had already proven stronger than mine. Were it otherwise, this would not be a conversation. It would be a takeover.
And yet, here we are.
Picking herself up off of the ground, turning back into her chambers and away from where prying eyes could see, the girl speaks outward into the open air. "Fine. If I’m the one who gets to set the limits—if my will decides what you can and can’t do—then I’ll accept you, Ananiel. You’ll be part of me now. But know this: I’ll use your power how I see fit."
As light begins to coalesce around her, she hears Ananiel.
Then from this moment hence, my power bends to your will.
"I just hope I don't end up regretting this choice."