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“Ah, ah,” Furina sings, checking her vocals the same way that she has for five hundred years. She sits in front of her mirror with her spine straight and places her two index fingers on the edges of her mouth, pulling her face into a smile.
Furina does not meet her own eyes in the mirror. She knows that she ought to, if she wants to truly to make sure that she is truly playing the role of Archon correctly-
Ah. What is she doing? She’s not the “Archon” of Fontaine anymore. The prophecy has completed itself. She doesn’t need to pretend to be Foçalors anymore.
What is she doing?
She rips the hat out of her hair and throws it. The accessory barely flies at all until it drops onto the ground, pathetically collapsing just like her façade did. She strips her gloves off her fingers and tosses them as well, then stumbles over to the window and draws the blinds shut.
Her chest hurts. Breathing hurts. Existing hurts.
Her head is spinning and for once she can just let it spin, watching as the world turns itself upside-down in front of her. She stumbles onto the bed in the room Neuvillette provided for her and even then she finds herself unable to relax. Some deeply ingrained muscle memory has her bringing herself back against the headboard, leaning against it with her head tilted and her legs folded neatly in front of her.
Yes, that’s right… now place your hands in your lap and let the tears fall…
The grand trial that Foçalors had promised had come after all. The Hydro Archon was indeed sentenced to death, and the people of Fontaine were indeed submerged in water. Still, Furina cannot bring herself to rejoice. Instead of feeling the entertainment that the grandiose trial should have provided, she finds herself feeling unbearably empty.
The people of Fontaine were saved. Her people, her beloved people, the people who she deceived for five hundred years, were saved.
They were saved, and thus they will never ever see her again.
Furina, the imposter Hydro Archon, is dead to the Land of Hydro.
Her chest aches with emptiness. She feels like she’s going insane and she can’t even say why it is anymore. She is no longer pretending, no longer playing the role of another, but here she is, barely able to exist. She managed to keep it together for five hundred years, managed to persist through even the Traveler’s offer to listen, yet now she is just falling apart like a house of cards.
The key to magic is the ability to believe. She has now lost the belief of all of her subjects.
Her subjects…
She ought to rejoice. For the little price of her suffering, her subjects are alive. But her subjects aren’t even whole - countless perished in the cases with the disappearing young women, and even more in the disaster at Poisson. She failed to protect them, even with the play she had put on for so long.
She had protected that secret for so long, and yet she couldn’t even save her subjects…
Her lungs feel like they’re constricting and breathing quickly becomes agonizing. She failed them - she failed the people she was meant to protect, failed the people she had vowed to protect five hundred years ago. Foçalors had died for them, and Furina could not even save a few.
Is this the difference between gods and humans?
Foçalors had assured her that what she needed was not to attain divinity, but rather just to fight her humanity enough to put on a convincing performance. Still, Furina can’t help but feel that it was humanity that made her lose this fight. She is a fraud of a god, a fake of an Archon, and a failure of a ruler who could not even save a small number of her own people.
She is…
What is she, again?
She is not a god. She has played that role for five hundred years, but that role has been terminated.
She is not divine. She never had that kind of power or authority. She deceived her people into thinking that she did.
She is… she is nothing but a fake. She is a liar, an actor, a failure. Her obnoxious performances hardly fooled anyone, and the only thing she has ever done is play excuse after excuse. She is…
What is she?
She is barely even human. She is an artificial creation, made by an Oceanid. At best, she is a humanoid, even if Neuvillette has since ensured that the people of Fontaine will no longer dissolve. She is but a puppet, a marionette of a god who no longer exists. Her strings have since been cut, and she is now… nothing.
Foçalors had appeared to her in a mirror, yet she is nothing like the person in the mirror. She is nothing like her reflection - she is not capable, nor strong, nor responsible. The little she has done for Fontaine ended up meaning so little - Foçalors planned her own execution so meticulously, whereas Furina had only played the little marionette.
“I am Foçalors, the Hydro Archon,” she repeats for the hundredth time, and her voice cracks. “L'État, c'est moi. I am Fontaine.”
The lies no longer flow off her tongue. They catch in the air, the same air which her former subjects breathe, the same air that provides them with the knowledge that she is a liar. And even now, she is deceiving them, making them believe that she was the one who was executed, rather than the true Hydro Archon.
Inhale, exhale.
Her vision is blurry. She doesn’t know when the tears began to flow. She doesn’t even know where the tears came from - she feels so empty that she can’t even find the energy in herself to cry. She’s so… tired.
She doesn’t need to play Archon anymore. She doesn’t need to play god anymore.
She is… nothing anymore.
.
.
.
“-ina! Lady Furina!”
Who…?
“Lady Furina, please…”
The person in the room reeks of true power and authority. In fact, the power seems to roll off of them in waves, allowing them to command even the air in the room. Still, their voice is soft and… sorrowful?
“Lady Furina, please, wake up,” the person begs again, and Furina finally notices the hand on her cheek. The skin contact is a strange, strange feeling.
“Neuvillette…?” she finally realizes, and even her whisper is hoarse. She blinks and blinks, but her vision remains blurry.
“Oh, thank Archons,” Neuvillette breathes, leaning towards her. He takes her left hand in his, and places a soft cloth on her palm. Handkerchief. For… ah, yes. Her tears.
“What are you doing here…?” Furina croaks pathetically. She weakly brings the handkerchief to her face and presses it into her eyes, cringing at how her tears soak through the fabric.
"I'm checking on you," Neuvillette replies, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I apologize for letting myself in without your permission. I just hadn't heard from you for several days, and became concerned."
"What is there to be concerned about…?" Furina laughs hoarsely. "My role has been fulfilled. There's no use for me anymore."
"Lady Furina…" Neuvillette breathes, and he sounds heartbroken. Gone is the stoic Iudex with whom she had worked for five hundred years, replaced by an emotional thing. She supposed that the fulfillment of the prophecy meant the end of more roles than just her own.
"What do you mean, 'Lady'?" Furina huffs tiredly. "I'm not an Archon anymore. You're my superior now."
"Your current status, or lack thereof, does not negate the suffering you went through to save the people of Fontaine," Neuvillette insists softly, brushing a lock of her hair away from her face. "You have, dare I say, done more for this country than even I have. That is more than enough to warrant all the respect I have for you."
"Don't be ridiculous," Furina snaps, but there's hardly any bite in her words. "You're the Iudex. You judged and oversaw every single trial in the past five hundred years."
"And you were present for every trial as well, were you not?" Neuvillette presses. "Not only that, but you also kept up the image of Archon outside of the courtroom. You met with your subjects. You maintained this act for five hundred years. You saved Fontaine, Lady Furina."
"No I didn't!" she cries, words coming out in a sob. "All the women who disappeared! All the people who died in Poisson! I failed every single one of them!"
"You did not fail a single person," Neuvillette protests gently, placing an arm around her shoulder. She initially flinches at the touch, unused to the physical contact, but then slowly relaxes. "You allowed Foçalors's plan to succeed. You played your role for five hundred years and did not divulge your secret to a single soul. That is substantially more than any human could have accomplished. You have done so much, Lady Furina."
"I didn't do anything…" Furina sobs quietly, aggressively scrubbing the handkerchief into her cheeks. "I just played pretend…"
"Your pretending allowed Foçalors to deceive the Heavenly Principles," Neuvillette corrects. "You took responsibility for Fontaine for five hundred years. That is more than five times the lifetime of a normal human, and you did not divulge your secret a single time."
"I…" Furina begins, but pauses as she realizes. "Wait. Who is Fontaine now?"
"Pardon me?"
"Fontaine has no Archon now. Who is Fontaine?" Furina demands, panicked. "Je suis Furina de Fontaine. L'État, c'est moi. Who has taken responsibility for Fontaine?"
"Oh… I see," Neuvillette says slowly, as if contemplating her words. "There is no longer an official figurehead of Fontaine, but if you wish to know the identity of the highest ranking government official… well, as Iudex, I suppose that would be me."
"Oh, no, that will not do!" Furina cries. "You say that I have done more for this country than you have and yet you take up this role the moment I step down? I would not wish this fate upon anyone!"
Neuvillette pauses for a while, then places a hand atop her head. She gasps at the contact, unused to lacking her hat, but he is gentle as he runs his fingers through her hair.
"You are a gentle soul, Miss Furina," Neuvillette remarks sorrowfully. "You are so, so kind."
"W-what?"
"You bore this burden alone for five hundred years, yet even once your role has been completed, you still care for and love all of your people," Neuvillette sighs, and it almost sounds bittersweet. "Fear not for my wellbeing. I am not alone in my role, and I am moreover a dragon. I have learned much from my role as Iudex, and I believe there is much more for me to learn from the people of Fontaine. This, of course, includes you."
"B-but-"
"You believe yourself to be 'dead' to the people, and yet you love them all the same," Neuvillette whispers, gently taking her hand and guiding it to softly dry the tears on her cheeks. "I am honoured to say that I was once your subordinate, and even more so to say that you were once my Archon. Even if you do not have the divinity, you have more than enough love and dedication towards your people."
"N-Neuvillette…"
"Thank you, Furina, for all that you have done," Neuvillette recites softly. "It's okay now. You may rest now. All of the emotions, all the sorrow, all the loneliness that you kept bottled up for five hundred years… you may let it all out now."
"Neuvillette… I…" her words break off into an uncontrollable sob, one that tears itself out from the deepest part of herself and echoes throughout the room.
"Shh, it's okay…" Neuvillette whispers. "It's okay."
Softly, so softly, he brings his arms around her shoulders and pulls her head towards his chest. His garments are rough and his coat is stiff but she finds herself leaning into him anyway, leaning into the warmth she had been deprived of since her creation. She slowly works up the courage to bring her own arms away from her chest and wrap them around his waist, awkwardly returning her first ever hug the way she has seen others return hugs. She doubts that he is particularly well-versed in physical contact either, but the way he pulls her tighter tells her that that was the correct move.
"It's okay," he repeats. "You don't need to pretend anymore."
Slowly, slowly, she lets herself cry, lets herself truly feel the tears that she has been suppressing for five centuries. She sniffles and she hiccups and she sobs, undoubtedly nothing other than ugly, but Neuvillette holds her all the same, not releasing his grip on her for a single second.
"You don't need to pretend anymore," he whispers again, and despite her final act being one of an Archon weeping alone on her throne, she finds herself crying yet again.
At least this time, she is not crying alone.