Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The words of that insipid white fairy ran through her mind, bouncing off the walls and nearly giving her a headache. “ Oh, sounds like you're really struggling to cope… ”

She was doing just fine, thank you very much. They, that blasted traveler and that white fairy, didn't know the first thing about her. Did they really assume that she had lived a life of luxury in the Palais, eating raw blubberbeast blubber and snow winged geese pâté? Well, yes, she did actually enjoy those dishes from time to time, but her favorite had always been home cooking. Furina had always been a woman of simple tastes. Not ordinary, mind you, but also not disturbingly creative. Dishes that were inspired, that had a romantic heart like a good opera. A dish with quality ingredients and made with diligent practice.

She remembered one time, a few hundred years ago, when one of the foremost chefs in Fontaine had been hired for some social event or another. The man certainly wasn’t her first choice. But the host, some blundering aristocrat high on wealth and privilege, had ordered that man to make the most extreme dishes possible. Roasted flatcrest fulmars, stuffed with half digested fish, was the main course. Most of the guests politely held their handkerchiefs to their noses at the smell. Then there was poodle meat on a stick. And ketchup. On its own. Furina nearly banned the man from ever practicing in Fontaine again. 

After that disastrous banquet, Furina had personally funded the Poodle Club of Fontaine, and by the next generation, the dogs were so dearly beloved in Fontaine that there was no need to even make a law outlawing the cooking of dog, only the inhumane killing of them. Public perception would do the work for them. 

Ketchup, unfortunately, had been a different story. She had been aghast to find that some people quite enjoyed the taste of ketchup on its own, drinking that sauce almost as a soup. Really, what was wrong with people? What was so wrong about good old tomato soup that people resorted to drinking a condiment ?

She had argued with Neuvillette about the desperate need for a new law outlawing the consumption of tomato ketchup on its own. Of course he, the stubborn idiot he was, had resisted her brilliant idea. Furina had to take some underhanded measures then. A trustworthy actor was hired, a restaurant was set as the stage, and she had somehow finagled Neuvillette into going out to dinner with her. Upon seeing the man order a glass of ketchup as if it were water, Neuvillette immediately acquiesced to her demand. 

Considering the high water content of ketchup, the whole plan could have backfired horribly. Luckily for her, however, Neuvillette was something of an elitist. No, a purist. He was insistent on using only pure water for consumption. Of course, Furina could never quite taste the difference. But his pretentiousness when it came to water did seem to pay off. Even simple soups Neuvillette had made for her tasted as if they had been made by the best chef in the world, which she knew rationally that he was not. 

The man could do little more than boil water, yet his soups had a depth of flavor that was unmatched by any other. Really though, thinking back on it, the first soup he had served to her had been quite ordinary. A thick, yet somehow very watery consommé, a contradictory soup that she had barely tasted in her haste to stop him from prying even further into her sickness. Of course, however, she had praised him this way and that way, leaving the dragon quite proud of himself. She might have laid it on a little too thick.  

He had continued cooking for her throughout their years together, mostly bowls of consommé or sometimes even venturing into creamy pasta sauces. She knew that he much preferred the soup, but Furina enjoyed the pasta a fair bit. It was a bit much, at times, but she could never resist Neuvillette. Despite being a dragon, the man had puppy dog eyes. Those intimidating violet eyes would widen and darken, as rain would begin to fall in the background if she even dared to think about refusing his cooking. 

So she didn’t. Each dish he made got better. Very soon, Furina felt almost addicted to the taste. Logically, of course, that was impossible. She had tasted the finest dishes in all of Fontaine and had never gotten addicted to anything except sugar. The cake Neuvillette had made once he decided to exploit her sweet tooth was the stuff of dreams. The vanilla frosting was delectable, making her feel as if she was floating on a sweet raincloud. She almost abandoned all manners to feast on the frosting itself, to shove her face into it like a kitten with a warm saucepan of milk. 

Just thinking of the taste sent a shiver up her spine. Her mouth watered, and all she could think of was tasting that unique flavor. If asked, she couldn’t quite describe it. A bit salty yet creamy. But it also had a faint smell like rainwater maybe? It was difficult to describe, but it was a taste she knew only as Neuvillette. It was in every dish he made, sometimes faint, at other times on the forefront. She craved it even now. Just a drop would be enough.

She shook her head, banishing the craving with sheer willpower. Furina had left the Palais. Neuvillette was not going to waltz into her apartment and cook for her, nor did she want him to. She was a five hundred year old human who could certainly manage to go grocery shopping again and buy something beside macaroni. She wasn’t sure as to what just yet, but the conversation with the traveler and Paimon had fired her up. There had to be something in the grocery store that she could buy and cook.

Furina entered the grocery store, still unsure of what to purchase. She knew that now she had something to do during the days, she could not simply take small bites of macaroni and call it a day. Back then, when she had first started her life as a human, she had mostly slept for hours on end. She ate one meal a day, maybe. A box of instant macaroni with seasonings included because nothing else looked appetizing. 

But now, everything had changed. She had a job, of sorts. Furina was ready to see the outside world, to immerse herself in human lives. The first step, she decided, was to attempt to cook something on her own. Maybe macaroni from scratch. She didn’t want to take too many risks and overextend herself when she was still recovering. 

She had said macaroni from scratch, but she really had no idea how to make something like that. According to chefs she had listened to in the past, it consisted of milk, flour, and butter, but how much? And in which order? And that must be only for a cream sauce, not a red sauce. Would she have to smash tomatoes together to make a tomato sauce? Did people cheat and use ketchup? 

Furina was not an idiot, nor was she as airheaded as many in Fontaine seemed to believe. But her mind was overwhelmed with hunger and a certain craving in her stomach. Looking at the many shelves of raw ingredients, she couldn't quite bring to mind what exactly it was she needed. Milk. Eggs. Both seemed similar to what she wanted, but not quite the same. Something thick and creamy and filling. 

Sauce? But the store had so many sauce choices. Marinara, alfredo, bolognese, pesto, truffle, and many others. The jars lined the shelves of the store like legions of inanimate mecha, ready to attack any who made the wrong choice. And there were so many sizes too. Did people really manage to eat a whole jar of pasta sauce bigger than Furina’s head? 

Aside from the paradox of choice Furina was facing, the real reason she kept staring at the shelf was because none looked appetizing. A jar of red, or green, or white, it was all the same. None of them were what Furina was craving. 

There, standing in the middle of the aisle like a lost cat, she could admit to herself the thing she had tried to avoid. When she had insisted to the traveler and Paimon that she had been doing fine, she was lying. She had barely been eating. When they asked if she was sick of macaroni, she lied. She could barely stomach the damn thing. When the traveler asked if having to do all of her own cooking was hard for her and Paimon wondered if she was struggling to cope, she got angry at them. She shouldn’t have. She was angry at herself, not them. 

Day and night, since leaving the Palais Mermonia, there had been an aching hole in her stomach. A hole she had been unable to fill no matter what she tried to put in it, which, admittedly, hadn’t been much. Anything she tried would fall out immediately, the food she ate doing the bare minimum to keep her alive. 

Neuvillette had the melusines deliver weekly care packages to her door. As an ordinary citizen, not the archon anymore, there was no need for him to care for her like that. She had refused to open the packages, and insisted that the melusines take them back to him. Even though she wanted to. With every fiber of her being, she wanted to open the packages. To once again hold something that Neuvillette had possibly touched, to look at the items and see concrete proof of his - his what exactly? His duty? His guilt towards her? 

She knew what she had hoped was inside. Neuvillette’s dishes, carefully packaged and sent right to her doorstep. Proof of his care. Concrete evidence that she had meant something to him in all those years, that she, as herself, still meant something to him. 

She forced herself to not cry. She forced down the scream bubbling from her chest, the cry of anger and indignation. Closing her eyes, she took deep breaths and tried to focus on anything other than the aching feeling in her chest and her eyes. She would not cry in public. She would not throw a tantrum like a child in the middle of the pasta aisle because she only wanted to eat Neuvillette’s food. 

Furina felt like a child. Or rather, there was the adult Furina who knew that she had to grow up and take some responsibility for herself. She was the one who insisted on going out to the grocery store today, the one who dared to attempt to make macaroni from scratch. Then there was the teenage Furina, the one who just wanted to stay at home and sleep, maybe forever. She didn’t care about what she ate, didn’t care about much of anything at all. And finally there was the child Furina. She was the loudest one at the moment, the one crying and begging and wanting to go home. Not to the apartment. She wanted to run into Neuvillette’s arms and cry in his lap. She wanted to be comforted by his large strong hands and fed her favorite foods by him until she felt better. 

Almost unconsciously, her gloved thumb came to her mouth for comfort. She could not bite anxiously at the fingernails with the fabric of the gloves in the way, so she took in more of the thumb into her mouth and suckled on the digit. Logically, she knew it was a terrible habit. But her hands had started to shake mere days after she left the Palais Mermonia, and biting at her fingers was the only way she knew to keep her hands steady. With her finger firmly gripped between her teeth or sucked into her mouth, they could not shake unconsciously. 

She stared at a particular jar of marinara sauce for a long time, only blinking, breathing, and sucking at her gloved thumb. One blink equaled one breath. Taking control of two ordinarily automatic bodily functions reminded her that she could also take control of her own life. There was really nothing to it. Blink. Breathe. Live. That was how humans functioned. 

“Madame, is there something I can help you with?”

Furina startled and nearly jumped into the air at the sudden presence of another person next to her. She was an idiot, she was still playing the fool, she was noticed. Her thumb peeled out of her mouth with a lingering connection of spittle. “No, of course not.” Her voice was unsteady, stumbling over her words as her hands fumbled with the empty shopping bag in her hands. 

“Have a good day, toodles!” With a slight wave of the fingers, not the hand with the wet one, Furina turned and skipped from the aisle like an actress jubilantly leaving the stage. Once she was out of the man's view, she scurried away like a rat escaping the barn without cheese. 

Her heart rate did not decrease until she found herself in an empty alleyway not too far from her own apartment. It was still beating like she was an animal of prey escaping the predator, but calmed with each second she spent taking deep lungfuls of air and leaning against the dirty wall. Breathe in. Hold it. Breathe out. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the shadows of the alleyway, taking in her surroundings. She did not plan to be caught so unaware again. 

That, she thought staring up at the blue sky, had been an abject failure. There were a few fluffy white clouds in the sky, and she smiled at the streak of incredible weather Fontaine had been having. It had not been like that in quite some time. So he was doing well. Or, well, reasonably well? Despite being the closest one to him in all those years, despite knowing his true nature, she could never really figure out what the rain meant. 

She knew enough to know that sun didn't necessarily mean happiness and rain didn't automatically mean tears, despite the nursery rhyme. He was a straightforward dragon, but he could be as moody as her at times. They really had been a perfect storm together, two blundering fools who had never understood their emotions and could never say what was on their minds. 

Maybe time apart would allow the both of them to grow. Perhaps that was a little too optimistic, but focusing on one's own complicated feelings was enough. Could a person really understand another without first understanding themselves? And so she put Neuvillette in the back of her mind again. He would forever be present, always the thread that tugged at her heart, but she decided to live her life, to dance without worrying if the rain would come in. 

Like that promise to herself had called to him, like he could feel her wavering, he was at her doorstep when she entered the street that led to her apartment. There was a box in his hands she recognized as the same one the melusines had delivered the packages in. The sight of him in the sun made her heart stop. He stood like a statue, patiently waiting for her return. For the second time that day, Furina was faced with a person on her doorstep she did not want to meet. Perhaps leaving the apartment to buy groceries was her problem. Maybe that action was cursed to present her with people she didn't want to see. She should have just stayed home. 

Furina was tired. It had been such a long day, of meeting people she did not want to meet, of getting roped into this ridiculous production, of stepping out of her doorstep and into the human world for the first time. All day long, she had felt the exhaustion in her bones and the hunger that shadowed every footstep. It had taken all she had to hide the shaking in her hands and show the world a Furina de Fontaine who was perfectly fine. 

But the sight of Neuvillette on her doorstep was the last straw. She could no longer stop the tremor in her hands. As if pulled to Neuvillette by an invisible string, she staggered towards him, uncaring of how she looked. Something in her body was screaming at her, yelling at her to reach him. At any cost. It couldn’t have been her mind, that had gone cold at the sight of him, blanking out any higher level thought. 

She approached her apartment wordlessly. Gone was the bluster of earlier in the day, the Furina that had been rankled and chastised the traveler and Paimon for commenting on her accommodations. She knew Neuvillette would never do something like that, and not only because he had picked the place out himself. He usually had tact. 

He turned to face her as she approached, but she knew it was not the sound of her heels on stone that had alerted him. The man always seemed to have a sixth sense for her presence, a fact that she equally cursed and celebrated. 

His lilac eyes met hers, holding her gaze for a second before taking her in in her entirety. Furina, trying not to be too self conscious, drank him in. It was as if the mere sight of him was able to clear her mind, like a traveler in the desert who had come across a secret oasis. He looked the same as he always had. Calm expression on his face like the placid waters, figure standing with impeccable posture, clothes neat and pressed. He was holding a box in place of the usual cane, but otherwise, nothing had changed about him since the last time she had seen him. 

She keenly felt the lightness on her head that she had grown so used to. Sun beat at her exposed neck and the dark fabric of her vest seemed to soak up the sun's rays causing her body to heat up unexpectedly. She blushed under his eyes, but made no movement, allowing him to take her in as she was. Her hands were fisted into her jacket in a poor attempt to hide their quake. 

“You have not been eating.”

Her body flushed all over. So much for saying he had tact. She glared up at him defiantly. 

“I have! I just went out to buy groceries!” She held out the bag like it was crucial evidence in court, swinging it in front of her with all of her strength. Barely any, at this point. The bag, being empty, fluttered in the wind before coming back down to her side. 

It was empty and she had brandished it in front of her like a prop sword she had no idea how to use. She felt the familiar mortification creeping into her bones, the feeling that she had royally screwed up and revealed her real fragile human self. There was the insistent voice in her head, an old friend by now, screaming at her to run. Hide for now, and return when it all blew over. A God should never be caught acting so terribly. 

He stared at the bag for a few silent moments. Then he stared at her like he used to, with a look of slight exasperation hidden behind normally impassive features. Was there any hint of fond feelings in those eyes? Had there ever been? 

The world narrowed down to his eyes, and she could forget the rest of it so easily. Like this, they were spending a day together like any other. Furina had made some sort of bold claim, Neuvillette had nearly rolled his eyes at her, and she could laugh at the expression on his face, like they were two friends playing around. 

But they weren't. They would never return to those days, and she was glad for it. Hadn't those days been so terrible? Hadn't she forced a smile every moment? Hadn’t she cried herself to sleep every night? Hadn't she prayed for the day when she no longer had to lie to his face? 

She couldn't stand the way he looked at her. If he would look at her like that, she would rather he didn't look at her at all. The flight instinct, which had been dampened by her reaction to his soft eyes, roared back into her brain. He was blocking her apartment door with his body. She could try to squeeze past, but that might invite some sort of bodily contact. It would be safer to run. 

Her feet tensed, muscles primed to move. “Well, if you've just come here to say that, then it was nice to see you. I've just remembered I need to go grocery shopping again, so have a good day and goodbye.” She gestured with the empty bag again as the words came out of her like rushing water. It sounded normal, right? Like someone saying goodbye to a former colleague after passing them on the street. Isn't this a funny coincidence, now I've got to run, see you maybe never. 

She turned away from him, empty shopping bag fluttering in the wind. A step forward and she was stopped by a force tugging her hand. It was like a steel trap around her leg set by a gentle hunter. It would only hurt if she resisted. Furina was so tired of resisting. Fighting on her own only made her exhausted, hungry, in pain. The hole in her stomach only seemed to grow with every passing minute. Would it really be so bad to allow herself to be caught in this trap? To allow herself to be caged, with good food and other creature comforts abound? She turned around. It was Neuvillette, one hand gripping her shopping bag. 

“My apologies, Miss Furina.” He released her bag awkwardly. Furina took an anxious step back, one leg extended behind her, ready to flee at any moment. Neuvillette took a confident step forward; his arm was still extended, ready to catch her at a moment's notice. 

“Miss Furina, given your circumstances, there may be slight issues with your body's growth and nutrition. I am,” he hesitated, and the expression on his face looked so fond her heart nearly stopped, “concerned, about your health.”

Oh. So that was why she had been feeling so terribly? To tell the truth, she hadn’t really cared as to the why of her physical state. Her brain had reasoned it was probably related to those five hundred years, with a sprinkle of her poor emotional state. Humans were fragile. Maybe that sort of stuff was normal. The hunger she was never able to shake. The coldness of her body. The tremor in her hands. The utter mental and physical exhaustion that blanketed her being, despite sleeping for sixteen hours a day. 

“I had the melusines deliver packages to your door once a week, but it seems you have not been open to receiving them.” She could hear the reprimand in his voice. Hot shame filled her, but she still shook as if she was freezing. Her eyes went to the floor, unable to meet his gaze. The girls had been so sweet and insistent, and it truly broke her heart to turn them away. All they had wanted to do was help. 

The package filled her field of view. It was a large box, stamped with the official seal of the Palais Mermonia and Neuvillette’s personal seal. “It contains food, medicine, and lotions. These should help with any physical discomfort you have been feeling.” Unable to do anything else or offer a word of protest, she took it. It was rather heavy, but she refused to stagger under the weight of it. She would not give Neuvillette any more reasons to pity her. Odd to say, given that she was accepting a care package like she was some sort of orphan child. 

She wanted him to leave. She wanted to crawl into a hole and never be perceived ever again. As if he sensed her internal anguish, Neuvillette spoke up again. “Furina, I-”, he stopped and each waiting second felt like agony. 

“I’m sorry.”

She kept her eyes down. They were blurring her perfect view of the stupid package. It was getting wet. She couldn’t let it get wet. 

In a mad rush, she stumbled forward, lurching with the weight of the package. Keys. Her hands fumbled about, shaking so much she was afraid she would drop her keys multiple times. Once the door was finally open, she shoved her way inside blindly and slammed it behind her. Perhaps Neuvillette was still standing outside, watching her lose her mind. It didn’t matter. 

The package dropped onto the floor with a bang, missing her feet by a hair. The resulting force of air loosened more tears from her eyelashes. 

Furina screamed. Then she screamed once again, tears dripping, spittle flying out of her mouth, for good measure.

Why?

Why had Neuvillette come here?

Why now?

She was going out.

She was talking to people.

She was no longer lying curled up into a ball on her bed, playing the past five hundred years in her mind and praying for a chance to rewind time. To do it all over again, but better. To fix every mistake, to be the archon Poisson had needed, to save everyone. To go back to a time when she and Neuvillette could talk so easily, about nothing at all.

She had just started living like a human and Neuvillette tugged on their frayed connection, the string that tied them together. He made her want to be divine again, only for him. Someone who could guide him, who would walk beside him in the human world for however long they had, for an eternity.

Outside, the rain started. Each raindrop was his tear, falling far more heavily than hers. 

That was why, she thought bitterly, she hadn’t wanted to see him. It would only hurt the both of them. Furina’s regrets, her pain, would pile up and flow away in tears, resonating with Neuvillette's heart. His big beautiful heart was too pure for this world. It was too easily tainted by her tears.

She took solace in the fact that she wasn't lying on the floor crying, that the rain was not so terrible. Furina wiped her tears. She was strong, she was emotionally stable, she was so very hungry. Crying took a lot out of a person. 

The package was still at her feet where she had dropped it. It called to her, pulled her down closer and closer until she dropped to her knees next to it. She was far too exhausted to drag the heavy thing onto a table and opted instead to open it right there in her foyer. Any tools were too far away. She needed the package weeks ago, and each moment without its contents made something inside of her ache. Her bare hands tore it open, pulling this way and that way until a small hole formed. Then it was only a matter of time until the whole thing opened up before her. It was carefully packaged, and as she pulled out the wrapping paper, she could see why it had been so heavy. 

Large glass jars of white substances lined the inside of the box. They all differed slightly in hue, and what looked like through the glass, texture. All of them were labeled, and as Furina looked at them, she was grateful for the precise labeling. She would hate to accidentally try to drink lotion or put pasta sauce on her body. But at the moment, she couldn't quite bring herself to care. If drinking lotion could fill the gnawing hole in her stomach, she would do so in a heartbeat. 

Luckily for her, there was no need. Her hungry eyes quickly landed on the jar she needed. The glass gleamed in the light of the hallway, lit up as if by a pin spot. She grabbed for it frantically and cradled it in her bosom as if it was a precious treasure. If she could, she would absorb the thing into her body, glass and all. 

The color was a familiar milky white, and Furina was instantly transported back to the first day she had tasted that soup. Neuvillette's soft eyes and warm hands. The look on his face, proud and hungry. The way she had chugged it, scalding as it was, to stop him from digging further into her illness. How she had nearly choked on it when the taste hit her tongue, then her mind. It had been so good. She needed it again. 

Furina dragged herself to her feet and raced to the kitchen, stumbling, the jar of soup heavy in her hands. Her heart was pounding and her hands were shaking so terribly she was terrified she would drop the jar. It was carefully set on her messy kitchen counter, on top of an unwashed cutting board and next to a half empty salt shaker. There was a clean pot in the back of the drawer that Furina had to jump to reach. The other pot was laying in the sink, still soaking from the damage done to it the night before. 

The clean pot was placed on the stove, and all Furina had to do was open the jar of consommé and pour it in. That was a task easier said than done. Her fragile hands, even through gloves, hurt so badly she thought she might tear the skin. If she was still in the Palais, she would have called Neuvillette over to open it five minutes ago. Which was not to say she wouldn’t have tried to open it herself first, of course. It had simply been some time since she last had to open a jar of something by herself. 

Why had he sealed it so tightly? Cursing him and herself, Furina squeezed her eyes shut as she smacked the side of the lid against the countertop. There was an awful thud, and she opened her eyes just a crack, praying that she had not irrevocably damaged something. It looked the same. Furina tried the lid again, this time turning it with only her leather glove. She wouldn’t want to damage the white satin. It did not budge.

Defeated but not in despair, Furina took a step back to glare at the jar as if it had done her personal harm. If hate opened jars, it would have popped open then and there. What had Neuvillette done to open jars? He had just used his hands. Furina, unfortunately, could not transform herself into a tall man that was secretly a dragon and had the strength of one, so she had to think of another way. This could not defeat her. She used chairs for things on the top shelf, used an umbrella when it was raining, and took human medicines for human sickness.

But if her only frame of reference was Neuvillette opening jars, then she could attempt to gain something from it. If it was Neuvillette then….water! She remembered reading something about that in a newspaper once. Hot water could loosen the seal on jars. She had never had the chance to test it out, but she really had nothing to lose by trying it. And even if she was no longer the hydro archon, Furina still felt a certain affinity to water that she would probably never be able to shake. 

Hot water did the trick. She pried the jar open and took a whiff of the contents. It hit her like a pathogen, as if all this time since leaving the Palais she had been in a deep sleep. And upon opening the jar, she woke up with a fever, her immune system aflame. 

She knew her body was lying to her. Neuvillette's consommé had been healing, repairing even her divine body. It, more than anything else, was what she needed. 

Furina waited impatiently for the pot to boil, unable to leave it for a single second. The aroma of the soup was like a lure in the ocean, the only spot of sustenance in this deserted sea, drawing her closer. Her eyes watered at the steam and her mouth salivated, nearly dripping out drool. The pressure of her lips didn’t seem able to hold her waters back, so Furina placed her thumb into her mouth and suckled on it absentmindedly. The hole in her stomach only seemed to grow with each passing minute. Why on Tevyat did boiling soup take so long? 

Once it had reached the barest simmer, after minutes that felt like eons, even worse than the 500 years she had spent as archon, Furina shut the heat off. There was no time for a bowl, or even a spoon. She grasped the sides of the pot with oven mitts and shoved the pot towards her mouth. 

It scalded her tongue but she pushed through. Through the burning sensation, she could taste that familiar feeling. An exquisite pleasure invaded her senses and a shudder ran through her body. Another mouthful. Around her, the walls of the Palais Mermonia, or more specifically, her room on the top floor popped up as if a scene had changed in a play. Expensive sheets swaddled her body, and Neuvillette’s eyes were on her, warm and expectant. 

Another gulp and the scene changed, now in Neuvillette’s office. They had been working on a rather difficult case, and Furina was getting sleepy. She, of course, insisted she was perfectly fine with staying up through the night to work on it. Upon glancing up from a blurry legal document, she saw that bowl of soup cradled in his large hands. He brought it up to her lips and that taste in her memories amplified the taste in her mouth. Her mind flashed through countless days of drinking Neuvillette's soup. 

She had known she missed the taste, but she had not known how bitterly she had missed it until that moment. It was odd how such small things were able to transport one back in time. Drinking his soup had been one of the only times she had felt safe. Comforted, like humans were when their mothers made them soup in bed. It was that warm and cozy feeling that she could hardly believe had come from a man she associated far more with rain and the cold. 

Her eyes watered. From the steam, from the memories, from all the times she had not thanked Neuvillette for the small comforts he had provided her. Even now, he was caring for her. In his own way, he had always cared for her. Back then, she hadn't wanted to believe it. Perhaps she had even thought it would be easier if he had never cared for her. 

But now, staring at the physical manifestation of his care for her, wet salty tears dripped from her eyes into the soup. Extra flavoring. She scoffed, thinking Neuvillette would probably enjoy the taste of her tears. Maybe, if she ever wanted to repay him, she should make a soup of her own tears. 

She took another sip. It tasted good. Maybe the dragon was onto something with tear flavored soup. Or maybe she was delusional, just trying to make the best of her situation. She was crying into a bowl of the best soup she had had in a long time, that was delivered to her by her ex-coworker. If she thought about the optics of her situation any more, she was liable to lose her mind. 

Furina decided to focus on the here and now. She grounded herself, cataloged her physical situations. The pot was heavy in her hands, which caused her arms to be sore. She set it down and stretched. The taste of the soup in her mouth lingered, allowing her to taste it in her throat and smell it when she breathed out. She breathed out. 

The smell of it invaded her nostrils. It lingered in her system, activating her receptors, sending a full body shiver down her spine. How could simple soup make her feel so good? Like she was tingling all over, like it had hijacked her body and kicked everything into overdrive. 

Maybe it was because she had been standing next to the stove for quite some time and drinking hot soup, but she suddenly felt overheated. The soft sound of rain outside reminded her that heat was not awful. It reminded her even more of Neuvillette, that he was suffering alone while she was losing her mind over his soup. She really needed to stop thinking about him if she ever wanted to stop ruining her own mood. More soup could fix her. 

She had drained the last bit of it in a poor attempt to keep her mind off of him. A hot shower, then. The thought of standing in a warm stream of water, running down her back like rainfall, gave her pause. She changed her mind. A hot bath would be far more relaxing. 

Wrapped up in a large and fluffy towel, Furina padded over to the box once again. She had glimpsed something in there that she was eager to try out. The bath had washed away her worries, left her mind clean and her body aching. There was nothing on her mind but that jar. 

Finally prying her prize from the rest of the bottles, Furina went to her bedroom as excited as a child with a new toy. She was single mindedly focused on the object in her hands, turning it over and marveling at the pale color behind glass. Each step of the way caused her towel to shift against bare skin, making her body itch and ache. 

She threw the towel to the floor in frustration. Exposed to the cool air of the room, her skin prickled. It still itched, and she threw herself on the bed, rolling around to try to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling. No matter what she did, she could not calm down. Even her cool sheets were irritating against her skin. She opened the bottle of lotion. 

The lotion smelled like him, like petrichor or rain over the sea and something sad yet kind, and so she filed it away in her brain under the file of things made by Neuvillette. She had no idea if he had actually made it. Cooking was easily doable, but lotion seemed to require a whole operation. There was that melusine, Sigewinne, who was into cosmetics. Maybe he had asked her for advice. She was a medical professional, and all the things in the package seemed geared towards promoting health. 

Her fingertips, raw and bitten to the quick, almost bloody, stung when they came into contact with the cool lotion. She bit her lip and worked through the pain. The lotion must have had some medicinal properties, for the sting stopped almost as quickly as it had begun. It was cool to the touch and spread easily on her skin, seeming more water based than oil based. She would expect nothing less from him. She rubbed it into her skin with soothing circles, careful to cover every inch. It had been so long since she had properly cared for her own body. Now that she no longer had a divine body, Furina assumed she would start to grow and change. Her fingernails were the first proof of that. Wrinkles, stretch marks, flabby skin, sun spots, and even scars would mar her perfect body. 

She was not vain, but was it not only natural for a young woman to wish to preserve her beauty? Suddenly, she cursed herself for the neglect she had shown her own body. It was precious, the only body she had now, the only body she would ever have. Even as a divine being she had only managed to separate consciousness, not create two separate bodies. 

She wondered idly, as she spread the lotion over her arms, what sort of oceanid she had been. An ancient book she found in the library of the Palais detailed differences between oceanids. Had that watery body been as sensitive as her fragile skin was? Her skin rippled in goose flesh at the cold touch of lotion, then burned inside and out, yearning for more. 

Had Egeria hand crafted each one? And what of the oceanids turned into humans? How had she been born or made? 

Now that everything had happened, Neuvillette was probably the only person on Tevyat with answers. The hydro dragon was the god of life, or so they said. She spread the lotion over her abdomen and rubbed it in with slow circles. Then lower, past her belly button, over her womb. There was a fire there that the cool lotion only seemed to fuel. How long had that been burning? Furina did not know. But it was there, rolling under her skin, sparking up a signal in the night sky. How would it feel, to mold life? Would it be like sculpting clay? 

Her hands traveled up to her ribs, ran along the ridges and counted each bone. Could man be molded from something as simple as a rib bone? A slight movement of her hands and she grazed the curve of her breast. Who decided what parts grew and what did not? Was it the amount of molding material left? 

She cupped the swells, one in each hand. Small. Not even enough to be called a wave. Still, she massaged them in lotion, and watched a milky cream cover her pale tits. The pink of her nipples looked like fruit upon a frosted cake. She toyed with them, pinching and rolling in circles as if they were little cherries. 

Her mouth drooled as she watched the movement of her own hands. The lotion over her breasts looked as tasty as the soup she had. She wished for the first time that her breasts were large enough for some flexibility, so she could take the tit into her own mouth and suckle on the nipple. Her fingers made do, tugging and squeezing like she was trying to draw milk from them. 

The movement of her fingers was hurried, harsher with each passing moment, her body desperate for the sharp twinge of something that would course down her spine. She was nearly out of breath, panting and drooling even with such small movements. A particularly rough twist of her nipples caused her to bite back a whimper of pain and sent her legs clenching, squeezing together in an attempt to brace herself. 

Her legs came together in a wet slap of skin, slippery against her sheets despite the lack of attention she had shown them. The sheets were drenched with sweat and the river of wetness that flowed from her lower mouth. Yet she still felt that her legs were not slick enough. They had not yet been imbued with the lotion that smelled of the sea, the substance that would release her from this mortal form and make her body anew. 

Releasing her aching nipples, still tingling from the abuse they had suffered at their own hands, she once more scooped a generous dollop of lotion. She soothed the pain with slow movements, rolling her fingers over each stiff peak. The coolness of the lotion burned her sensitive skin, like diving into a cold pool after spending time in the hot tub. 

Still reeling from the icy hot balm on her nipples, her hands traveled down to her untouched legs. The lotion on her sweat soaked legs was an odd feeling, and she almost wanted to get back in the tub and wash all of it off. Cleanse herself of the desire that covered her body, infected her with need. But the ache in her heart and the matching one in her core overrode her conscious mind. She could not stop now. Not when the fire in her belly was only just beginning to be stoked, growing with each drop of lotion. 

How odd, that she burned inside and out when her skin was so soaked. The watery lotion mixed with the waters she shed from her skin, leaving her feeling as if she had truly been submerged in the ocean. The scent of salt, rainwater, and her own arousal was thick in the air, making each gasping breath she took a veritable cocktail of sensation. 

Each movement, each new glob of lotion slathered over pale skin, sent a shock to her core. The lotion made her skin silky smooth, and she rubbed herself in amazement, feeling as if she had nearly returned to that watery form. Her legs shifted together, wet and slippery, and she almost felt as if the lotion had truly given her an oceanid's tail. She was soft and wet all over. 

Her hands glided down her body as if through water, an easy slide until the soft patch of hair before the pool of her desire. Even a gentle tug at the hairs seemed to set her off, the throbbing of her clit ringing through her like an alarm. It urged her to attend to it before the fire burned out of control. 

Her clit was beyond sensitive, a small drag of her fingernails against it causing her legs to splay, tail split for easier access. It was not wet enough. Even with all the wetness all over her, soaking into her bedsheets, she did not feel wet enough. Her fingers dipped down into that sacred pool, the barest graze for a little bit of nectar. 

She was wet down there. Suddenly, her body seemed to be in hyperfocus. The uncomfortable wetness of her sheets against her butt caused her to raise her hips off the bed, back arched and cool air hitting her lower body. Biting her lip, she pressed two fingers into herself, a whimper nearly escaping her. 

The inside of her ached in a different way than the outside. But it was still a tingling sensation, one that she knew she could soothe. Mind racing, she glanced wildly around the room, searching for the solution. Something inside of her. Something that could satisfy the ache. Her eyes landed on her bedside table, on that bottle of lotion sitting uncapped. The lotion had cleansed her, had set her skin on fire and then soothed it with calming waters. 

If she wet the inside of her with lotion…

Her hand reached out for the lotion before her conscious mind could finish the sentence. She stopped herself midair, hand trembling with the force of being held back. She couldn’t put lotion up her cunt. What was wrong with her?

Shivering, she clasped her hands to her chest. It had just been a stray sexual fantasy. One of those unrealistic ones, like if a person suddenly thought masturbating on the stage of the Opera Epiclese was a good idea. It didn’t mean she actually wanted to do it. It had truly just been an intrusive thought.

But it had also been really hot. Furina squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, trying to banish the thought. If it was just a fantasy, then there was no harm in indulging, right? Maybe it had occurred to her because she never had something up her vagina other than her own fingers. Touching herself all over with the lotion had somehow caused her to associate it with something sexual, and she turned to it to try to satisfy herself. 

She grasped the bottle of lotion, feeling the cool glass on her fingers. It calmed her. She closed her eyes once more and took a deep breath. In her mind's eye, she dipped her fingers into the bottle of lotion. She could feel the fluid on her fingers as if it was actually there, a generous portion of it, covering her fingers up to the second knuckle. 

Her fingers traveled back between her legs. The wetness on her fingers met the wetness coating her inner thighs, and she thrusted her hips up, presenting the hole she needed filled. Her breath came out in staccato pants, chest moving like the wings of a small bird. The constant sharp breaths were interrupted by a sharp keening cry when wet fingers entered her wet hole. 

Two fingers were a tight fit, and her vaginal walls clenched down around them instinctively. Still, she kept pushing until her fingers were mostly inside, past the second knuckle. If she had truly covered her fingers with the lotion, it would be fully inside of her now. Biting her lip, she let the fantasy run wild. The wetness that covered her fingers would finally be able to mix with the wetness inside of her, not unlike when she had covered her sweat soaked skin with the lotion. She rotated her wrist and scissored the fingers inside of her, moaning as she rubbed the inside of herself so deeply that lotion would have been absorbed in her walls. Her pussy ached at the thought, clenching down and needing his lotion so badly. But there was another place, even further back where her fingers could not reach, that needed it even more. 

She wished her fingers were longer. As she thrusted in and out, pushing a little further in each time, she wished to thrust the wet into the wet. To shove her fingers, or something larger and longer, into that place that ached for it, to release the wetness into it. It would be like coming home, a boat entering safe harbors.

Without the length though, she found herself floundering. Tossed about on stormy waves, nearly drowning. She gasped for air each time her fingers nearly breached the surface of the waters, then tossed her head back and gargled water as she hit a particularly sensitive spot. The waves of pleasure grew stronger, and she was unable to catch her breath, legs tensing and hand cramping from how furious her movements had become. 

Her other hand moved to work at her clit, bringing enough wetness to drown it. She surrendered herself to the pleasure, let it guide her movements. Rubbing her clitoris, working at the muscles in her cunt, thrusting her hips, she found herself riding the wave of pleasure. Fighting against it did not work. She rode it, became one with it, felt the sensation course through her body until it was all she could feel. 

She came to a rolling orgasm, waves pushing her to the shore, then washing over her, attempting to drown her once more. Gasping for short breaths of air, limbs flailing for a semblance of control, her orgasm shook her body until she had no choice but to lay there on the shore, cold and wet. 

Lying on her bed, shivering, sweat running down what felt like every plane of her body, mind nearly overwhelmed, all she could think of was how big the bed felt. It was far smaller than the bed she had used in the Palais, but at that moment, it felt as vast as the great desert of Sumeru. Barren, desolate, not a drop of water to be found. Buried underneath the shifting sands were the remains of past glories, of innumerable human dreams forever unfulfilled. 

She had a dream a long time ago. Once, when she was shivering in a way not dissimilar to this, she had dreamed of an insistent knock at her door. Long legs that would cross the room in an instant. Strong arms that would hold her so perfectly. As the wind shifted the desert sand and echoed through the canyon, lulling her to sleep, that dream came to life, springing forth as if it were a well of water buried deep underground. 

Neuvillette was here with her. With his presence, even the desert was at the perfect temperature. The countless grains of sand were their haven. A little world, just for the two of them. Skin against skin, they lay on the sand, but it could not bother them. They drank each other’s water, counted the constellations in the night sky and thought of nothing but the presence of the other.

Chapter Text

“Tea time!” a loud feminine voice sounded through the building. 

Furina took the pen out of her mouth and looked up from where she had been crouched over, writing notes on the script. The poor pen was covered in her drool and indented with teeth marks from where she had worried it as she thought about what changes she needed to make. It felt like it had been mere minutes since she had started to work on the script. Her hands hurt, her back ached, and her butt was sore, but she felt a strange lightness in her heart. It had been so long since she had thrown her all into a performance and poured sweat and tears into a creative endeavor. She was nowhere near done, but it was tea time. 

It was one of Fontaine's proudest traditions, and one she was happy to have kept alive. Unlike Mondstaters, who were focused on their tradition of alcohol before noon, Fontanians enjoyed tea, water, coffee, and desserts at a certain time. When Furina had been in charge of productions, she would order cake and refreshments from the Hotel Debord. Suddenly, she felt very ashamed of forgetting to have gotten anything for the troupe. She was just a consultant, but she had more mora than she knew what to do with, while the rest of the troupe was struggling. 

She cautiously made her way to the dining table, hoping to remain inconspicuous. Furina could never resist a good dessert, but she hoped she would be able to restrain herself and only take one.

It was a lovely spread. Pots of hot water, tea, tea bags, and coffee lined the table like meka. The rest of it was covered in shades of yellow and brown. Madeleines. Some dusted in sugar, others dipped in chocolate, they all looked supremely delectable. 

The rest of the crew gathered around, and Lauwick's eyes widened. “Madeleines?” 

“I never thought I'd see these again,” Vilmant said in a wistful tone. 

Pauleau stepped forward. “I found the recipe in her notebook. Sorry,” he turned to Furina and the Traveler apologetically, “but I needed to read her last words with my own eyes.” His voice trembled with emotion and unshed tears, but he pressed on courageously. “Reading it did not change what had happened to her, but this recipe brought me some closure. Thank you to everyone for helping with the production, whether you knew Aurelie or not. This was her recipe. These were the madeleines she used to make for us.”

There were tears all around. Furina felt it swelling up in her eyes and sniffled. She wished she had spent her time better. Gotten to know more people, participated in their lives, met Aurelie and told her how important she was. 

“Hey.” Furina felt the presence next to her before she heard her voice and looked up, blinking back tears. 

It was Dulphy, handing her a steaming cup of black tea and a madeleine. Furina took them with trembling hands. Dulphy grabbed her own set and brought the madeleine to her nose, inhaling softly. 

“She used to make these for us whenever it was a particularly difficult day of rehearsal. Traditionally, we dip it into the tea and take a bite as we pray for the hydro archon's guidance.”

Her face flamed up, and she stared at her tea like she could disappear into it. 

“Ah, I'm sorry. Just jokingly, you know, for inspiration,” she said, smiling awkwardly. 

Furina looked up. Well, these things happened, right? She used to be a god. She should be used to this kind of stuff. “It's alright,” she said. Then softly, “Director Aurelie was an incredible person, wasn't she? I can't imagine working on directing and baking all of these for you guys.” 

Dulphy dipped her madeleine in the cup and then took a bite. Her face lit up in pleasure, but her eyes were sad. Pained, as if the bite brought those memories back to the forefront. “She really treated all of us like family. Even though it was tiring, she took on all of those burdens so we could focus on the stage.” She sighed and took another bite. “These madeleines were only one of the many ways she showed how much she loved us.”

Furina dipped it and took her own bite. It was unexpectedly good. She had had far finer madeleines made by the finest chefs in Fontaine, but this one tasted different. Looking at Dulphy's face while she ate her's though, confirmed for her that she was not getting the same depth of flavor. If food could show such love even from beyond the grave, if the troupe could have such a strong reaction to it even if made by someone else, then what did it mean for her own reaction to Neuvillette’s foods? 

Did he really care for her like that? Like family? Or, more importantly, were her reactions to his soup driven by her own feelings? 

She didn't know. Taking a long drink of her tea, she tried to recall the feelings that drinking his soup had stirred in her. Warmth all over her body and all inside of her. A need that filled her, leaving her craving for more. Thirst, unquenchable, leaving her mouth dry and her throat sore. A hurt in her heart. Her mind clouded over and only thinking of the bowl in front of her. 

Putting it all together in her head, it almost seemed like a sickness. An elevated heart rate, high temperature, and a clouded head. But Furina had been sick before. She had been so sick she thought she would die, despite the curse on her body. That first soup he had made for her had cleansed her sickness, leaving her feeling far more healthy. She had rarely gotten sick since then. But in the weeks since leaving the Palais and her post as Archon, she had felt so sick at times she thought she would die, withering away once her task was complete. Miraculously, she survived. And since she had accepted his gifts some weeks ago, she was feeling better than ever. 

Her hands no longer shook, but nibbling at her fingernails and sucking her thumb or other implements had become such comforting actions that she found she could not stop the habit. In fact, it had only gotten worse, as she had started to suck at her own fingers as soon as the craving for Neuvillette’s foods started. The habit made wearing gloves rather disgusting, so she had been switching to working on a pen with her mouth whenever she had one handy. 

She had also been indulging in self pleasure a lot more. It made her blush to think about it, but she was now a young human woman with needs. Those needs had, of course, been present when she had been the archon, but she was usually able to stamp it out. There was no room to want and lust when the prophecy was hanging over her head. Now there was. With a belly full of his soup, Furina felt free to indulge in self pleasure. 

The mere thought of his soup made her crave it, so she downed the rest of the tea and bit her lip in a poor attempt to soothe the craving. Looking around the room, everyone was talking. Reminiscing Aurelie and speaking about the production, moving forward with the weight of her legacy. There was an odd feeling in the air, of both sorrow and determination. She put the thoughts of Neuvillette in the back of her mind. She would help the troupe realize their dreams, at any cost.

Furina was tired. It had been some time since she had interacted with so many people all at once, or flexed her creative muscles and threw herself into working on a stage production. She felt a bit out of place, like a fish that had been moved from one pond to another. Swimming wasn't the problem, she had been doing that since she was born. But the environment was a little unfamiliar. 

Luckily, she no longer had to worry about also struggling with food. Humming a song from the play to herself, she grabbed one of the jars from the box that had been set on her doorstep the other day. Neuvillette hadn't come to deliver it himself. Or maybe he had, and she had simply missed him. It didn't matter. It wasn't like she was looking forward to seeing him. In fact, she still felt incredibly embarrassed about accepting those gift packages, glancing up and down the street, praying that the banging and clanging from the nearby forge was loud enough to cover the sound of her footsteps. 

As she hefted the jar onto the counter, there was a knock at her door. She glanced at the jar, looking oh so delectable. Her stomach growled, and she put her thumb in her mouth to suck at it in an attempt to pacify the craving. She really needed his soup. But it was only good manners to answer a knock at the door. And maybe it was Neuvillette, there to cook her something fresh. She smacked her hand onto her forehead. Why was she thinking of Neuvillette at this time? He was a busy man, there was no way he would come to cook dinner for her. Nor did she want him to. 

Cursing herself for thinking of Neuvillette, she abandoned the jar on the counter with a huff. She would deal with that later. After she saw to whatever visitor she had. 

She threw open the door, perhaps a bit too rudely for a random visitor. “Yes, who is it?” 

A familiar face. Stormy eyes and an impassive visage. A bag held securely in one hand. “Oh! Clorinde!” Blushing, she stepped back from the doorway and allowed her friend to enter. “I'm so sorry about the door.”

“Don't worry,” she said, lips quirked up to a wry smile. “I've broken my fair share of doors.” Furina hadn't been the one to oversee Clorinde's damage reports, that was in Neuvillette’s purview, but she did recall the staff complaining about the woman's rather straightforward method of entering. 

“Yes, well, what brings you here?” 

“I have the night off. Would you like to go to dinner?” she asked. 

Furina bit her lip and glanced back longingly at the jar sitting on the counter top. She had craved that soup all day, so much so that it had nearly been the only thing getting her through the day. But she didn't want to refuse Clorinde. If she said no too many times, she wouldn't want to hang out anymore. 

Clorinde caught her glance and decided to give her an out. “If you're in the middle of something, we can go out another time.” 

She shook her head wildly. She couldn't say no. If she said no, Clorinde would leave and she would never see her again. “I was just going to make dinner.”

“Oh?” The woman arched one elegant eyebrow. “We can have dinner in.”

This was not good. For some reason, she didn't want Clorinde to see the food that Neuvillette brought her. Maybe she was scared of judgment. Furina was a five hundred year old human, but here she was, still relying on gifts from Neuvillette. She had moved out to be independent and start a new life. The last time she had talked to Clorinde, she had even declared that to her face. That she didn't really need help, and she was going to be just fine on her own. 

“Well, I'm not great at cooking yet so…” A tried and true tactic. Offer a kernel of truth so the other party was satisfied and would not pry into the real secret. 

“It's fine. I can help.” She strode into the kitchen, Furina following wide eyed and panicked. 

She darted in front of her with a speed she hadn't known she possessed and did her best to hide the jar of soup on the counter top with her own body. Her body was trembling, and she had the sudden urge to worry at her finger with her mouth. She could not do that in front of Clorinde. The woman would lose what little respect she had left for her. Her hands tightened on the counter behind her, willing her hands to stay still. 

Clorinde paused and took the situation in. Furina knew that look. It was the look of a hunter analyzing her prey, the champion duelist sizing up a far weaker opponent. In her mind, Furina must look like a scared little doe, flighty and weak. Easy prey.

“Furina,” she said in a soft voice, like coaxing a kitten from the bushes, “Navia sent me these macarons to give to you.” She placed the bag on the counter. 

She flinched at Navia’s name. That day in Poisson had been about two weeks ago now. It had been the first time that she saw firsthand the anger and mistrust the people still had for her. Luckily Navia and the Traveler had been able to calm everyone down, but she shouldn’t have to hide behind their generosity forever. She should have faced them and apologized. She would. Someday. She had to. 

“Navia doesn’t hold a grudge against you. She wants to get to know you.”

She was so young, but had a large heart. Furina had been jealous of Navia many times over in the past few years. It had, at times, felt like the two were both stars, one rising as another fell. The Spina’s influence over Fontaine had risen to an unprecedented level since the prophecy had ended. She wouldn’t be surprised if Fontaine soon saw the construction of the Melus and Silver lines, as well as the rebuilding of the Callas line. And the young woman was an incredible cook, willing to share those beautiful macarons like she shared her heart with so many people. Furina couldn't do that. She could only take from others. Accept Neuvillette’s food, Navia's macarons, Clorinde's time. 

“I don’t know,” she said, fingers still clutching the counter. She wanted to dig those fingers into her heart and root out the disgusting jealousy that had infected her. 

“Of course,” she said and nodded in acknowledgement. “Take your time. Navia is sincere, and very generous.” Her voice was wistful, full of unvoiced feelings and untouched fondness. If Furina had thought she had been jealous of Navia before, that was nothing compared to the feeling inside her chest now. Did someone ever sound like that about her? Like they cared about her so much that they at once wanted to scream her virtues from the top of Mount Esus so the world would hear and whisper them in the quiet of the night so no other would love her as much as them? 

“A-anyway,” she sputtered out, shaking the thought from her mind, “I don't have any alcohol right now, so we should probably go out.” She had lost her taste for drink recently, but there was nothing wrong with drinking socially. It just hadn't had the same kick it used to. A glass of wine in the tub used to be one of her favorite relaxation methods. But now, that paled in comparison to drinking Neuvillette's consomme in the tub. Feeling the warmth in her body rise both from the gentle water lapping her and the warm soup filling her both relaxed her body and turned her on.

She was sure she was blushing just thinking about it. It felt like she was cocooned in warmth, filled up with love and care. Drinking his soup did something to her, something she wasn't sure was right but felt too good to stop. It was something she could never share, one more secret that burdened her heart. Not with Neuvillette, or, gazing at the woman in front of her, Clorinde.

“So, let's go out,” she said, voice full of bravado and an excitement she did not feel. 

Clorinde's eyes narrowed, and she looked unexpectedly frustrated. But she nodded nonetheless and led the way out the door, just as she had when she had been Furina's champion duelist and personal guard. 

“I remember how you used to enjoy this place,” Clorinde said, spearing a piece of her steak with a fork. 

Furina spun her noodles around her fork. She took a bite, and left the empty fork in her mouth, licking between the tines and letting the cool metal rest against her teeth and between her lips. She had loved this restaurant, kind of. But even that had been a part of the persona. Or maybe that was real? It was hard to tell what she actually liked and what she thought she had to like. But now, of course, there was no question. She looked up at the woman sitting across from her, the first person Furina could call a friend. Clorinde didn't say much, but she was honest and trustworthy. She didn't want to lie to her. Not anymore. 

“Well, to tell you the truth,” she paused and leaned closer, “I've always enjoyed home cooking a lot more.” That was enough. That was as close to the truth as she could get without outright saying it. 

“You miss Neuvillette.” 

A shot from her pistol straight into Furina's heart. She felt herself reeling, body nearly physically pushed back by the force of the blow. There was a gaping wound in her body, exposing all of her vulnerable parts. Feelings poured out of her like blood, oxidizing into excuses once they reached the cool air of the night. 

“What?” She sputtered, clutching her chest with her napkin, doing her best to stop the blood from spilling out of her. “I didn't say that, where did you get that from?” 

The woman across from her raised an elegant eyebrow. Those sharp eyes missed nothing, cataloging each twitch and awkward movement the prey in front of her made. “I was your bodyguard for several years.” Years of shadowing her. Years of ferrying Furina from Neuvillette and to Neuvillette. 

Furina's mind was in a whirl. She had never thought anything of those meals she would share with Neuvillette. Odd, come to think of it, given how concerned she had been with how she was perceived. Somehow, once Neuvillette had placed a bowl of food made by his own hands in front of her, the rest of the world faded away. 

There was only his presence near her and the comforting taste of his foods in her mouth. She had always assumed they had been alone, so singularly trusting in Neuvillette that there had been no need to think of anything else. But of course Clorinde had noticed. There had been so many times back then when she had shed her public persona like clothes and dived into the ocean that was Neuvillette, uncaring of any onlookers. 

She took a bite of the noodles with her fork. The clam sauce tasted disgusting. Oceanic, but not the right kind. It had been quite nice earlier in the evening, but now she just wished she was at home instead. She should never have asked Clorinde to go out to dinner. 

Right now, she could be eating one of Neuvillette's reheated meals. It would pair perfectly with a nice glass of water, so much more palatable than the expensive white wine in her glass. His food would be so filling, unlike this expensive restaurant where the meal was mostly plate. She would then take a nice bath to cleanse herself of any impurities from the hustle and bustle of the day, then use Neuvillette's special lotion. It would leave her skin nice and creamy, soft to the touch. Then she would be free to indulge in a night of self pleasure. Her cheeks pinkened at the thought, core clenching and heating up as if the mere thought invited action. 

“It's okay to miss him.” Clorinde's voice cut through her indecent thoughts. 

Furina nearly choked on a noodle and had to chug her entire glass of wine in an attempt to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling in her throat. As she coughed and tried to straighten herself out, her mind tried to trace back the conversation from when her thoughts had deviated. Something about Neuvillette. She hadn't missed him at all. Why, she had just been thinking about spending a pleasurable night at home alone. There had been no unreasonably tall, unbearably beautiful, imperfectly perfect dragon man in that fantasy. 

“I don't miss him,” she said, tone sharp. 

Clorinde sighed and took a methodical cut at her steak. She knew that look in the woman who had once been her bodyguard. Clorinde often used action to sort through her thoughts. She looked oddly annoyed, brow furrowed and eyes as sharp as they always were when she was planning a hunt. “He misses you,” she said finally. 

The woman was not known to lie. But Furina could not think of any reason why she was so insistent about Neuvillette. Perhaps it was odd for her to see the two of them so disconnected from each other? Well, she would have to get over it. Neuvillette was so far off her stage now that it was like he was standing outside of the opera house. So he missed her. So she might miss him. What did it matter? 

“More wine,” she called out to a passing waiter. Then, facing Clorinde, “We should head to a bar next.”

“Furina,” she heard distantly, like the sun breaking through the clouds during a rainstorm. “I am your friend, but-”

“Yay!” She threw herself into the soft cushion, a nice foam ball pit. The balls were very large, very nice, and very soft. They did, however, feel more like fabric than foam, but that was a minor concern. 

“Friends!” But if they're friends, shouldn't she have invited her friend to play in the ball pit with her? “Cloriiiiinnnnnde,” she whined. “Play with meeeee.” There were arms around her, lifting her out of the ball pit.

“Noooooo!”

“But maybe I should be clocking in every time we go out. Monsieur Neuvillette would probably pay me for this.”

Her ears perked up. There was no sun breaking through the clouds. Just pure, uncomplicated rain, the best feeling in the world. The rain wrapped her up like a warm hug, yet sent shivers up her body. It was the sound of his name, the pitter patter of her heart. 

“Neuvillette?” she asked. She couldn't feel him, but if Clorinde said he was here, then?

“No, he's not here.” 

She was silent for a moment. Oh. So he hadn’t come to see her. But this too could be an opportunity. They were friends. And she knew that Neuvillette liked Clorinde almost as much as she did. Maybe it would be okay. She got on the tippiest of her tiptoes, barely enough to reach her ear. 

“Clorinde,” she said seriously. Not drunk, no, completely sober and willing to share her deepest darkest secret treasure with her friend. She looked right into those pretty violet eyes. They sparkled like electro. Furina’s own eyes splashed like hydro. Between them, their gaze was electrocharged. 

“Do you want to come in?” She ran a hand up Clorinde’s arm. The woman really was well muscled. Furina liked a woman who could handle her weaponry, she decided, giving those muscles a squeeze as she made her way up the woman's arm. Finally, she grabbed her shoulder for leverage because being on her tiptoes when she wasn't quite feeling in tip top shape was not doing wonders for her balance. That shoulder was nice and broad. Strong, like a pillar, easily able to hold her weight. Clorinde probably had to get all of her clothes custom fitted, just like Furina did, although the parts to be taken in and let out were very different. 

“And drink Neuvillette’s special sauce with me?”

Those pretty violet eyes widened, but otherwise she gave no reaction. As expected from Furina’s champion duelist. She never indulged herself, never felt the sheer want course through her, and the high of finally taking it. Well, Furina could show her a whole new world of pleasure.

“It’s so thick and creamy that it's almost hard to swallow.” She felt saliva gather in the mouth, readying her to take him. “And it's so filling.” She almost moaned the word, thoughts only of Neuvillette's cream sauce filling her up. Her free hand came up to her stomach. “It fills me up so good I can almost feel it here.” No, not her stomach. Her hand traveled lower, past her belly button. Lower, to where she really wished Neuvillette could fill her. Past the hem of her vest. Her hand went under the fabric and grazed the waistband of her dark shorts, nearly teasing at the button. 

Her need brought her down. It coursed through her body like the river after the breaking of a dam, flooding all of her secret parched patches. All she knew was the rushing water. It had transformed the landscape of her mind. No longer able to stay on her tiptoes, Furina gripped the wall in front of her for support. Her knees buckled when she fingered the buttonhole of her shorts. 

When had her shorts opened? When had her teasing fingers separated metal from fabric?

She really needed to concentrate on what the rest of her body was doing while her mind was still stuck on the sight of that raging river, sweeping away everything in its path. One hand was on the wall- the only thing keeping her upright now that her knees had fallen. The bad hand was now somehow on the border of her panties, and she could not get it to stop moving despite her best efforts. Her sweat soaked face collapsed into the white wall in front of her, but its odd warmth did her no favors. She was being swept away by a roaring river, so why was it so hot? 

Heat radiated from all of her. Her core, her face, every little piece of skin was emanating heat. Neuvillette could cool her down. He was always so cool. Like actual rushing water or the placid lake. If Neuvillette was here? In her mind’s eye, he was there. He was here, right behind her. He controlled the raging river, bringing it to heel with his authority. 

Her wayward hand, so disobedient, a beast that only acted on instinct, was tamed by him. He guided it as a master would, teaching it to slow so she could savor the thrill of each point of contact. Led by him, it crossed the barrier of her panties with barely a disturbance. 

His strong hand overlapped her own, combing through her pubic hairs together. She could feel the pressure of his body, and his desire, behind her. His hardness pressed up against her backside, so close she drooled from sheer want. There was a little heartbeat between her legs that resonated with the beating dragon heart, the heart of the primordial sea. What she wanted, no, needed, was right behind her. She needed to pull down her shorts and bend over so he could use her as he saw fit. 

But he stayed cool. He teased her. His fingers parted and her hands followed the movement, circling around the protruding nub of her pleasure. Then, a light alternating pressure on either side of her clit. One then another, then in unison, as if their fingers were playing chopsticks on her body. An insistent pressure on the nerve endings underneath her skin, but not where she needed him the most. 

A squeeze of the fingers together and she gasped with her whole chest, mouth falling open and drool escaping her. He had decided to squeeze the air out of her, to force her body into a heightened state of awareness. It was a floaty sort of awareness, where she could feel both the pressure of his need against her backside and the softness her head was leaning against. Both were secondary to the insistent need in her core and the awareness of her body as an instrument of pleasure. She was adrift in the raging river, ready to sink or swim at his command. 

He urged her to take the plunge. 

Their hands sank down, closer and closer to that wet hole.

A strong hand broke through the waves and gripped her forearm. Only hers. Neuvillette’s hand had gone on without her, and had dissolved into the waters. Even the insistent pressure of his need had disappeared. 

Around her the river collapsed. It receded into the ground, sinking into the dirt as if it had never been there. She blinked and there was stone beneath her feet, streetlights illuminating her view, buildings in the background, Fontaine back at the forefront of her mind. 

She was outside her front door. Neuvillette was streets away in the Palais Mermonia. The sweat on her face was dripping onto the white wall she was leaning against, and each pant she let out seemed to echo, sending the wall thudding in return. It was not a wall, of course. It had been too soft to be a wall. She did her best to straighten up, to stop leaning on her friend as if she were an inanimate object. 

“Clorinde,” she panted out. She could barely make out her figure behind those sweat soaked bangs. Furina hung her head, feeling the pounding of drunkenness and the hangover of lust mixed with the cocktail of shame she was chugging down. Her body was too hot from all of those emotions, but the night breeze still stung against her wet skin. The ground seemed to spin. No, it rose and fell like waves attempting to drag her under. 

The hand pulled her musky fingers out of her underwear, and deftly did up her shorts. Her movements were swift, not wasting an extra second of standing outside the door, but she was not unkind. “Come.” Clorinde’s hand released hers. “Give me the key, and let’s get you to bed.” 

Clorinde hesitated, then reached out to brush a few stray hairs from her forehead. Her skin was soft, yet fragile, almost like porcelain. The heated flush that had covered her body was nearly gone, leaving only a faint warmth. Smooth, untouched, unmarked. Yet in the corner of her eye, that bottle of lotion on the bedside table watched the scene unblinkingly. 

“Neuvi?” The word was murmured as if in prayer, a benediction for only one being's ears. The woman on the bed shifted, lips parted to await a kiss from the heavens. As if on cue, clouds gave way and the light of the moon shone through the gap in the curtains. Light dappled the bed, shadowed the curves of her body beneath the sheets, kissed her lips with a tenderness only found in the movement of the world. She was beautiful in her vulnerability. 

Her fingers stilled against soft skin, and her breath slowed as if she had caught a doe in her sights. A doe in a meadow, bathed in moonlight. Measured slow breaths, even softer than the gentle breeze. Even a single wrong movement could cause her to lose the prey. Her grip tightened on the stock of her rifle. She became a shadow in the night, incorporeal. Her finger against divine skin was left where her body had been, frozen, awaiting orders. 

As if she had gotten on her knees and prayed for divine guidance, the scene outside shifted. The guiding light of the moon, so strong mere moments ago, was broken by dark clouds. Darkness stole the woman’s lips from the moonlight, then advanced, covering the rest of her vulnerable body until all had been taken. 

Rain fell.

Gentle rain, so soft that those asleep stayed asleep and those adrift were guided home. The woman on the bed relaxed. The dark cloud that had covered her like a blanket seemed to push her deeper into the bed, deeper into slumber. She drifted off, dreaming of being at home. A real home, with her lover to come home to and hold her at night. Rain held her in its embrace, danced with her in her dreams, shielded her from prying eyes or hunters in the bushes. 

“Good night, Furina.”

The huntress slowly raised the barrel of the rifle to the sky, breathing out as she did so. She stood silently from where she had been crouched in the grasses and left her prey lying in the meadows. There was no need to shoot. Some animals were never meant to be prey for her. They were sacred, forever untouched by man. 

As she left the apartment, with her sleeping prey still safe and sound, she looked up to the sky. It was still raining. A poor day for a hunt. Too much effort for too little reward. She prayed that God would return for His sacred treasure, and she would be blessed on her next hunt. 

Chapter Text

The Opera Epiclese. She had sounded so confident when presenting it to the troupe, but going back there filled her with trepidation. It was the place of her birth and her deliverance. She remembered opening her eyes for the first time, awareness flooding her body. Somehow, the clothes she wore fit perfectly, yet felt odd on her skin. Like a stage costume, not something she had picked out herself. How odd, then, that she continued to wear that outfit even now. Sometimes, she suspected that she had never left the stage. She was continuing to act even now.

She sighed as she hefted a jar of soup onto the counter. It was her last one. And the lovely jar of lotion by her bedside table was nearly empty as well. Somehow, she had gone through his weekly package far quicker than normal. Perhaps it had been the stress of knowing she would have to see him again to book the Opera Epliclese. But she couldn't very well have avoided it. In all honesty, it was probably just her gluttony. Just using a little bit of lotion or drinking one of his soups a day wasn't enough anymore. That ache inside of her would still be there. It wouldn't leave her, even when her belly was full. 

She should really be cutting down on it. Far too many times now, she had drank too many bowls of soup in a poor attempt to fill the hole in her stomach. Well, that and to chase the little high of pleasure she got from simply drinking soup. It acted like some sort of odd aphrodisiac, and it made her giggle to think of what odd draconic ingredients he must be using. Certainly, Furina was sure she was the only human test subject. It created a feedback loop of sorts with her human biology; drinking his soup would make her horny and being horny would cause her to crave his soup. It was a fun little unintended side effect she had discovered, a cycle of pleasure she would chase like a hamster in a wheel. She was sure Neuvillette had no idea what his gifts did to her. That fact made her want to wallow in shame, but at the same time only made her craving for them stronger. But she couldn't rely on Neuvillette’s charity forever. He was a busy man, and it had only been by five hundred years of experience that they had been able to meet him so easily. 

Neuvillette had expressed his desire to see her on stage again, but this human life was her performance. She would experience everything she had never been able to as a god. 

If he wanted to watch her, she would put on a good show. Her skin seemed to tingle, almost alight at the thought of his eyes on her. It had been so long since they had last met. She shuddered to think of the person she had been a scant few weeks ago, weak and frail. Neuvillette’s care had brought her back to life. His packages, the sweet companionship of the Traveler and the rest of the troupe, Clorinde’s weekly dinners, and the joy of finally living as a human caused her to feel as if she had been reborn.

And Neuvillette himself had seen the changes in her. He had remarked on her happiness, and seeing him smile ever so slightly had her face lighting up out of embarrassment and an awkward sort of happiness. Was it truly alright for her to be so joyful that he had smiled at her? But it wasn’t just that he had smiled at her. No, it was so much more. He had truly seen her, drank in the sight of her as if he was a man wandering in the desert. And she had done the same to him. Took in the sight of him, standing there in the sunlight over Fontaine like a proud father, a man who had truly grown into the role he was born for. 

The sight of him had caused her to ache. An ache so terrible that she wished that the Traveler and Paimon were not right next to them, that they were not out in broad daylight. But now Furina was in her own apartment. She was alone, with only the memory of Neuvillette’s eyes on her. It didn't have to mean anything. Neuvillette was an attractive man, anyone with eyes could see that. 

Furina could see that. She had watched him for five hundred years and then some, often forsaking whatever drama went on in the court below just to gaze at him. But she had never once done anything. Neuvillette was a dragon trapped in a man's body, and had often seemed so confused at her light flirtations that she felt terribly sorry for him. 

Here, alone in her apartment, she could admit it. Furina had always felt some sort of way about Neuvillette. Perhaps back then, it had been simple lust. A man, wearing naught but a torn sail as a rag, had entered the Opera Epiclese during her time of prayer and meditation. She had still been young back then, and she could only stare at the man, in awe of his wild sharp eyes and long untamed hair. Thinking back now, she could still recall those piercing eyes staring into her soul. He had bared his teeth at her and looked at her as if he had wanted to devour her whole. Or maybe that was her fevered mind making up delusions. Her memories flashed between the way he had looked at her this morning, in the sunlight, and the way he had looked at her in the darkness of the Opera Epiclese five hundred years ago. 

It didn’t matter. Either way, his gaze on her made her burn. Her skin itched under the layers of her clothing, and she stepped in front of the mirror, taking herself in just as she had on that day all those years ago. She didn’t look much different than she had back then. When he had seen her on that stage, what had he seen? Prey? An usurper? Someone he was forced to cooperate with? She shook her head, getting rid of the thought. For today, just today, she could lose herself in fantasy. A Neuvillette so different from the calm man she had worked with all this time. A Neuvillette who looked at her on that stage and saw a girl who could be taken. 

Panting so heavily that she was sure she would fog the mirror, she slowly divested herself of her clothing. The hat was placed carefully on the bedside table, and white and black gloves were removed to show her slowly healing nails. She examined them, happy that the lotion had been doing her some good. Well, that and the random pens she would destroy with her mouth. She shrugged off her jacket and put it on the rack. The rest of her clothes came off rather quickly, as she was bored with the spectacle. No one was here to watch her undress. 

No Neuvillette, no self in the mirror- she squeezed her eyes shut and brought her hands roughly to her clit, hoping to trigger her pleasure like a cue on stage. The heavy handed pressure hurt, and she brought a hand down to dip at her lingering wetness. There had been so much earlier in the day, so much so that it had almost felt as if Neuvillette’s authority over hydro extended to her own wetness. His mere proximity, the wild fantasies that had run through her head, she had nearly soaked her panties through during their short conversation. Then she had to take an embarrassing trip to the toilet in order to make herself presentable to the troupe once more. 

But now, there was just a little bit of wetness. Not nearly enough. She wanted it dripping out of her, so much wetness that it would puddle on the floor and stain her living quarters with the stench of her need. Whimpering, she brought wetted fingers to circle her clit, a little touch to soothe the ache while she looked desperately around the room for something that would calm her need. 

Her eyes landed on that jar of lotion by her bedside table. It was incredibly well used, as lotion was slathered over her bare skin every night until she felt sufficiently wet. She needed that wetness on her right now. Like a woman possessed, she walked over to her bedside table, eyes only on that lovely jar of lotion. 

There was a bare fingerful of lotion left. It would be enough, right? She couldn’t put lotion up her cunt. She knew she couldn’t. She was in no way horny enough to even consider that. Just a little bit of lotion to soothe the ache of her clit. 

Biting her lip, she swirled her fingers into the jar and scooped up the remaining little bit of lotion. Hopefully, Neuvillette or a melusine would be able to deliver a replenishment soon. She wasn’t sure if her skin could survive without her now familiar nightly routine. The lotion was cold against her warm fingers, and she let out a small whimper, aching at the thought of the cool wetness against her sensitive parts. 

She let out a full bodied gasp into the quiet of the room as her fingers touched her clitoris. The coolness was a welcomed balm to the heat of her, and she circled her fingers around, chasing the little sparks of pleasure. Not enough. Teasingly, she spread the lotion lower, coating her lips and more, rubbing her folds and covering every sensitive part. She reached her own wetness and the fluids mixed together, wet into wet, until she could not tell what wetness her fingers were coated in. 

Furina thrust her fingers into that empty ache, but she knew that the wetness was not enough. Her body cried out, screaming for fluid that would fill her so much it would drip out, unable to be contained. She needed more. But that lotion had been the last of it. There wasn’t anything in her apartment that could fill her so well. 

There was.

She moaned, clenching down on her fingers as the waves of realization washed over her. There was something that could fill her, and that thought made her so blissfully happy for a second that she giggled, her joy filling the room. Her hips jerked and soon that blissful pleasure faded and the happiness turned into a blistering need. Painfully, she stumbled her way to the kitchen, her mind on that singular goal. She was so empty inside she couldn’t even think, her mind a black hole of desire. 

Her fingers were still slick with her wetness. She didn’t care. Her head was pounding, and her body was burning from the inside out, heat concentrated on her core. Yet despite the heat, she was dripping from between her thighs. Slick ran down her thighs and she clenched her legs together in a poor attempt to stop the flow. It only made it worse. Squeezing her thighs together made her painfully aware of that little center of pleasure that was lightly stimulated by the action. It cried out for her touch once again, and she did her best to ignore it. That need was nothing compared to the emptiness inside of her. 

The final jar was on the kitchen countertop where she had left it. It called to her like a beacon, glass glinting from the sunlight shining through the window. She gripped it with slick covered hands. The jar was heavy, and her limbs were weak from her pleasures. 

Hand shaking, she tried the lid. Her wet fingers slipped off of it, so she tried again and it did not budge. This often happened. The jars were sealed much too tightly for her, but Furina had long since figured out the easy way to get them to open. She turned the faucet of the sink on and let hot water soak the jar. Impatiently, she grabbed the jar to her chest once more and attempted to open it. 

It didn’t move. The jar was heavy, her hands were tired, and the insistent need between her legs had not stopped for a single second. Frantic, she made another heroic attempt, stretching her fingers to cover the width of the cap and twisting as hard as possible, uncaring of anything other than getting that jar open.

It slipped against her wet skin. 

One second she had it in both hands, the next she instinctively jumped back as she watched the glass shatter all over the kitchen floor. So many little shards flew out it looked as if the night sky had reflected itself on her floorboards. In the middle of it all was that precious liquid, spilling out with nothing to contain it. 

She dropped to her knees. Rational thought had fled her mind upon hearing that awful shatter. There was only instinct now, an instinct that knew it had succeeded. The liquid was no longer in the jar. That was a success. Now it just needed to be inside of her. 

Mindlessly, she scooped up the liquid from the floor as if she was scooping water from a cup. There was no fear of shards in her mind. It was only her and that precious fluid, dripping away with each passing second. She sucked the fluid clean from her hands, eyes rolling back and whimpering at the taste of it on her tongue. It was so good, as good as she had remembered and then some, the flavor heightened by her need. 

More. Another scoop, and she pushed this bit up inside her cunt, hoping beyond hope that her fingers were long enough. They weren’t. They would never be, but the sensation of fluid inside of her caused her to spasm and milk her fingers for all they were worth, clenching down as she scissored her fingers inside of herself, rubbing the fluid so deep it would be absorbed. 

More. There was an ache in her stomach that needed to be filled, and she bent over, hand still in her cunt, to lick the fluid from the floor. Quick now, before it could escape. Nothing could escape. All of it needed to be inside her, filling her so much her stomach could burst from the sheer weight of it inside of her. 

Bright pain filled her mouth, a quick flash before her tongue went nearly numb, all sensors concentrated on the hurt. She jerked upright and automatically covered her mouth with her hand. Whimpering and nearly on the verge of tears, she realized she could taste blood in her mouth, the taste overwhelming the lingering flavor of soup. It hurt so bad she covered her mouth with both hands and squeezed her eyes shut, tears dripping down her face. 

Finally, after what seemed like eons but was only a few seconds, she gingerly opened her mouth and felt around. A spot on her tongue lit up her pain receptors again and her hand retreated. She looked down at that hand. It was stained with blood, her saliva, and a creamy fluid. 

In a daze, she looked up and truly saw, for the first time, the magnitude of devastation she had inflicted on her kitchen floor. Glass shards all over. A puddle of fluid that had been half scraped through. Small blood stains scattered around.

It was a horror scene, and her mouth opened in a silent scream as she scooted back, sliding on her bare ass until her naked back met heavy wood. The cool material against her sweat soaked skin did little to calm her. There was a weight on her chest and she suddenly felt as if she could not breathe. What had happened? 

As if she had asked that question to the universe, the universe answered with a knock at the door. The knock was polite, but she felt it like a pounding straight onto her fragile heart. It pressed her chest, squeezed her heart until she thought it would burst. That would make a lovely scene. Her burst heart and the shards of her body right next to that shattered jar; life giving fluid lost amongst glass shards. 

“Miss Furina, are you available?”

That voice. It was Neuvillette. It was Neuvillette and she thought she would die right then and there. He had come to see her. He was here for her. But she couldn’t let him in. 

Neuvillette’s presence was heavy against the door. Perhaps he was leaning on it, just as she was propped up against the other side. If that barrier of wood dematerialized, they would be able to touch. His heavy coat against her bare skin, his strong back covering her fragile body. Her hand came up to touch the door. She placed her palm flat against the wood and let her wet and bloodied fingers soak it. The knob was a bit far away. She couldn't reach it even if she stretched. 

He could open it. He could blast open the door with his hydro and enter her home. He could pick her up from the floor, clean up the mess of her blood, her juices, and his soup. He could cleanse her in his stream and take her to bed. 

“Furina?” Another knock. 

He wouldn't. He would not enter without her permission. He would not give into his instincts and take her. He was too polite, too kind. She had forced him into the role of a gentleman, made him learn restraint and be bound by the rules of society. Oh, that made her laugh. He was not a beast ravaged by lust for her. He was stoic and unbound by human feelings, a dragon who was above such petty human desires.

She was not. Even now, mind numb and fingers bloody, the only thing on her mind was him. His presence, even separated by a door, sent heat coursing through her body, lust enveloping her in its sweet embrace. She could smell him. Petrichor, something sad yet kind, like tears shed for another. Unconsciously, her hand came down to circle at her clit while the other rubbed at her breasts. Her mouth opened in a sharp keening noise and her hips jerked at the pressure against her well worked yet still so sensitive clit. 

“Furina.” Another knock, his voice a low growl. It made her clench on nothing, caused her to pant and need. “Let me in,” he whispered, with a slight whining tone she had never heard before. Someone like Neuvillette could also sound like that. Needy, thirsty, like she was denying him life giving water. 

“Please, let me help you.” A plea. Oh, what had she done to him? He was here begging, thinking he could save her. He couldn't. Furina was too far gone, tainted by her human desires she had let get out of control. She was sick, body fevered and aching, not for a cure, but to infect another. Her body yearned to pull him into her, to devour all that he was and infect him with her selfish need. She would take his cock and wring it dry, suck all of his kindness, generosity, and love out until he was nothing but a thrall for her. 

Two fingers, still covered in bloody cuts and remnants of soup, went up her cunt. She didn't care about how sanitary it was. She was already sick, her cunt throbbing and hurting her every day, a painful reminder that she could not control her own desires. Any physical infection would be a reprieve, a chance to focus on something other than her ill mind. 

In. Out. Her fingers trusted wildly, wrist roughly simulating her sensitive clit as she pistoned her hand in a poor substitute of what she needed Neuvillette’s cock to do to her. The rough movement, the small sparkles of pleasure up her spine, the cramping of her hand, all allowed her mind to fade away. She could no longer hear what Neuvillette was saying from behind the door. Was he still there? 

She imagined him in broad daylight. Standing outside her apartment door, gloved hand fisted in his thick robe to not make a fool out of himself. He would be pressed so tightly against that door, his sensitive nose and ears taking in all that his eyes could not. That forked tongue would flick out for a taste and his mind, normally so sharp and devoted, the cornerstone of Fontaine, would be overwhelmed by her pleasures. 

Her need would infect him, fill his sinuses and perfume his mouth until he had no choice. Those lovely lilac eyes would glow, pupils dangerously narrowed, overcome with his draconic instincts. Ancient instincts that he had never acted upon would come to the surface, overriding his human reason with the need to breed her like an animal. He would break open the door, the seal of their desire, like it was nothing. There on the floor, he would find her, a wet willing thing, three tiny fingers shoved into her cunt, keeping it open for him. 

She imagined being manhandled, thrown on her hands and knees like a bitch, pussy presented for him. That was the proper position to take a dragon's length. Weak with desire, she shifted, but could only manage to lift her shoulder a bare inch from the door. Her hands could help move her body, but it was like they were magnetized to inflict pleasure on her. She could not bring herself to tear her hands away from her sensitive spots for even one second. 

Furina writhed on the floor, humping her fingers, bringing her hips up to meet the draconic cock of her imagination. She moved as if she was truly being fucked, dragged along the floor and pushed up against the door by Neuvillette’s forceful mating. Her fingers were not enough, so she forced them in faster, deeper, harder, anything to relieve that painful ache. 

Her fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot inside of her and she gasped out loud, eyes flying open and head jerking back, slamming onto the door behind her. The blow left her disoriented, hand inside of her finally stilling as she blinked and tried to clear the newfound pounding of her head. There was an awful ringing in her ears and spots behind her eyelids, swirling and making her dizzy. 

What had she been doing? Suddenly, she couldn’t think. One hand came up to clutch at her head, pressing against it like she could stop the awful pounding with sheer force. 

There was a loud sound behind her and it rang in her ears, echoing throughout her skull. She startled, scared that she had somehow banged her head again without realizing it. 

Another sound, and this time her mind cleared enough to recognize it as a heavy fist pounding at the door. 

“Furina.” A voice from the outside. She concentrated, tried her best to clear the fluff from her head and recognize this voice. 

“I can smell you.” Oh, that was a nice voice. Deep and dark like an underwater cave, comforting in an odd sort of way. But it also made her body tingle, and her hands started moving again before she knew it. 

“You smell like need,” the voice growled, low and dark. She was need. And as her other hand drifted down to fondle her sensitive clit, she knew she was nothing but a bundle of nerves, fibers that sparked with each movement and each word from the voice. 

“Do you want?” 

Want what? She focused on the pleasure shooting through her body as if it would help her find the answer. Each touch of her clit, each stroke of her fingers, everything she was doing was bringing her closer to something. She didn't know what. But she wanted. There was a beast in her belly that was consuming her, that rattled the bars of the cage she had placed it in and was devouring her from the inside out. Each touch made its want grow. Its want became her want and she wanted to be consumed. 

“Yes!” she cried out, a jubilation of the soul, a cry for freedom from the beast. 

“Good girl.” The voice made a dark chuckle that seemed to reverberate inside her bones and worm its way into her until she was sure the beast inside of her was the voice outside her door. 

“Come for me,” the voice commanded. Release me, the beast echoed. 

And she did. Waves crashed over her body, against the walls of the cage until the beast was free. It broke its way free with a savage cry for its master, the only one who could calm its lusts. He was not there to tame it. It ate its way out of her prison of flesh, devouring her core before spreading to the rest of her body.  In the aftermath, she lay still and ravaged, barely breathing. Her body collapsed against the door, a puddle of her slick forming under her like a pool of blood. 

“Furina?” A soft, gentle voice, calling her back to the waking world. She knew that voice. It was so different from the one before that she felt as if the orgasm had transported her to another world. Or maybe, looking around at her ravaged apartment, her mind had played tricks on her. Maybe that voice, that was deep and dark and full of promise, had originated from inside of her. Maybe it had been the beast of lust all along, tempting her until she fell.

“Let me in.” Another plea. 

Furina was not a siren. Her voice was not melodious and haunting, her juices were not addictive, her body was not alluring. If he came in, he would see her as she was. A gluttonous creature, who only knew how to take and eat and give nothing in return. 

She pulled her fingers out of her pussy with a wince of pain, her flesh sore and overstimulated. They were so soaked the skin had wrinkled, ridges forming over the cuts like her waters had eroded the skin. It disgusts her. What had she been doing? Driven to chase pleasure until she thought she could die, spurred on by a voice in her head that was not the same as the real voice outside the door. Gingerly, she leaned her head back against the door. Every part of her body ached. She could not do this anymore. 

“Please leave,” she cried out. She sobbed, ugly, wracking things, into her slick covered hands. 

“Furina.” Low and dark. That was the voice again, the voice that had driven her to throw away her reason and cry for Neuvillette like an animal. It tempted her, made her want to throw the door open and do unspeakable things to him. 

“No!” she sobbed out, head still cradled in her own hands. “You did this to me!” The beast had forced her to do this to him. “Leave! I don't want to see you.” The last part was nearly whispered, a painful admission. Seeing him had brought her to this state. The very sight of him had caused her to ache so terribly she had nearly lost her mind with lust. She could not see him. Furina once again had to make the painful choice. Neuvillette's happiness and well being on one side. Her pain on the other. No matter what, she would not allow him to drown with her. 

In the silence following her outburst, she could hear nothing but her own heavy breathing for a second before it was covered by the sound of rain. She had the sudden urge to run outside, to soak herself in the rain until all of her sins had been washed away. So she could find absolution in his grief. 

“Furina, I care for you.” A heartfelt admission with more emotion than she had heard from him in years. His voice was nearly breaking, choking on his own tears.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He cared for her so much he cried for her. And Furina was drowning in lust. She could not reciprocate his care when the beast lay in her core, howling for him day and night. She could not infect him with her lust. 

“If nothing else, please believe that I wish for your continued health and happiness.” He sounded so sincere. He was sincere. Genuine in all he did, a force of love and care for all of Fontaine even though he claimed not to understand human emotions and his connection to them. 

“If you truly do not wish for me to help,” he trailed off, and she could hear her own heart, pounding in time with the heavy rainfall. A pregnant pause. Furina waited, breath held hostage. She did want him to help, needed him to root out her sickness and bring her peace like he had all those years ago. She cursed her past self, so weak and naive. That innocent bowl of soup had jumpstarted her lust. Neuvillette was innocent. He could not have imagined what depths his kind gesture had driven her to. 

“I'll leave the box in your mailbox.” A heavy sigh, and her heart ached for having disappointed him so. “Regardless of how you feel about me, please take it. For your own health.” His voice was resigned. 

“Leave,” she said, voice breaking but not yet broken. She would not take any more of his kindness. 

He left. Footsteps sounded and faded into the heavy rain. But she could not hear anything from the world outside her door. His words played in her head like a broken spincrystal, spinning round and round, magnifying the pounding in her head. Each word was a stab into her heart. How did he even think that what she felt about him was - wait, how did she feel about him?

Suddenly, she could not think. The question had wiped all intelligent thought from her mind, like a culprit being asked a cutting question on the witness stand. Did he accuse her of disliking him? That wasn't true. She didn't, she never, she couldn't… 

Furina lay against the door, thinking until she could not think anymore. She could not think of him, so she wouldn't. The rest of her mind, previously overwhelmed by the mental space Neuvillette had taken up, came back to the forefront. Her head was still pounding, but she could hear the outside world. It was oddly silent. 

Her heart raced, and something inside her told her that something was missing. Something? She strained her ears and could hear the faint sound of the forge. It was generally a quiet neighborhood, a corner away from the hustle and bustle, but there were sounds of people living their daily lives. The clank of Meka as they patrolled, families strolling in the nice weather, the sounds of Fontaine were clear even through her door. 

It was a beautiful day in Fontaine. 

The realization hit her like a bullet, and she jerked her head up, willing her sore body to move. She stumbled forth, getting on her hands and knees before she was able to push herself up. The sudden movement caused her to sway, head feeling like it was being drilled and eyes blinking to clear out spots. Her hand grasped the doorknob for support and her body followed, leaning on the door like it was the only thing holding her up. Slowly, painfully, she made her way to the window. Heart nearly leaping its way out of her chest, she pushed the curtain aside. 

The streets were dry and lively. People passed by, walking, talking, living their daily lives. Harsh lights illuminated them and all donned their hats for protection. She saw one woman wearing a hat with a fine lace veil and clenched her short nails into her fist. Blinking did not change the scene. Heart in her throat, she looked up. 

There was not a single cloud in the sky.

Chapter Text

She cleared her throat, and everyone in the room turned to look at her. “Alright, today we'll take it from the top. I want to run through at least Act 1 today. Since none of you have ever performed on the Opera Epiclese, we'll have a special focus on blocking and placement. Luckily for all of you, I've been on that stage so many times it's like I was born there.”

Her crew laughed and the Traveler grimaced, causing her to smile at their private little joke. “Also, it's quite sunny outside, so even though we're indoors, I need everyone to be drinking plenty of fluids. Protect your voices and stay hydrated!” 

With that, everyone moved to get ready for their first full rehearsal. The Traveler and Paimon moved over to speak to her as she was fiddling with a map of the stage, going over the locations. “Good morning Furina!”, Paimon squeaked out. 

“Morning,” she returned. She really didn't have time for small talk right now, as she needed to be ready before the crew was. 

“So, it's been really sunny recently.” Her voice was questioning, as if trying to bait Furina into speaking. She didn't respond, mind running through the blocking for the first song. “And we were wondering, you know, since it rains when the hydro dragon cries, if that means Neuvillette's been really happy recently.”

His name hit her like a bolt from the blue, stopping her mind in its tracks. Neuvillette. She had promised herself to put him out of her mind. 

“I have no idea,” she said, voice curt. 

“He looked really happy when we went to see him the other day! That was the first time Paimon’s ever seen him smile like that. He usually looks kind of scary. You know, like a dragon judge who puts people in prison if they break the law!” The fairy went on and on, totally oblivious to Furina’s inner turmoil. The Traveler looked on like they always did, watching but not interfering. 

“Are you going to talk to me all morning? I have a lot of work to do before we start rehearsals.” Paimon flinched away, flying to hide behind the Traveler. She didn’t mean to sound so sharp, but she really did not want to talk about Neuvillette. 

“But-” The Traveler clasped Paimon's hand and pulled the fairy away. 

Furina barely noticed their departure. The paper had crinkled in her fist, and she smoothed it out absentmindedly. It had been abnormally sunny for the past few days. That day, the last time she had seen Neuvillette, nearly a week ago now, had been the last time it had rained. Maybe it was simply a natural weather occurrence. But it wasn't just that it had been sunny. The air in Fontaine had been dry, like all of the moisture had been sucked out of it. There was not a cloud in the sky, grey or not. 

She bit absentmindedly at the pen in her hand and thought back. Being a normal human, her memory was not nearly as good as Neuvillette’s, but she could not recall any time in the past 500 years when it had been this dry. In fact, when he had first come to Fontaine, she had feared that she had inadvertently triggered the prophecy by appointing him as Iudex. Fontaine had nearly drowned under the weight of his tears for humanity. Even when he hadn't understood his own emotions. Even when he had derided humans. 

The utter lack of rainfall made her uneasy. There had been trials all week, none of them easy. Yet Erinnyes stayed dry, and the crowd, now far smaller, that watched the trials went home with their umbrellas unused. Did this mean that he no longer wept for humanity? She didn't think she would care this much about what he thought. Now that the prophecy had been fulfilled, there was little need for Neuvillette to continue to judge humanity. He could take a vacation or vacate from his post entirely, doing as he wished. 

Good for him. She had always told him he needed to get out more, but he had never listened to her. She wanted to laugh. That thought was childishly optimistic. Furina knew Neuvillette. They had never been truly close, always a barrier of secrecy between them, but she knew enough to predict most of his actions. He was not planning a vacation or a change in scenery. Somewhere deep in her heart, she knew why it had not rained. She didn’t want to think of it. 

It was hot. Although the walk from the troupe's rented facility to her apartment was short and mostly shaded by towering city walls, each step felt like walking through the desert of Sumeru. A desolate place, where the only water to be found was in one's imagination. Even the sweat on her neck had quickly evaporated, taken away by angry forces of nature. 

On the street, she heard a young girl asking her mother if she could make the hydro dragon cry again so it would rain. She had heard similar but distinctly opposite sentiments in the past. Back then, people had asked her if she could make the hydro dragon stop crying. Oh, she had done her best, dragging the dragon off to one play or another, but she understood, more than anyone, that one could not turn their emotions off at the drop of a hat. 

This heat was more than uncomfortable. It was unnatural. 

What did that mean for Fontaine? Moreover, what did that mean for the rest of Tevyat? She had heard, in whispers on the street and hushed conversations in brassieres, that there had been no hydro visions granted in the month or so since that fateful day. It was not yet a cause for concern. Perhaps it would never be. The world could keep on turning without vision wielders, and lacking one element of the seven, well, there had been no electro visions given for two years and the world did not end. Furina had gathered, somewhat clumsily, that the granting of visions was somewhat connected to archonhood, but in a nebulous sort of way.  

She wished, more than anything, that she had a hydro vision. It was a common wish for her. All those years spent performing as the archon without a bit of ability to manipulate the element had taken its toll on her. Becoming a normal human once again was nice. Becoming a normal human with a hydro vision would be even better. She would be able to make it rain, let the water soak her body and cool her off even in this dreadful heat. 

Just thinking about water on her overheated skin made her itch. Her skin was sure to be dry and cracked, especially with the heat and the lack of lotion. Somehow, after throwing away the empty bottle of lotion, she had been unable to bring herself to buy more. She would drag herself to a run at the shops for food and linger in the lotion aisle, staring wantonly at all of those bottles lined up on the shelf. Large, small, made with mint or scented with romaritime flowers, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t buy any of them. The thought of that foreign substance on her skin made her want to claw her skin off and dissolve into peaceful waters. 

Only water then. Water, wetting her hair and running down her back, trapping her in its spray like a jealous lover. Her only lover now that the rain had gone away. 

She held onto that thought as she stripped and entered the tub. Turning on the water, she let the cold spray beat down on her overheated skin as she lay flat against the cool porcelain. It felt both amazing and painful. Water hit her skin like a stinging slap, shocking her into a painful awareness. 

But it was a good kind of hurt. This way, she couldn't let her mind drift away. She couldn't imagine drowning, sinking peacefully into a blissful sort of nothingness, taken away by strong waves. She should really be doing some actual bathing. 

Weakly, she stood up and grabbed the showerhead, directing the spray to the more neglected parts of her body. She had thrown herself headfirst into the production and neglected to take care of herself in the past few weeks. No, that was incorrect. This past week had been when everything went to shit for her. She had been so terribly off balance since that day. 

Furina was a slave to fear. Fear of her own desires. Once more, there were shackles on her heart. Laughing bitterly, she mused that she was really right back where she started. It didn’t matter whether she was Furina the human acting as Focalors the divinity or Furina the human playing at being human, she was still terrified of failure. Back then, indulging her own desires had meant that all of Fontaine would drown. Now, indulging her desires would mean something terrible for her. She didn’t know what just yet, but it was an instinctive fear in her gut that was at odds with the ache that seemed to guide her every action. 

A jolt of pleasure ran through her body and she jerked upright, mind snapping back to full awareness of her body. Somehow, her hand had moved the shower head so the spray could work at her clit without her permission. Water pleasuring her. Lapping up against her clit, hydro cleansing her and dragging her deeper into oblivion. An image started to take shape in her mind and she moaned out loud, “Neuvillette!”, and clenched the shower head tighter in her fist as her hand directed the jet more accurately to hit those sensitive nerves. 

This had been what she was afraid of. This need that controlled her body whenever she let her attention waver. She couldn’t infect him with her human desires. She had to turn the need off. Blindly, body still wracked with pleasure from the showerhead pressed up against her sensitive parts, she felt for the knob.

A sharp twist and she turned it off. The showerhead fell from her limp hand, clanging against the porcelain of the tub. It reverberated in an awful ringing sound, one she could barely hear through the rushing need that still infected her. Her clit pulsed like it was feeling aftershocks from the intense pleasure. Wetness painted her thighs, but she knew she was not strong enough to let the showerhead wash her crotch for a second time. With rough movements, she toweled herself off and left the bathroom, leaving the ghost of her need behind.

Furina bit nervously at her nails as she watched the pot of water boil. There was a box of macaroni on the kitchen counter, the same thing she had eaten every day for the past week. So why was she so nervous? She had to stop being so nervous. Her teeth tore the bit of nail free, leaving a bright pain blooming in its wake. Looking down, she saw bright red blood, a perfect match for the sensation that accompanied it. Her fingers were all bad in some way, victims of her anxiety and painful tendency to seek a physical sensation to take her mind off the thoughts in her head. Gone were the days when she would have the most enviable nails in all of Fontaine. 

She took the hurt finger in her mouth and nursed it, tasting blood on her tongue. It wasn’t awful. The coppery taste made her wince, but it didn’t make her stomach roll. Eying the box of macaroni, she felt the wave starting in her stomach. That was much earlier than usual. It didn’t matter. The pot on the stove was boiling, so she poured the noodles in and waited. Then it was time for butter, milk, and cheese sauce. The movement was repetitive, stirring, listening to the wet squelch that caused the feeling in her stomach to rise. It was just hunger, her stomach growling because it looked and smelled so good. 

Seated at the table in front of a freshly cooked bowl of macaroni and cheese, she couldn’t lie to herself any longer. She didn’t want to eat it. She hadn’t wanted to eat it all throughout the cooking process, and so she had procrastinated and now the noodles were a soggy unappetizing mess. Oh, she was still lying to herself. Even if it had been perfectly cooked macaroni and cheese she wouldn’t want to eat it. 

She wanted to eat- was she really being such a child about this? Furina was an adult, wasn’t she? She was Furina de Fontaine, artistic consultant, former goddess, normal human being - she would eat her bowl of macaroni and she would like it. 

Fueled by a certain madness that had driven so many of her past actions, she stuck her fork into the bowl of macaroni. Then she shoved the forkful into her mouth. It was fine. Not awful. Not mind blowing. Just normal macaroni and cheese that had been cooked for a few minutes too long. 

This was what she had been such a child about? She ate another forkful, then another, barely chewing before she swallowed. It just needed to fill her. 

The food didn’t settle in her stomach. It found its way to an unwelcome entrance and was summarily ejected, coming up and out of her and back into the bowl before Furina had the chance to register what was happening. 

She retched and gagged and spit, getting all of the bad stuff out of her. Her eyes watered and her nose itched, senses assaulted by the unwelcome smell of bile. This was why she had felt so anxious about dinner tonight. It had been a complete disaster and made a mess of her dining table. 

The clean up was not too difficult. Everything went in the trash. The pot went in the trash too, as she was unable to stand the sight of it. The table was washed with water and she rinsed her mouth out with water too, swishing it around and spitting it out. Then, to soothe her scratched throat, she drank a cup of water. It settled easily in her stomach like it was one with her, cooling her body and relaxing the need within her. 

Only water for her tonight then, seeing as she was far too sick to even think of stomaching anything else. Perhaps she should go on an all liquid diet. At the very least, it would make everything coming up come up a bit easier. She guzzled down another cup of water and she thought idly that it tasted far better than anything else she had put in her mouth. Fuck. That made her think of him. Every little thing made her think of him. 

She reasoned with herself that at the very least it was an improvement from when she had literally been eating his home made dishes. Water was a normal thing for humans to consume. It wasn’t restricted to Neuvillette. There were so many varieties and flavors yet it was enjoyed by people all throughout Tevyat. The water she was drinking wasn’t awful, but she’d like to try a few different brands from different nations some day. Neuvillette always said they had different properties and there she was thinking of him again. 

Furina drank water until her belly was full, not thinking of him all the while, yet her belly was somehow simultaneously empty. Sleep would fix it. It was a good substitute for a meal. It was also the best way to not think for a bit. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

Drip. 

The sound of water startled her from her haze of near sleepiness. Was it - her heart was in her throat and she concentrated, hoping against hope. A prayer ran through her mind. Rain. Water. Life. She strained her ears against the window, but could not get up to verify it with her other senses, trapped in the blankets and the jaws of sleep as she was. 

That dripping noise seemed to echo throughout the building. She couldn't tell if it came from the window or the roof or the sink. It sounded heavily in her ear and reverberated throughout her body until she was sure the noise was the sound of her own heart rushing in her ears. Her heart beat irregularly, both calmed and hastened by the drip of water. 

Anticipating the next drip was torture. In the painful seconds between them, she felt as if she was stuck in a purgatory of her own devising, a hole where she had to hold her breath until the next drip. When it came, however, it came with a thunderous wave, shaking her eardrums, shocking her heart into movement, and sending a shiver up her entire body. 

Then the awful stillness would cover her once more, and she would die in the silence until the next jolt to her heart. It continued like this for quite some time, her heart starting and stopping, living for each next drop. There was a need that grew in her body with each iteration. A need that worsened with each shiver, causing her to clench her legs together and whimper. It was as if each drip entered her body, filling her up until her need to let go was too great. 

But she couldn’t let go. And she couldn’t get up either, not with the oppressive dripping or the heaviness of sleep that hung over her like a shroud, pushing her ever deeper into the blankets. She lay there in her bed, mind filled over and over again with that wet drip and body filled with the ache in her bladder until she could take it no longer and collapsed into a blissful unconsciousness, unaware she had even slipped to the other side. 

Her sleeping mind took her to a place both near and far, invaded by the heat of the room and the drip that was her deliverance. She found herself in a hazy place where rising heat drew steam from the shifting sands beneath her and the sun was so bright she was blinded. There was no water to be found in this desert. Her eyes scanned the golden vista frantically, squinting against the vicious rays. Sand as far as she could see. Something far off into the distance, jutting into the horizon. It was too hazy to properly tell what it could be. But it was a thing, something that broke up the endless stretch of sand, and so she started off towards it.

She traveled for minutes or hours or days, some indeterminable stretch of time that would have been her entire lifespan or as quick as a thought. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that she finally reached that thing that had been on the horizon, and she could finally see that it was a formation of rocks, so large that it stretched up to the sky and she thought that it marked the end of the world. There was nothing beyond this and nothing back there but sand. 

There was an emptiness inside of her at that realization. Nothing was in this world. She collapsed against the rock, at the very least a little bit grateful that the rocks piled so high they blocked out the sun. Maybe she could rest here for a while. It was not an awful place, now that she was out of the blistering heat. No responsibilities, nothing around, no thoughts other than heat and sand. 

Drip.

That noise. She jerked her head up, but there was no rain. Then what was that noise? There was a rushing sound and she knew that it was the movement of fluid. Fluid in the desert. Something to wet her cracked lips and fill her empty stomach. Scrambling to her feet, she followed the noise past a large rock formation, into a hidden cavern, and she found it.

It was paradise. Greenery, cool air, a reprieve from the harsh sunlight, and most importantly, the pool in the center of the cavern. It glistened in the darkness, calling her to dip her tired body into it and become one with the pool. 

She did as it commanded, body moving on its own. A toe, then a foot, then a leg and other and she was waist deep in the milky white fluid. It was thicker than water and smelled like something so achingly familiar that she had to taste it to supplement her poor sense of smell with taste. 

Scooping up a handful of liquid, she brought it to her face in trembling cupped hands. So much of it spilled out in the gaps between her fingers, and she drank of it hurriedly, before any more could escape. The first taste of this oasis on her tongue hit her like a drug. It was addictive and oh so familiar, something that filled more than the ache of her stomach. 

Led by thirst, she sank to her knees in the pool of fluid, low enough so she could drink directly from it. And drink she did, opening up her mouth to guzzle down the deliciousness. She swallowed and drank and swallowed and drank some more, not even stopping for a breath. With each mouthful, the thirst that had arrested her weakened. Now, instead of thirst, her attention was drawn to the growing fullness inside of her. More and more, filling her up.

She had drunk so much of the oasis. It felt like half of it was inside of her, a heavy weight, pressing down on a sensitive part of her that had her shifting on her knees and twisting around. There was a need inside her body that demanded to be let out, and she shamefully pressed her hands between her legs, hoping to keep composure. 

But she was alone in a vast desert and she had taken so much of this oasis that it was only fair for her to give back. Like the thought loosened the floodgates of her need, she found her muscles relaxing unconsciously. There was a little trickle, and she felt heat soaking the hand pressed at the apex of her thighs. 

Ashamedly, wantonly, she moaned out loud, oddly excited by the thought of her urine mixing in with the fluid of the oasis. It sent a heat through her body, a hot rush that accompanied a full bodied shiver and caused the floodgates to burst open. 

She was fully pissing, a thick endless stream mixed with the oasis. The cool fluid against her body turned warm, and she shivered as she filled the oasis up and up and up until the liquid level was above her head and she was drowning, sinking into an endless expanse of fluid. 

She gasped for breath as her eyes flew open, staring up at a familiar ceiling instead of the cavern she had seen before. Oh. She wasn't drowning. That had been a dream. Then why was there still a hot wetness between her legs? 

A shiver wracked her body once again, and she whimpered as her legs shook and more wetness escaped her. Sniffling, she could smell the hot, acrid scent of urine, growing stronger with every shiver. She could do nothing but sob and whimper, a heavy stone forming in her chest made up of disappointment and shame. She had wet herself. She was wetting herself, and then she was crying because she couldn’t control herself; she had never been able to control herself. 

The stone in her chest grew as the need in her bladder lessened, and by the time she was done peeing the bed, the stone had grown so large she was pinned down in a puddle of her own urine, unable to get out of bed to clean up her own mess. 

Exhausted from the dream, from crying, and unable to do anything to help her own situation, she drifted off once more into an uneasy sleep. 

She clutched her cup of coffee for dear life as she sat down to watch the rehearsals. It had been an awful night and an even worse morning. The stage lights were way too bright, especially with the sun shining into the building the way it did. All around her, she could hear the troupe shuffling and moving things around, getting everything in order for the first rehearsal of the day. They were so loud. Did moving a set piece into place really require that much yelling and scraping? 

People were always so loud. The faint sounds of an argument stirred the air, Vilmant and Pauleau going at it about some inconsequential movement or another. As the artistic consultant, it was none of her business. As someone who sincerely wished to see the production succeed, it was her business. Furina groaned as she felt the full weight of responsibility weigh upon her shoulders once again. Why had she even taken this job? She was in no way able to command people, or to guide them like they wished to be guided. Even back then, she had never been able to do anything. 

The thought was as bitter as her first sip of coffee. When the Opera Epiclese had undergone some reforms and everyone had been up in arms, she had shouted at them to cease. Back then, she had been proud of the effect her actions had on the people. She had to be. If she thought of herself as an ineffective leader, her fragile psyche would never have been able to endure. But now she could admit it to herself. They had only quieted down because Neuvillette had been behind her, and he tapped his cane to bring order. No matter how many props she accumulated, it had never been enough. He had been the only person holding her flimsy masquerade together. 

What did that mean for her? Without him, what could she do? Without the rain, what was Fontaine? 

No, she couldn't think like that. Fontaine would be Fontaine, with or without rain. Furina, too, would be okay. If she stopped thinking about him. Something inside of her twinged and she flushed at the memory of her accident the night before. She was an adult and could get through this alone. No more drinks; she would get through this performance with focus and sheer force of will. Setting down her coffee decisively, she stepped up to get her crew's act together. 

She was thirsty. The warehouse they had rented out was boiling, and she felt as if she was boiling alongside it. There was a river of sweat running down her back, and her underwear felt oddly soaked as well. She prayed it was only sweat. 

“Lady Furina, do you need some water?” 

She barely registered the person who had asked her. Her vision was blurred with the sweat dripping from her hair, causing whoever it was to be a hazy blur. “Uh-,” she started to say, but her throat was cracked and parched. She stood, wiping the sweat from her face, but the movement caused the wetness of her underthings to shift against her sweat soaked skin. The man in front of her held out a bottle of water. Her eyes tracked the bottle like it was Egeria’s grail, a sacred object that would free her from her suffering. 

But it was water. And water made her think of- she shook her head roughly, berating herself. Whimpering softly, she reconsidered. Furina was the artistic consultant for a troupe that had admired her as their deity. She could not wet herself in front of everyone. The wetness of her panties needed to stay as sweat.

“No thanks,” she said, flashing a brilliant smile even though her throat was pained and her lips were cracked. She was Furina de Fontaine. Everything would be okay as long as she just kept up the act.

Pushing through the strain in her throat, she shouted directions at the actors on stage. Clio needed to step forward more decisively. The villagers may be bit parts, but they were important in setting up the tone of the story. The audience needed to feel the desperation the village had. The mayor needed to be a touch more vicious. 

Furina felt light and alive, like she was dancing on the water's surface. There was a steady thrum in her chest, like a gentle affirmation. Yes, this was where she belonged, helping the troupe, bringing a production to life right in front of her eyes. The troupe's energy was infectious; they sustained her, allowing her to stand and direct. 

“No, not like that!” she shouted. Her throat burned, but it was fine. With a sudden burst of energy, she hopped onto the stage to show the actors how she wanted the twirl done. 

The lights on stage were extraordinarily bright. It was like there were multiple suns, each one bearing down and scorching her alive. Her head spun at the sudden movement and she stumbled onto the center of the stage. But that didn't stop her. 

“The twirl-,” she started, spreading her arms out and moving into position. “-is an elegant move that shows Clio's happiness and freedom.” She turned to Pauleau. “You are watching her, eyes full of love and hope and a little bit of despair. Because you know that this may be the last time you can see her dance like this.” Then she turned to Dulphy. “And you know this is the last time. But it feels too good to stop. Your lover is watching you, you are human, this may be your last day alive but it feels amazing!” She spoke in rush, feet already moving to reenact the movements. 

Through the pain, with sweat all over her body, she danced on stage, emboldened by her love for theater. The stage was on her, the spotlight was on her, all eyes were on her as she twirled and danced in time with music only she could hear. 

A step then a spin, the world revolving around her as she stood suspended in motion. She opened her eyes and could no longer see the spotlight. Everything was blurry, then dark, and she heard a rushing in her ears as she collapsed. 

Chapter Text

It was dark. Furina couldn't quite seem to be able to open her eyes. But she didn't really want to. She felt safe. Her body was swaddled in thick blankets, the air of the room was nice and comfortable, and there seemed to be a presence by her side. Someone was here looking out for her. 

There was a soft pressure against her lips, gentle and wet. Wetness against her dry lips felt like a balm to not only her lips, but also her tired soul. Her mouth opened almost automatically, like her body knew that it was something she needed. Maybe it had been brought by the person next to her. A steady stream of wetness, life, water, poured into her open mouth. It wet her dry mouth, all the hidden places where the desert had sprung up in her neglect. She felt herself come back from the brink of death. It was an odd feeling, being on the razor thin edge between death and life. Each drop of water poured into her tilted the scales in favor of life.

The stream stopped. She was right there, hanging onto the scale but unable to tip it over. Water was not enough. With each passing second, she felt the weight of nothingness tilting the scale to the other side 

There was a sound above her. It sounded so terribly familiar. It brought along a feeling that she had not felt in such a long time. The heaviness in the air. The feeling that weighed upon her. It was the weight of judgment, and she suddenly felt so small. 

Something above her was judging her. There was an entity, or an ideal, or a jury, or a judge, something that looked at her, struggling on the brink of nothingness, and was judging her. It was judging if she was everything or nothing. She lay flat, still and unmoving. Let whatever judgment come; she was bare before it, stripped down to her essence. 

It came down gently. There was another pressure against her lips, and she knew this was her sentence. A soft hiss sounded in the air as she opened her mouth to take the object in. 

It was soft like skin yet firm, and the sensation of it in her mouth wiggled at Furina's brain. A long buried human instinct sprung forth to her brain, prompting her to lick and suck at it before her half conscious brain could wake up. 

One lick and she knew why. A tiny dribble of life giving cream spilled onto her tongue from the wet slit. It tasted somewhat like ocean water, but Furina knew she would have long drained the seas of Fontaine if this was what they tasted like. But it was familiar like that. Like she had once swallowed a mouthful of the salty substance and had never been able to get the taste out of her head. 

Despite the taste, or maybe because of it, she knew that she needed more. More of this salty taste upon her tongue, much more than a drop to fill her up and bring her to life. 

She began to suckle in earnest, mouth forming a tight seal around to not let any precious liquid escape. Her tongue swiped at the wet hole, bringing back more cream with each attempt. The rhythm of sucking soothed her, relaxing her jaw to take in more of it. 

It was an ancient rhythm, an instinct she knew but had never acted on. One of the first actions a human being could ever do. She felt as if she had been reborn as a human for the first time. Perhaps she had died back then, collapsed onto the stage. It mattered not. This was a far better life than that had been, and she was glad her first memory of her new life was this. 

A hand made its way into her soft hair to support it, long fingers carding through her hair and rubbing her scalp soothingly. It was a gentle touch, full of all the love and affection they could not show by feeding her the life-giving fluid in her mouth. Like a mother's touch, a love of one who had put their body and soul into love for her. It was something she had always yearned for, but had never experienced. It was love, filling her stomach and bringing her to life with every needy suckle. 

It pulsed in her mouth, causing her to suck harder. The hand tightened in her hair, pushing her mouth into the pulse. Her scalp hurt and her jaw ached, but she knew that the hand only wanted her to drink up as much as she could so she could grow up big and healthy and strong. 

And she would. If only there was more fluid, she could. As if on cue, more fluid pulsed out from the weeping hole, filling her mouth until it was nearly overflowing. The taste of it, all over her mouth, covering every taste bud, was overwhelming. Her mind, in the slow process of acclimating itself to this new life, was kicked into overdrive. This was her new life. More of this substance on her tongue, more life giving fluid to fill her until she was near bursting and ready to give her own life to another. 

The fluid in her mouth overwhelmed her body as well as her mind. It spilled from around the suction of her lips and she swallowed frantically in a desperate bid to make more room in her mouth. The act of swallowing was familiar. Synapses fired, reconnected old nerves, triggering other reactions in her body. As if the passage of the fluid into her insides set them alight, she could feel her core heating up. 

Something down there tingled, prepared itself once again for something that had not yet come. Her legs tensed without her permission and spread themselves in anticipation. Her entire body was ready for something she herself was not. It was acting on instinct. Her conscious mind, still going haywire, could not focus.

The hand loosened itself from her hair and her jaw was able to relax as the thing in her mouth retreated slowly. It was still wet, still dripping that precious fluid, and Furina’s tongue reached out after it, searching for more of that taste. 

It left her mouth. Her tongue was too short. Her body was still swaddled in blankets and could not move to chase after it. Her mind, attempting to follow the tangled mess of events and failing, gave up, allowed her emotional cortex to take command. That, after gathering all of the necessary information from the rest of what made up ‘Furina’, was not properly equipped to handle such a situation.

Tears, wet and salty and definitely not as tasty as that life giving fluid, dripped from her eyes. Her nose watered, her throat itched, her little fists clenched into the blanket. Her entire body rebelled, threw out whatever defenses they had. She bawled, tears falling, snot dripping, throat screaming, fists banging. Anything. Everything for more. 

The hand automatically went back to her head, petting it and rubbing her soft hair in gentle soothing motions. Over the din of her cries, she could hear a faint rumbling that she recognized as a voice. It was deep and soothing, and rose and fell in a cadence she knew as rhythmic. Or some sort of attempt at rhythm. It was all very nice, but none of it was what she needed.

She raised her voice despite its scratchiness and its pitch exceeded even her high singing voice. Somehow more tears forced their way out of the ducts and onto her face until it was a wet mess. Cloth came up to wipe at her face, but it was not what she needed. She needed the gentle pressure against her lips, the largeness opening her jaw, and the wetness against her tongue. 

The cloth left her face and the hand came back, long fingers wiping the tracks of tears from her face in vain. They were an ever flowing river. The hand traveled down to her pretty little lips, to that pink mouth parted and screaming. A large finger entered her mouth and she clamped down around it automatically. 

It was not as nice as the previous object, not large enough, not wet enough. But it was something in her mouth, so she pursed her lips and suckled gently. With her mouth sore but occupied, the rest of her body began to slowly calm down. The river of her tears trickled down into nothing and she sniffled, trying to banish the uncomfortable sensation of snot in her nostrils.

There was a soft murmur she could not make out as another hand went to her head. It patted her and it felt like praise, like light and warmth and the satisfaction of a job well done. She could feel her body relaxing into the sensation, fists unclenching and legs going back to a restful position. 

But the reprieve did not last. The finger in her mouth pulled away and her face scrunched up into an ugly entitled thing. She needed it back. There was a scream bubbling inside her throat, ready to be released. 

Before she could cry out once again, mouth nearly open in preparation, a familiar pressure was against her lips. It gently nudged her lips open and she allowed it, stretching her jaw to take all of it in. 

Wetness hit her tongue again. The flavor was back, and she needed it even more now that she had been denied it for but a moment. The head of the object was weeping, a steady stream of fluid that she devoured, yet she now knew it to be only a prelude to the main course. When the hand in her hair would clench, the voice she could barely hear would rise into an inhuman growl, and the object inside her mouth would pulse and release all of its life giving fluid. 

She focused on the movement. In and out. The object inside her mouth was more flexible than the last, or maybe she was simply more aware of herself, more grounded in physical sensation and less carried away in the clouds by overwhelming need. Her tongue ran along the ridges, this time not solely focused on the hole of fluids. 

The entire length tasted good. Like a baguette. Great with sauce, still good on its own. The comparison nearly made her laugh, and her movement made the object force itself deeper in an uncomfortable manner. It hitting the back of her throat almost made her gag, and she wished she could take it in its entirety. 

She made to pull back, to get comfortable with the object in her mouth again, but the hand in her hair tightened. Her core clenched in anticipation, legs tensing, tongue still, waiting for the inevitable spill of fluid inside her mouth. There was a little dribble that she was sure was the prelude to the great deluge. 

Her face was pulled forward roughly, leaving her barely enough time to take a breath in reaction. It mattered not. The force of the pull, of another's action controlling her, forced the breath out of her body. Her mouth was stuffed beyond belief, jaw wide open and still barely able to take the object in fully. It was wider at the base, ridged where her lips clamped on. 

The front of it, wet and tapered, was halfway down her throat. It was past her tonsils, and she felt her body react to the pressure instinctively, yet far too slowly. She choked and gagged, felt her mouth fill with spit and her lungs constrict as if they too had been filled with fluid, overflowing from her stuffed mouth. It was as if she was drowning. Waterboarded by the object in her mouth, pushing her conscious mind down until it nearly faded. 

Fluid dripped from her mouth as the seal was broken and the object inside of her retreated. It dragged back, slowed by the pressure of her lips and tongue, clinging to it even as her throat ached and her head hurt. Her brain was still trying to recover from the sudden lack of oxygen, but her body breathed for her automatically, just in time. 

There was another forceful push back into her mouth, and this time she knew to breathe. To take air in and out steadily, to calm herself and lose herself in the movement. She let herself be guided by the hand in her hair, used as if she were an object, a wet cavern to slide in and out of. Her mind sunk beneath the waves, drowned under the forceful pull and push. 

She was barely conscious when the movement finally stopped. It stopped deep within her, buried to the hilt and her nose touching something soft. Another object was against the skin of her throat, pressing somewhat uncomfortably. The hand in her hair tightened, pulling the white strands and stretching the skin of her scalp. There was a grunt, deep and inhuman, and a call of something familiar. Her jumbled mind could only recognize the emotion in that sound. Warmth, need, and some sort of emotion she wanted, foolishly, to call love. 

The pulsing in her mouth triggered an instinct in her sleeping brain and her throat relaxed itself instinctively. This time, she couldn't taste the fluid. It released itself deep into the back of her throat and found the passage open, an easy journey down to her stomach. The liquid settled into her stomach, finally filling the ache inside of her. Satiated, the object left her mouth and she was finally able to rest her sore jaw. The hand unclenched, and pet the sweat soaked hair gently, once again lighting her up with praise. Her lips curved into a satisfied smile as she drifted off. This start to her new life had been so exciting, if a bit painful. But the heaviness of the fluids in her stomach reminded her that she would not trade that bone deep satisfaction for anything. 

She woke to the sound of rain. It was heavy against the roof, pounding onto the city with a vengeance, but it was a welcome reprieve from the terrible heat. To others, it might have sounded harsh, but for Furina, it was the sound of love. It was life giving, thirst quenching, cathartic in a way that nothing else in the world could be. She wished to go outside. To toss off the blankets, tear off the nightgown she was in, allow the rain to be her only companion. It would mask her footsteps, illuminate her dance with music and playful droplets. Her skin would be kissed over and over again until she was marked all over, but it would not matter. She would be soaked in it, simultaneously coveted and exhibited, a treasure for all to see but no other to touch. 

The rain held her full attention, masking all other sounds from her until she saw the door open. Her heart nearly stopped, and for the first time, she took in her surroundings like the ornate walls held the key as to who would enter. She recognized that filigree, the pattern of that rug, the shade of blue of the curtains, those footsteps. 

The person who had entered stopped in their tracks upon seeing her wide open blue eyes. Then, not spilling a single drop of water from the pot on that tray they were holding, they rushed to her bedside. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, unwilling to face him. 

“Furina,” he said. He sounded so soft, a contrast to the harsh rains outside the window. 

Something nudged her lips and she cautiously opened one eye, just a peek, to see what it was. It was a cup of water, and she suddenly felt the dryness of her throat like it was the only thing that mattered. Awkwardly, she sat up to sip from the cup, feeling water rehydrate her parched throat. She felt as if she had not drank in many years, yet the action was somehow still so familiar, as if the scene had happened mere hours ago. That was impossible. Hours ago, she had been dead to the world, dead even to herself. 

She pulled back, struck sober by the thought. Waking up alive was an odd feeling. Was she really alive? What had happened to her? 

Just as she was contemplating her own mortality, flexing her toes and fingers, getting used to being in a body, she was called back by Neuvillette’s gentle voice. 

“You collapsed on the stage due to severe dehydration.” She flinched at the sentence, but his voice was calm, without a hint of rebuke. 

It came back to her like a slow trickle of water, filling her mind with memory. The harsh lights of the stage. Everyone's eyes on her, watching, waiting, anticipation building up so high it boiled over and she could not meet their expectations. The heat of the past days. The shame that had enveloped her when she felt a hot wetness between her legs. 

The memory of that sensation made her panic, and she put a hand between her legs to check for wetness. It was awkward to do this in front of Neuvillette and she felt a hot flush overcome her body at the feeling of his eyes on her. She was lucky that the blanket covered her movements. There was a sticky wetness in her panties, but at the very least, it did not feel like piss. A constant low level of arousal was normal for her now. She wouldn't be surprised if her body had started producing slick at the sight of him, like he was some sort of pheromone-inducing sexually attractive being. 

Furina stole a glance at him. His eyes had not left her, and that brief moment of accidental eye contact was enough to force her to stare down at her hands. 

“How have you been?” he asked, calm and stilted. 

“Fine,” she said. Was that really what she wanted to say? She had collapsed on stage because of her foolish pride and her need to avoid him. What for? She couldn't imagine why, not with the rain beating heavily at the windows and Neuvillette staring at her so earnestly. 

“Furina, I-”, he started, so soft and pained, a sharp contrast to his earlier demeanor, so detached. This was the voice she had heard so often in the past few weeks. 

I’m sorry, he had said, like he was the one who had to apologize. Never. It had all been her fault, and yet…

Let me in, he had pleaded, like she was not trying to save him by keeping him out. But if it was his earnest wish then…

I care for you, he had admitted, and she had not wanted to hear it. 

All those times, she had shut him out. Again and again, like she had been protecting some sort of nation ending, people dissolving secret. But everything had changed, hadn’t it? Everything had changed, and she had not. 

But she could still change. She had changed. Something inside her was satiated. The beast of lust, the thing that had beat insistently at her whenever she was around him, was quiet. For the first time in a long time, Furina could think of him without an awful haze clouding her mind. She looked at Neuvillette once more. He sat calmly by her bed, but she could feel some sort of yearning bond between them. It was not as insistent as the beast of lust. Somewhere deep inside of her, the heart she had locked away strained under its chains. Her throat was simultaneously dry and wet, an abundance of fluids easing the way for a confession even though words were difficult to get out through a desert of anxiety. 

“I was scared,” she admitted, staring down at her hands. “Because of the rain.” She meant the lack of, and he knew it as well. Outside, the rain kept falling, droplets against the city a soundtrack to their turbulent conversation. It said what they could not. Rain spoke for him, falling gently from the sky, weeping and settling over Fontaine, seeping into her cracks and alleyways. It was a sound she had missed so sorely in the days without him. His hand met hers, a hesitant but gentle touch. There, her hand in his, she finally felt safe. 

“I thought you were going to abandon Fontaine,” she said, voice shaking. His hands stilled from where those fingers had been rubbing gentle circles against her skin. He gripped her hands tightly, a sensation that should have been painful but her mind only read as comforting. 

Neuvillette leaned in closer, and she squeezed her eyes shut, heart pounding at the distance between them. “Did you?” 

A simple question. He invited her to be honest, and Furina did not know how any defendants could go through an entire farce of a trial when that gentle voice was there. She did not know how she had lied to him for 500 years and then some. She decided, right then and there, that she wanted to change. She wanted to be truthful with him, always. 

“No,” she confessed. It was selfish, but Fontaine was not the first thing on her mind. The nation she loved, and the people she had given everything to protect had not been her priority for quite some time. “I was scared you were going to abandon me.” As if the truth was a seal that she released, tears came flooding out of her. They ran down her cheeks, echoing the rain that continued outside the windows. 

She felt a shift of movement, then a large hand entered her blurry view. His gentle fingers traced the shape of the rivers of tears, learning the topography of her face. Then, there was even more wetness on her cheeks as he consumed her rivers in his ocean, licking up each tear as if they held the keys to her heart.

“Neuvillette,” she cried out plaintively. He swallowed her cries with his mouth, and Furina felt as if she was being consumed by a deep swirling whirlpool. His kiss stole the last dregs of her resistance, any hope she had of remaining impartial taken by the feeling of him breaking his vow of impartiality first. He kissed her without restraint, pressing her into the pillow so ardently that Furina felt like the biggest fool in the world for staying away from him for so long. 

His kiss was a revelation. It felt right in a way nothing had in a long time; it was freedom and light, as if his tongue in her mouth was the key that unlocked the chains she had put over her own heart. It fluttered in his grasp, a quick beat that pulsed and sang for him. And she could feel his beating draconic heart against her chest, strong and steady, the beat of waves against the shore. 

They parted slowly, with the understanding that they would come together once again many times in the future. He was beautiful looming over her, at once too close and too far, taking up too much of her field of view and so high up her neck hurt to look at him. 

“I would never abandon you,” he said, and it was the answer she had been seeking for so long. His words, his actions, all of it felt so right she could not believe she had been avoiding him for so long. His hand came down to stroke her soft cheek, rubbed over the wetness left behind by her tears and his saliva. 

She leaned into his touch, needing his reassurance. Still, there was a question in her eyes as she looked up at him. 

“It’s difficult for me,” he admitted with a sigh, “to understand my own emotions.” He paused for a long moment, saying nothing. 

The rain spoke for him. It thundered down in angry rivulets, a storm of confusion and turbulent thoughts. Each droplet against the city gave off a different sound, dyed them both in a different color. 

“You once told me to find the answer for myself.” There was a wistful tone to his voice, one that lulled her into memory. A warm sun. A golden field. “But time and time again, I’ve found myself resonating with your emotions.”

She understood. So they had both been struggling all this time, wandering through the endless golden field. At times, moving forward had been so difficult they had wanted to shut everything down and lay on the dirt field. When she had not wanted to think of him, when she had attempted to shut down every thought of him, even if it meant ignoring life, he had been doing the same. Hiding from his emotions, bottling them up until they had overflowed.

His hand followed the curve of her face, went across to thumb at her lip. She let him, let her lips part in anticipation. There was a heat in his eyes, and she was suddenly aware of the tender fullness of her lips. “Furina,” he said, voice low and dark, “you are my guiding light.”

He kissed her again, hungrily, and she felt the hunger echo inside of her. His mouth, the taste of him, all of him aroused the dormant hunger inside of her. It was a feeling she had learned to ignore, something she had not wanted to acknowledge. But here in his arms, the hunger was a boon. It was a reward given by him, taken by her. 

She pulled back, delirious with hunger still, but at the same time satiated, so full she could burst. “I felt sick every time I ate your foods,” she blurted out, the words coming out of her in a rush of need and shame. His hand on her tensed. It was so close to her neck. Her throat felt like it had closed up, trying valiantly to defend itself at the mere memory of sickness. But his foods had never caused that sort of sickness for her. She rushed forward, needing to explain herself. “I was sick with need for you.” She felt feverish, red with embarrassment and need. “I never wanted to infect you with my want,” she cried out, shutting her eyes against his hungry gaze. 

He covered her with his body, let her fevered head rest against his cool chest. “You’ve shown a light,” he said, chest rumbling gently with each word, “onto the emotions I have often neglected. But that never meant that I did not feel them.” Rain, the proof of his emotions, fell softly in the background. The storm had calmed somewhat, still pouring, but now in some sort of controlled manner. The steadiness of his feelings calmed her just as much as his words did. “If wanting is a sickness, then you and I have infected one another.”

His gentle reassurance soothed the hunger inside of her. Want still coursed through her body like a low grade fever, but it was a sickness she now nourished with every second she spent pressed to his chest, feeling the calm rise and fall. Still, it frightened her. She could not stop her heart from pounding at the lack of distance between their bodies. 

“Neuvillette,” she whispered. He listened. “Would it be alright if we let this shimmer? I still don’t know much about relationships, or want and need.” That sounded like some sort of rejection. She flustered and wanted to speak up again, to take it all back or double down, she wasn’t quite sure as to what, but Neuvillette nodded.

“I agree,” he said simply. “The both of us are new at this, and it is unwise to fall into overindulgence.”

That sounded so much like the him she knew, the proper Iudex, that she wanted to laugh or kiss him. She wasn’t sure which would be more appropriate in this sort of situation. The old her would have laughed, then whined at him to loosen up or go out and enjoy himself for once. The her of approximately two minutes ago would kiss him. Or at least she hoped she would. All of their kisses thus far had been initiated by him. Surely she could take some sort of initiative in their relationship, right?

Not wanting to think of it anymore, she kissed him. It was a casual peck, a light hesitant brush of lips before her thoughts caught up with her once more and she pulled back. The expression on his face, stunned and happy, was one she had never before seen on him. So this new Furina could draw new expressions out of Neuvillette. It didn’t feel too terrible to be honest with her feelings, to try to change and live without a terrible secret hanging over her head like a sword. 

“Furina.” He pulled her hand towards him and laved kisses on each finger. She looked at her fingers and cringed at the stubs that were her fingernails. So much damage had been done in such little time. She made to pull her hand away in embarrassment, but Neuvillette took her pointer finger in his mouth and all rational thought was chased away. The light pressure on her finger coming from his mouth was odd. She felt as if everything had been mixed up and turned sideways. 

Something had changed between them. She did not know when or how, but Neuvillette’s tongue wrapped around her fingers felt different. His eyes still stared at her with unmasked heat, sparking the matching fire inside of her. She allowed it to burn in her, let the smoke rise through her body until she could no longer breathe. 

“I’ll take care of you,” he said, and pressed another kiss to her palm.

Chapter Text

“Lady Furina, he’s here!” 

Good grief. The woman couldn’t contain the gleeful tone of her voice. Most of the crew, as good law-abiding citizens of Fontaine and human beings with common sense, kept a respectful distance from the Iudex of Fontaine, even as he descended from the judge’s chair to deliver lunch to Furina. 

She was certain her face was burning, the eyes of the crew far brighter than even the brightest of stage lights in the studio. 

“You didn’t have to come here,” she said, taking him to a quiet (if that was possible in a rehearsal space) corner of the theater. 

“Walking here to see you is a far better use of my break than standing outside the Palais,” he said, handing over the packed bowl of soup.

“ There’s nobody coming up to bother you with ridiculous requests to book the Opera Epiclese for an amateur production?”

“Had there been a chance of seeing you, I would gladly stand out in the sun. But I assume my chances are better walking here.” 

She wrapped her hands around the still warm bowl, hoping that heat would transfer from her face to it. When had Neuvillette become so- like that? “This is all the way across the city, you better head back if you want to get to work on time.”

“I’ll see you after work, then.” He left as quickly as he came, leaving only a rapidly cooling bowl of soup and an embrace that faded with the air from the door closing as he exited. It was at times like that that Furina knew for certain she was dealing with an immortal dragon. No human being would use their precious fifteen minute break to take a leisurely stroll all the way across the city to deliver a bowl of soup. No, it was something that only an immortal with a warped sense of time would do. Furina was somewhere in between, suddenly struck by her new mortal lifespan and still often reacting to events with an immortal’s patience. 

“Oh, Monsieur Neuvillette was here!” The Traveler and Paimon approached her, evidently bummed that they weren’t able to see him. “I guess he only came to see you since you’re lovers?”

She would not exactly classify him as her lover. They had, of course, confessed a sort of wanting for one another, and they shared kisses in the days since, but lover was too romantic a word. In fact, they had settled into some sort of domestic routine, a comfortable adjustment to the routine cultivated over five hundred years that had been interrupted only by a month or two of upheaval and an elevator's distance. 

It was a little different from before. A lot more distance. They were no longer in the very same building, able to see one another first thing in the morning or to spend all three meals debating the future of the country or the meaning of some ridiculous opera. Yet in the past weeks, their domestic routine was one that Furina would not wish to trade for much in the world. Neuvillette bringing her lunch. Neuvillette walking her home. Bystanders gossiping about their relationship once more. Well, she could do without the last item.

“I- It’s complicated.” That was all she could say.

“Oh, I’ll bet. But he brought you food! That has to count for something. The Traveler brings me food and we’re the bestest travel companions ever! What’s for lunch today, Traveler? I’m craving something Sumerian!” 

Furina opened her container, allowing the steam and smell to hit her nose. Just the smell of it was able to wipe away her fatigue, infusing her with newfound energy. At this point, she thought she was able to taste a little bit of the minutiae of the dish. Perhaps Neuvillette used Inazuman water for this dish, as it tasted a bit more electric than, for example, what he served her for dinner the night before. 

“So what’s in it?”

Furina looked up from her soup, startled. The Traveler and Paimon had taken the seats next to her, both gazing at her curiously. 

“I mean, it’s Neuvillette’s special dish! It might have weird dragon materials like scales or eggs!”, Paimon exclaimed. 

“National secret. If I told you, he’d have to throw you two in the Fortress of Meropide again,” she said, easily covering it up. That was a defense she had used far too often back when she had been Archon. Mostly to cover-up prophecy related materials that she did not know. Come to think of it, she didn’t know what exactly was in this soup either. He must have told her back when he first cooked it for her, but Furina was a human with a memory barely better than a human’s. She could not remember something from nearly five hundred years ago. 

“Again? What’s with you two and food related crimes? The first time we got jailed for eating your cake!”, she screeched, stomping her feet in the air.

Furina gasped in mock outrage. “My beloved cake! How dare you traitors!”

“No, she found out! Let's get out of here, Traveler!” With that, the two swiftly departed the table, leaving Furina smiling down at her soup. For all that the role of a whimsical and slightly tyrannical archon was an act, it was somewhat fun. Maybe she was once again discovering the joys of acting. 

The rest of the day passed in a similar fashion, full of hard work, yes, but it was fun. Furina felt light on the stage, moving about and instructing the troupe almost as if it was what she was born to do. In some way, she had been born for this. It was difficult to accept that of all the things she could now do, with this whole vast world open before her, she had chosen to throw herself back into the world of the stage. 

Maybe it was in her nature to fall back onto familiar comforts. And when Neuvillette showed up to collect her at the end of rehearsal, much to the tittering of the rest of the crew, taking his arm and falling into step with one another only felt natural. They walked a different path through Fontaine than the one they had walked from the Opera Epiclese to the Palais Mermonia for hundreds of years, but this one was no less interesting. 

In fact, she walked as if she were many times lighter, almost light enough that she thought she could walk on water. Neuvillette would, of course, swim alongside her, and she laughed at the mental image. Walking her dragon on the seas of Fontaine, now that would be a sight. They might even make the front page of the Steambird, and for once something not so serious. 

“Is there something interesting?”

“Nope,” she said, snickering. Neuvillette could probably swim much quicker than she could walk, but oh, if she could actually walk on water, a contest must be held at once. “Oh, should we stop by to pick up dinner?”, she said, pointing to a rather busy street lined with restaurants. 

“I was planning on cooking.”

“You know how much I love your cooking, but isn’t it a little unbalanced for you to be cooking for us all the time?” Her words belied her actual worry. She felt rather ashamed for Neuvillette to be cooking for her all the time, on top of walking her from work and just being there for her.

“In that case, why don’t you assist me in the kitchen tonight?”

“Me? Cook?”, she gasped in her very best impression of a Fontish noblewoman. 

“I’ve heard the Lady Furina is multitalented, surely she can handle holding a mixing bowl,” he said dryly. 

“Very well, I shall endure the indignity of becoming a mixing stand for you.”

They continued on like that, chatting about work and cooking, anticipation building to a rolling boil inside her heart. She would get to cook with Neuvillette. It felt like such a blatantly domestic thing that she still wasn’t sure if it was a thing that was for her. Would it be taken away at the last second, Neuvillette called away to do surely more important things than making something as simple as dinner with her? 

She was so fluttery with anxiety and buoyed by Neuvillette’s easy company that she barely registered the figure standing by her door. It was not until his sudden stop and her subsequent crash into his large figure that she stopped, brought back down to reality. 

“Good evening,” someone said.

“Good evening,” she responded automatically in kind , rubbing her shoulder and nursing her hurt pride. Why had he stopped all of a sudden - “Clorinde?” she questioned, blinking, making sure that her little tumble hadn’t caused her to see things.

The woman tipped her hat in greeting. ”I see you’ve forgotten our dinner plans.”

“Did we make plans when we were last out? Apologies, I’ve been…” she trailed off awkwardly, but there was no need for words when there was evidence standing right next to them. Neuvillette stood by, as imposing a figure as ever, waiting politely for the ladies to finish their conversation. It could have been a scene taken directly from the last few years. How interesting that she would be in this position yet again with both of her trusted subordinates not long after she had tried to cut ties with everyone from her past. Well, she supposed that they were her subordinates no longer. 

She didn’t want to reject Clorinde. The past few times, she had almost brushed her off as an afterthought and she really could not in good conscience, as a friend, waffle about plans again. But Neuvillette and her had dinner plans. 

“I have work to do at the Palais, the two of you should have a nice dinner together,” Neuvillette spoke up, making the decision for her. 

“But our dinner-” She didn’t know who she was trying to speak to. Furina really did want to spend time with both of them. 

“Take good care of her.”

“I will, sir.”

“Wait, what?” While she had been standing around waffling, the two of them had silently come to a decision through eye contact and then made the appropriate social responses to exchange the V.I.P. 

“Is it weird?” she asked anxiously, twirling a noodle on her fork. 

The woman across from her looked up, a fish bone in her mouth. She seemed to consider the question briefly, then took the fish bone out and placed it delicately upon a napkin. “No,” she answered finally. 

It was not the type of answer that could assuage Furina's fears. 

“You know, Neuvillette is-” She couldn't finish the sentence. Taking care of me? Protecting me? With me, with all the nebulous meaning and lofty ambitions that the phrase carried. 

Clorinde sighed and leaned back in her chair. “When I was a child, I had a pet vishap.”

Furina would have spit out her drink had she been drinking something. A vishap? As a child? 

“A vishap?” 

“A geovishap hatchling,” she corrected as if that made it alright . 

“A child?” 

“I was five.” 

Furina did not know what constituted for a normal childhood, but that was most likely not it. Still, she didn't have a leg to stand on, having come into awareness as a grown human who agreed to an endless masquerade mere minutes after gaining consciousness. “I see,” she settled on, unable to say anything else. 

“After some arguments, the vishap and I were able to establish a mutually beneficial relationship. I suppose neither of us were owner or pet by the end of it. I brought it food, it brought me food.”

Furina considered her words carefully. “So, are you saying that Neuvillette is a vishap?” 

“Is he not?” she asked, but in such a matter of fact way that made it seem more like a statement. No way. Neuvillette was better than a vishap. He was the hydro dragon sovereign, but she didn't need to know that. 

“No.” 

Clorinde sipped her tea, smiling, and Furina felt rather like she was being patronized. “It doesn't matter. The point is that it is important to establish a mutually beneficial relationship with others, especially if the other is rather lizard-like.” 

“A mutually beneficial relationship.” Furina turned the words around in her head. Her relationship with Neuvillette had always been unbalanced. She never felt like she had done much of anything for him, other than nag him to go out or watch a performance once in a while. What could she do for Neuvillette? How could she pay him back for everything he had been doing for her?

Her train of thought was broken by soft words. “I find good food is often the key to long-lasting relationships.”

“Really?” Neuvillette had always brought her food. And she thought back to the relationship between Director Aurelie and the troupe, and her own weekly dinners with Clorinde. Maybe there was a truth to it. 

“My master and I lived on the fringes of society for a long time. There was little opportunity to form lasting relationships. But when I was dropped off at Poisson, I discovered the Spina di Rosula playbook.”

She remembered Madame Caspar’s famous macarons that then became Miss Navia’s famous macarons. If Furina could also master a signature dish that she could serve to others, that she could present to Neuvillette in response to his consommé, then it would be an achievement indeed. A nice human achievement, something she had always wanted. A skill to call her own. 

“Clorinde,” she said conspiratorially, leaning in across the wooden table, “would you help me?”

“Of course.”

It was late by the time the two of them made their way back to Furina’s apartment. Not quite as late as the other times when they had gone bar hopping, but late enough that Furina was nearly dead on her feet by the time the apartment was in view. It was a very lucky thing that Clorinde had offered to carry the shopping. 

“Ah, the key is-” she fumbled around searching for it, but her companion had already knocked on the door. 

She was shocked when it creaked open, but Clorinde was as professional as always. “Sir, I’ve returned her safely.”

“Thank you, Clorinde,” he said, already relieving her of the bags. 

Furina stood in a stupor. She hadn’t expected him to still be here . He usually spent late nights in the office catching up on work, and she felt terrible for abandoning him alone in her apartment. 

“Goodnight, Furina,” Clorinde said, already turning to leave. 

While she had been in a daze, the two of them had finished transferring the bags inside and said their final goodbyes. “Ah, yes, goodnight,” she said hurriedly and stepped into her apartment. 

She dawdled around the foyer awkwardly while Neuvillette put the bags away. 

“Do you wish to eat these, or should I put them away?”

“Yes, put them away.” He gave a soft grunt in acknowledgment. 

She followed him into the kitchen to watch him and give her wandering mind something to do. “So you stayed here this whole time?”

“There was work I needed to finish in the Palais. I came back to refill your lotion and bring some ingredients I needed , but I see that you’ve gone shopping on your own.”

It felt oddly shameful to have another see her furtive shopping. But Neuvillette made no further comments as he placed the ingredients away, and Furina yawned heavily, nearly falling asleep where she stood. 

“You should go to bed.”

“You too,” she whined.

“Together?”

It was like that statement activated some sort of secret programming within her. Her heart pounded and her gaze shot to him, frantically searching for some sort of explanation. Asking to go to bed together was an invitation right? But they were meant to be taking it slow- she searched his eyes, uncertain.

Neuvillette was still in the dark of her apartment. They gazed at one another as if in some sort of silent standoff, Furina bouncing on her toes, nervous and flighty. She really couldn’t take the tension. If they stood in this deadlock for one more minute, she was likely to run away and hide under the covers.

He caught the nervous bouncing of her feet and sighed. “Get to bed,” he said quietly, almost resigned. 

She felt her heart sink at the tone of his voice. What had he wanted her to say in response? Somehow, she felt as if there was a quiz she had failed. “Good night, then,” she said in response, the words sinking like stones, thrown too late and with far too little power. 

Silently, she watched him gather his coat, collecting the memory of him in her foyer, counting the seconds until he left with bated breath. He turned to face her once again, coat in hand. “I’ll be occupied with work for the next week. There are numerous cases waiting to be judged at the Opera Epiclese, alongside various proposals and projects that require my attention.”

For a moment, she stood there, confused as to why he was giving her a work report so late in the day, especially when they were no longer employer and subordinate. Then it hit her, her heart now sinking like her useless words had. “Ah, so-”

“It’s quite likely we’ll be unable to meet until a week from now.”

Oh. She should have done something, said something, while she still had time. Yes, there was a week from now, but Furina no longer had days to waste away. She and Neuvillette, as a collective entity, were no longer the certainty it had been for the past hundreds of years. 

She reached out for him. Her fingers touched the white sleeve of his shirt, then curled around the fabric and clung for dear life. Hold on. Hold, pull, make him stay. Although she felt like she was breaking, cracking under the enormous pressure of her instincts, she pressed forward, and pushed her face and her entire body into him. Instinct, the self-preservation mechanic that had saved her more times than she could count when she had been archon, was her enemy. It screamed at her to get away, to stop exposing her vulnerabilities, to build those haughty walls and hide away, alone in her tower. 

It couldn’t win. Nothing would change if it won; she would return to waiting aimless days until her deliverance. 

There was movement above her, then pressure- hands at the back of her, arms wrapping around- pressure that eased the pressure inside of her. She felt his warm heat all around her, his chest against her face, his arms around her, his presence soothing, turning an instinct of self-preservation into a need that bubbled up into words. 

“Stay,” she mumbled, words spoken into his chest. Her own words heated her from the inside out, made her hot and uncomfortable, feeling like she had trapped the both of them. Panicked, she pushed back, breaking out easily from the cradle of his arms. “Not forever, of course, you have work in the morning. But, until I fall asleep?” Was that too needy? Too much?

Strong arms wrapped around her once again. “I will,” he answered, and she felt the affirmation against her body. 

Too much. Definitely too much. She broke away and he let her lead him, almost liquid in her hands as she pushed him onto the couch. “Stay here.” That sounded a bit harsh. “Until I fall asleep,” she appended quietly. 

Retreating through the hallway, she turned back once to look at him. The sight of him, abandoned on her couch, almost made her turn back to climb all over him and fall asleep there, nestled in his arms. She couldn’t. She wasn’t sure if her heart could take it. 

As it was, her heart pounded in her ears as she rushed her nightly routine, the beat of it drowning out the water of her shower for the brief moments she was inside. Neuvillette was there, in her apartment. He was sitting quietly on the couch while she was naked in the shower. As she put on her nightgown, he was fully dressed. 

The sleepiness that had covered her body faded away with each passing second. In its place was a buzzing excitement, an anticipation that had crawled its way under her skin and set her mind alight. She had told him to stay until she fell asleep, but as she crawled under the covers, she wished with all her heart that he was safely away in the Palais Mermonia so she could use her sleep aide without fear of degeneracy . 

Or maybe she could be quiet. Furina knew she could be quiet ; she had suppressed her own cries for hundreds of years. But crying was nowhere on the level of suppressing her own moans while Neuvillette sat quietly on her living room couch. 

There was nothing for it. She just had to fall asleep regularly. Closing her eyes, she breathed in and out slowly, hoping to slow her own heartbeat. There was no soothing rain outside her window. There was the subtle ticking and tocking of her living room clock, an antique that she swore she was going to take apart and fix one day, now that all surviving members of that clockwork guild had gone and died out. There were footsteps, and all her breathing exercises were for naught.

“Furina?” His voice was like the dark undercurrent, urging her to respond and lose herself.

She bit her lip. If she did not respond, Neuvillette would think she was asleep and leave, then she could touch herself to the thought of him, relax, and actually fall asleep.

There was movement, a slight rustle of clothes, and something metallic, most likely his cufflinks. She could feel his presence looming over her like a shadow and squeezed her eyes together just a little bit tighter, urging her heartbeat and breath to slow. It was no different than playing dead on stage. Her limbs went limp, and thus, when he pulled her right arm out from underneath the blanket, she did not tense up dramatically and give her wakeful state away. 

What was he doing? Her arm was a little cold now that it was no longer blanketed, but her skin nearly burned where he was gently holding her. He held her limp wrist in one firm hand and seemed to study it. Neuvillette could see in the dark, that much she knew from years of experience, but what was he looking for?

The answer hit her like a burning pain. Slow at first, and then a white-hot blinding realization. He was examining her right hand- the one that was scarred from where she had put her hand in the pool of primordial seawater. It was a blemish that Furina herself rarely noticed, not with her habit of wearing gloves daily and the human mind’s uncanny ability to become used to nearly anything.

Neuvillette had never brought it up, not when he had seen it before, not after the trial. In all honesty , she had assumed that they both were trying to move on from it. But here he was, in the dark, kneeling beside her bed and holding her hand as if it were holy. 

Cool wetness hit the back of her hand and she stiffened involuntarily. It was cold and oddly slimy, his tongue licking strips of her bare skin methodically. Now that she knew what he was doing, she wanted to pull away. That had been a mistake on all sides, a terrible situation that she wished to put in the back of her mind. But like this, lying in bed and pretending once again, she could do nothing but watch the pieces fall into place. Neuvillette played the part of the atoning supplicant, washing her hand with his own tongue. 

He flattened raised skin with his broad tongue, peppered kisses all over discolored flesh, and covered her entire hand in his healing waters. Furina felt as if she had sunk deeper into the bed with each pass of his tongue and lips. She could not open her eyes and face him, she could not cry, and could not turn away- there was nothing to do but fall into a deep ocean, let her waking mind rest, and allow Neuvillette to do what he felt he needed to do. It was a sort of feeling she could understand better than most. There were things that one could only do when there were no prying eyes, just as there were things one could only do when the whole of Fontaine was watching them on stage. 

Finally, he stopped and she very nearly let out a large shuddering gasp. She did not, yet the emotion let itself out and tears escaped her eyes without her consent. 

As if called by her waters, Neuvillette’s rough finger brushed against her soft under eyes, and she nearly whined at him for disturbing her nightly cream. She did not know what he did with the tears he collected. But they were caused by him, so it only felt right that he should take them. 

For long moments there was nothing. She drifted along deeper into sleep, her body taking on a position of actual restfulness far unlike the role she had forced herself into. Then he returned with a smooth lotion that covered his saliva and soothed the senses. The lotion was cool to the touch , but Neuvillette’s gentle hands were warm as he worked it into her skin. His soft touch was like a gentle paddling upon the stream, taking her deeper and deeper until she slipped into the realm of dreams.

She woke up to a warm apartment. There was faint light streaming from beyond her bedroom door, and noise as well, the clang of metal and shuffling movement. Early. Too early. The night before was a confusing haze of fog in her still slumbering mind. Yet at the same time , she felt as if she had just fallen asleep mere minutes ago, with Neuvillette’s hand still a warm imprint on her own. 

Was he still here? There was movement outside. It felt a little hazy, like a dream she once had. Something like living like a normal human, waking up in a cozy bed in a reasonable dwelling to the sound of life right outside her door. 

It was a life she had never thought she could have. 

Heart pounding, hands shaking, limbs weak, and head hurting, she hurled herself off of her bed and landed in a tangled mess of sheets and limbs. Ow. That hurt. At the very least, the tumble cleared her of the hazy feeling. She was probably not still dreaming. 

Gingerly, she picked herself off the floor and crept into the hallway, guided by the intriguing scent in the air . The floor was cold against her bare feet, sending her scampering towards warmth, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. She stopped at the end of the hallway, barely daring to breathe in fear that she would disturb the scene before her. 

Sunlight streaming in from the open kitchen windows. The slow stirring of a pot. A steady heat from the stove. 

His face was flushed with the heat of the stove, and the sight of him wearing her blue frilly apron patterned with sea creatures and waves, so at home in her kitchen, caused her to stumble, knees suddenly weakened. He turned to her at the noise and she blushed furiously, knowing that he had sensed her long ago, but only chose to acknowledge her now when she had embarrassed herself. 

“When did you get up?” she asked, yawning in the middle of her question in a poor attempt to play off her stumble, but it soon transitioned into a full yawn when sleepiness took over her body. What time was it? It certainly felt far earlier than when she would normally be up, but she did have a late night. 

“Just a bit ago.”

Frustratingly vague. She knew from experience that Neuvillette tended to rise even before the sun, and judging from what he had already accomplished this morning - she wiped the sleepiness from her eyes and took in the scene in the kitchen. 

She had not known that she owned that many pots and pans, or that large of a pot that was simmering on the stovetop. It smelled absolutely delicious, a familiar scent wafting up that made her remember she hadn't eaten since the night before. And that dinner with Clorinde barely even counted. She hadn't had Neuvillette's cooking, ergo, it did not fill her up. But this amount was clearly a little excessive. 

“Are we having a soirée you did not tell me about?” she asked jokingly, sliding up next to him to be closer to warmth. The warmth of the stove, the comfort of cooking food, and the security of his presence beside her in her own kitchen settled something within her. She had been off balance since waking up, unsure of her tether to reality, but this was real. Hesitantly, she brushed her hand against the fabric of Neuvillette’s white shirt, feeling the cotton on her skin.

He chuckled. “I do believe soirées are evening parties, and it is barely 8 in the morning.” 

So that answered the question of the time. It was still much too early to be up. “Oh, but Neuvillette! I must have at the very minimum five hours to get dressed and be presentable!”, she exclaimed teasingly, face twisted into an expression of mock aghast.  

“I've seen you ready for parties with a few minutes' notice.” 

“That was before, and now is-” she stopped, blindsided by the sudden turn into now versus before . Before she had a veritable army of maids and servants. Before she had the finest wardrobe in all of Fontaine, yet so few choices suitable for a very fancy dinner. Before-

“The soup is ready.” He turned off the stove with a click and reached for a ladle , while Furina stood quietly despondent by his side. 

Before. Before. Before. The memories were like a flood, taking her away even though she did her best to swim back to the present moment. To happier thoughts. 

Then, like a lifeline, she was buoyed by gentle words and a soft touch to her shoulder. “Have a taste.” She blinked and looked down to see a metal spoon nearing her lips. 

Heat and smell wafted up to her nose. She took in a long heavy sniff, uncaring of how rude it might look. Neuvillette had seen her in so many situations that it would be useless to care about a breach of etiquette now anyway. With him so close and the heat of the soup , her nose was a little confused. 

“It smells good,” she said in wonder and stole a quick glance up at him. He was still red from the heat of the stove, but it didn’t seem to stop his undivided attention on her. “So, what’s really in this soup?” she asked to change the subject, a bit embarrassed by his focused gaze.  It had always been the question in the back of her mind, but actually finally seeing Neuvillette in the process of cooking made her mind wander. Other than bowls and bottles of water, there didn’t seem to be any other special ingredients included. Or maybe he was the type of chef who cleaned as he went and there was evidence in the garbage. 

“Taste it,” he offered. 

She very nearly rolled her eyes at him, but she was unable to resist temptation any longer and downed the spoonful. It was good. Of course, it was good. Furina had been nearly addicted to the thing for so long she was beginning to think that Neuvillette had placed some sort of illegal drug into it. But as it was, fresh from the pot instead of reheated, served to her by Neuvillette’s own hand, it was absolutely ridiculously good. So good she felt almost as if she was in some sort of odd script, and her imagination ran with it, sparking up new ideas and lines and drafting action sequences.  

“Monsieur,” she exclaimed, “I’ve figured it out!” This would be fun . As long as he played along. He would right ? They had so easily fallen back into their comfortable rapport, and as much as she didn't want to rock the boat, she also couldn't resist being a bit playful. 

“Have you?” he asked, eyes shining in a dangerous sort of way . That was the reaction she wanted. He actually could be a halfway decent actor if he put his mind to it, with intense eyes and a commanding voice that sent a shiver up her spine. 

“Of course! I, Furina de Fontaine, the most eminent detective in all the lands, have foiled your dastardly plot!” She grabbed the spoon from his hand. He did not release it and there they were, standing in the middle of the kitchen holding onto one another through a spoon. 

“And what sort of dastardly plot are you speaking of?” he asked, speaking low and slow . 

Furina felt rather like she was walking into a trap, but she couldn't stop the skit right in the middle. And Neuvillette's reactions were unexpected, so much so that she wanted to know how far she could push him. “I'm very glad you asked. These soups have a certain addictive property, something very suspicious. They cause shortness of breath, an increased heart rate, and a watering mouth.” And several other symptoms, such as her incessant need to touch herself to the thought of him, but that might be Furina specific. Or at least she hoped it was. Who knew what would happen if a certain subset of Neuvillette’s ‘admirers’ got a hold of his cooking? 

He tensed his grip on the spoon, then adjusted his hold so his hand covered both Furina's wrist and the spoon. She was caught, trapped by his wrist, and pushed back by his looming presence as he stepped closer, so close she could feel his breath on her skin. She couldn't be intimidated by him. Furina straightened her back, pulled herself up to her full height, and still had to tilt her head up by quite a bit to look him in the eyes. 

“You won't get away with this,” she breathed out, “when I find this illegal substance, you shall be put on trial in the Opera Epiclese for your crimes.” 

Neuvillette frowned and tilted his head to the side in such an adorably awkward way that she was almost taken out of the scene. “So you don't know yet?”

“I'm very close,” she insisted and pulled her wrist futilely. “I need that spoon as evidence.” 

“Furina.” The man nearly purred her name, and it had never sounded so good before. If he had called her like that before, she would have done anything he wanted. Well, perhaps not. But now, she would do anything he wanted, if only he kept speaking to her like that. “Come then.” His voice was hypnotic and his touch was commanding, bringing the spoon alongside the rest of her to scoop up more soup. 

The spoon was pressed to her lips once again. She took it eagerly, allowing it to settle on her tongue and melt in her mouth, flooding her senses. It was truly an elusive flavor, something she had tasted but did not know. She had tasted it before-

He kissed her, all lips and teeth and tongue and savagery. In an instant, she forgot her train of thought. That silly little skit slipped away like morning dew, overtaken by heavy rain. His tongue plundered her mouth, licking up all traces of soup. It was a happy thing, she thought, that he could taste the soup he made through her. He had worked so hard, gotten up early, and cooked this lovely dish. The least she could do was to offer her own mouth as a vessel for it. And she was a willing vessel indeed, eagerly pulled into him so they could connect their bodies more deeply before breaking apart like waves on the rock. 

When they finally pulled away from one another, she could see the unmasked lust in his dark eyes. He pulled the spoon away and her hand, weak and trembling, fell to her side. 

“Do you know what the taste is now?” He spoke without fear, and urged her to answer as if she was a witness on the stand, one whose knowledge could turn the case around. 

She swallowed eagerly, a mix of their saliva and the soup. It was like they had come together and poured both of their watery essences into her mouth. The taste of the both of them lingered in her mouth between her teeth and stuck in her gums. It was not something she could easily describe. She shook her head, still cloudy, high on the taste of him . 

He stroked her hair gently, then bent down to kiss her forehead. It felt warm, and a little odd, but she didn't dislike it. “Love,” he said simply . 

She was struck dumb, unable to speak. Neuvillette like this, Neuvillette speaking words of love and taking her breath away with a kiss, was unexpected. “I never pegged you as such a romantic,” she said hesitantly. 

“It's the truth.” Honest and direct, her dragon was still every bit Fontaine's righteous Iudex, but now all of his attentions were directed towards her. His gaze made her undone; his bare feelings sent her spiraling. 

He had offered his heart in a bowl for her. And what had she done for him? The conversation she had with Clorinde the night before drifted to the forefront of her mind. How had it been so simple to make plans with her, but so difficult to speak when faced with Neuvillette? Yet she knew that proclamations - words of strength and character - carried far more weight than most understood. And so she gathered courage and set her heart on a platter under the stage lights. 

“I want to learn how to cook for you,” she said, words bold and certain, unlike the mess she was inside.

Neuvillette’s eyes widened in brief surprise, but then he smiled at her and she was emboldened , bolstered by the fond pride in his eyes. “You will. I have absolute faith in your ability to react quickly, pick up new skills, and figure out anything you put your mind to,” he assured her, patting her head oh so softly. 

Ugh, she was blushing so heavily that she was sure her head was steaming under Neuvillette’s hand. She wasn’t sure if she was ever as capable as Neuvillette seemed to believe, but it felt good to make that declaration of intent and to have it be reinforced so easily. “Okay, I’ll cook you something delicious next time,” she reaffirmed. 

“A week from now,” he said ruefully. 

“Oh? Did you slacking from work to meet me finally catch up with you?” she teased, but only to hide the sudden feeling of loss she felt. She had nearly forgotten. Neuvillette had not left yet, but after spending the past few weeks sharing meals and life together , it felt like too sudden a parting. 

“I may have been overly self-indulgent,” he admitted, the tips of his pointed ears a bright burning red. 

“I’ll see you in a week then. Don’t work too hard, and remember to take breaks and spend some time amongst humans if you get the chance!”, she chided him, remembering that Neuvillette was often prone to overwork and a lack of socialization. He needed to see the sun sometimes and walk amongst his people, even if he didn’t have enough time to see her. 

“Of course. And you as well. Take care of your health,” he said. She sighed in response, but she was also okay with not fainting again. “I’ve cooked a large batch of soup, please do make sure you eat well.” 

Oh, so that was what all that soup was for. She felt a slight bit of disappointment that there wouldn’t be a nice evening salon. It was quickly overshadowed by the panic that flooded her at the sight of Neuvillette taking off the apron to put on his jacket as he got ready to leave. He couldn’t leave her yet, not so soon.

As if propelled, she grabbed his hand, surprising herself with the speed of her own action. So this was something close to instinct. A bit of a trained action, a bit of impulse, all culminating together in a strong tug of his hand, so unlike and so similar to when she had stopped him from leaving the night before. He turned to face her, still in the midst of putting on his heavy coat, one arm in the armhole and the other one out. On her tiptoes, a quick kiss- there!

In the quiet of her kitchen, like a soldier and a maiden wrested apart by an unavoidable conflict, her lips met his for a final parting. A brief touch that turned into a desperate grab, holding on with all their might in that one moment of time . 

He pulled back reluctantly, still holding on. “I’m very late for work.”

“You can sign your own leave notes now, you know.”

“Standard procedure dictates that they must be signed before the leave is taken.”

“Next week, then?”

“Next week.”

With that, Furina was left alone in her empty apartment. Well, alone with quite a few pots of soup. She put the apron on. It fit her quite a bit better than it had covered Neuvillette, and she smiled at the memory of him in such a proportionately small apron. 

“Day 1, learning how to cook.”