Chapter Text
It was almost easy to pretend that things weren’t falling apart. It was almost easy to continue acting, to dance along an eternal stage set, to smile softly and curtsy in an infinite bow of release, of leaving but not really leaving. It was almost easy to pretend that her life hadn’t been shredded to pieces.
But the difficulty became unbearable when they returned. The traveller, a plain name for a plain flesh shell housing the monster, the never ending rows of eyes and teeth and tendrils, all hidden within that placid little body. She saw it, when they interlocked blades with the beast of stars and seas, the unfolding of a human form, the splintering of reality as it mimicked, like an octopus, recognizable and unrecognizable faces. Her stomach still burned to think of it, the way it sounded as its forms were rendered open to the air with crunching sounds, before crushing back together in an infinite dance. She would not have won if she was forced to face that, no one would have. She despised them, but she despised most these days.
Furina had not healed from the assault on her dignity, on her very being. She had not even started. The little star monster might have thought itself a savior, dragging her back on a stage, they smiled and clapped as Furina was left with a burning sigil of her insignificance in hand, grinning and pretending that it was a gift, that it was not a smack in the face.
She had always had a distrust towards that dragon. Always on edge, a shepherd watching a wolf stumble his way into being a sheep, teeth snapping too close to weak little faces. How long would it be until he split open, serpentine and spite-filled, to raze the weak little country of Fontaine. How easy it would be now, with divine authority in his jaws, to sink this land to the depths of his waterlogged grave. At least when she was still ‘Folcalors’, she could count on immortality. His teeth would snap and tear, her organs spilling out in painful fractals, but she would not die, she would never die. But she had no comfort in that anymore.
So she stayed away, she ignored, she placated with little words on a letter, short and solid, and Furina spent her few weeks free of Neuvillette.
Until now, until today, when that damned star destroyed her life once more, before she had even gotten a chance to live it this time.
The vision was a taunt. The fanged metal was another change, more proof that she was now a weak little mortal, absolutely insignificant, nothing. A little doll, done with its show on a cardboard stage, packed away with all the other dolls in cold boxes by a man who had grown tired of the games.
Once Furina was out of the sights of the horrible creature and their little follower, she threw the thing into a bin. She didn’t recall which one, but she did know it was one of the downstairs cans, away from her sight as she crawled up the stairs and curled into sheets, trying to clear her mind for one moment, if she could just have one moment of privacy, of silence, but no. The dragon had an eye in her own house now, held in silver clips, glossy and blue and perfect and powerful but not, unacceptable, a symbol of pity that Furina would never take, she would die before allowing another claw to lay upon her.
She would wash away the memories of curling up next to that dragon- of being a shepherd, trusting the wolf not to bite her hand because he was equal, because she held as much and more as he did. But she was a sheep now, she could no longer trust the wolf not to bite her flesh, because she could no longer stop him if he did. Prey cannot trust the predator, even if he dulled his teeth and claws, even if he looked upon her with kindness, there would never be trust. She had trusted, she had trusted so many, she put her life in the hands of predators, and they devoured it. If they devoured it when she was equal and above, they would surely devour it now. Clorinde was her falcon, a bird of power, but one she trusted. But that bird turned on her, as did everyone else. If a handler cannot even handle a bird, she can handle nothing.
So Furina remained alone, in her safe solitude, where claws and teeth were forbidden, closed and locked behind a front door.
How insulting, how indulgent, to receive that vision. But it would remain in the bin, where it belonged. Where all predator-gifts would go.
Furina didn’t eat much anymore. She never really did in the first place, out of some guilt for her sweet tooth, and the pain of a stomach that could barely hold its own acid in place. It was worse now, when immortality could not dull the fear of poison. She could not trust many foods, she barely trusted the canned food, most certainly not anything that wasn’t held within the confines of metal armor. What if it was laced? Of course, canned foods were another fear, if there was even a dent, it would be thrown out. Nightmares of botulism, of bacteria and viruses that killed mortals like her, plagued Furina at the sight of her panty.
But starving would kill as well, so she took whatever can looked safest and boiled whatever was in it until she was sure that any bacteria hiding inside were dead. She had given up on taste, it was purely survival.
Same came to hygiene. She prided herself on keeping clean, but showers had always been short, and now that she had gotten ahold of this thing, dry shampoo, she was minimizing it even more. Showers were dangerous, showers risked dissolving. She did not trust that everything was resolved, and she did not want to be the next victim. Her life was ruled by paranoia, but how could it not? She was mortal, she was weak, she was a pitiful scrap of meat left on the side of the road by an unforgiving god’s suicide. As Furina watched herself in the vague reflection of a window, all she could feel was disgust.
She stopped leaving the blinds open. It was bad, anyways, someone might see her and decide to take aim- what if someone shot a rifle into her house? She felt her insides twist with fear, quickly moving away from the window, chest seizing. What was wrong with her? What was wrong with her brain, it had never been like this, this fear, was it the result of mortality, or had she always been afraid, but confident enough that her own body ignored it. She felt herself tremble as she once again reflected on just how many times she bared herself to that damned dragon, how many times she had rolled on her back and exposed soft underbelly to unforgiving fangs- how many times had she placed her trust within that conniving monster’s claws!? How could she have done that- why was she only now realising how idiotic she had been?! Was it that vision? Why did everything feel like it was multiplying-
Somewhere the moon touched down upon a dead ocean. Once long ago, it would bring the birth of new life, of little teeth and claws, and how he missed that time. He missed it, and so the sky swelled with clouds.
She fell to the ground, knees slamming loud against wood, cracking against the birch with a pained sound. Rain hit the windows with a vengeance as he mourned what he never had. She felt horrid, worse than she had before. She wanted to curl up, to hide, it felt like things were watching her, that the dragon was just outside, eyes bulging with rage as it finally realised that she was not even a sheep, that she was a mouse and she was not off limits, that there was no shepherd to keep it from mauling and mutilating-
Something else locked into place, shrieking, fear- images of case files, of women brutalized, all her life, Furina had never considered the danger of being something feminine- but she had ways to defend herself then, but not anymore. No, she was a piece of meat now, just as all the others, of men and women and wolves and sheep. She had hidden from it, but the star had once more dragooned her, forcing her into vulnerability.
Something twitched, desire forming, innocent and soft and so easy to crush, like a flower, petals barely holding veins together. To live forever, to be strong, to not fear the dragon, to go back to when she was new and he was new and they were just children in bodies too big with too much to carry.
And so she laid on the floor, body heaving as drool leaked with blood and tears and mucus and filthy human things. Furina, ruined, revolting and spilling hot guts on the birch floor, in a house she did not even buy, surrounded by furniture she did not own. Wasn’t it a gift? Sharing a hoard with a newly birthed, gentle and scared to hurt.
Her mind snapped again, something horrible and burning and venomous. Something wet and dry and unfolded like bat wings across a hatchet.
The world was swimming, and she swam with it, body falling to a floor far below the earth, something twisting and stretching, sinew and tendon shivering and splitting with a snip sound. Viscera pouring on a sidewalk after melting through a ceiling, a file detailing the suicide and rot of a man in an abandoned apartment. Horrible things, her body burned and shivered and bled, flesh splitting open as something emerged, horrible things dulled by beauty, the beauty of breaking.
Everything was mixed and separated, everything was reflected in blue and silver, metal teeth pinched together in a grimace as a body unwound like a strung sweater, twisting into raw flesh on wood, with no pain or a mind to feel it with. Tiny bones formed first, a shell, flexible and warm, then eyes to hear and ears to see.
This was peace, this was incredible, a feeling of softness, raw like placenta around a dove hatching from the egg. Infant safety, a vision in a metal bin glinted softly, little teeth clicking. The concept of birth and change is as wonderful as it is vile. The splitting of membranes can be seen as horrific and as beautiful at once. She can be ugly and hateful and hurt and kind and healed and soft.
Furina was light, she was beyond weightless, not at peace but not at war. Somewhere a sliver of the moon touched water invaded by the sky itself, Oroborus biding his time below the currents.
The world was exposed and opened like the shell of an oyster, cracked and weak but beautiful. A moth split out of its cocoon with a wet spill of ink, a dragon clicked softly to seals and otters under the sea, a wolf rested around a newborn sheep, teeth resting softly beside an innocent face. This was wonderful, this was everything. Her insides felt soft and warm and safe, everything was safe now, everything was ok, she was fine. Why was she so scared? Who was she? This felt heavenly… everything was ok, she was ok.
She was dry.
Pain split back open like an overgrown tick. It was dry, why was it so dry, why was it so bright? Everything hurt- Furina, that was her name- tried to speak, to beg for help, to beg for something.
All that came was a rasp, vocal cords deeply wrong, wrong shape and wrong size and everything was wrong but it felt so much better but it was wrong-
It was miserably dry. Her mind kept coming back to that. It was dry, why was it so dry? It hurt, it was starting to become unbearable. She opened her teeth to wail again, but there was no answer. It was so bright, it was horrible, it hurt, why did she have to hurt? Why was everything so cruel? She wanted the dragon- why? Wasn’t that bad? The dragon betrayed, the dragon bit. Childish fear prickled in a spine far too long to be human, she didn’t understand anything, and that was more frightening than understanding everything. The sensory agony dulled some as the world darkened, but the dryness grew worse, and the darkness was short lived through the mind numbing agony. The sun came back and made things worse, but the shift to darkness was just as merciless, as it reminded Furina that the relief was short-lived and the sun would come back again. And so it looped, over and over, at least five times, everything growing dry and hard and splintered. Opening her mouth to wail made skin and scales crack open and bleed. The blood felt like a salve to her burnt scales, she wished she had the strength to tear her back open, to bathe in her own fluids until the pain was gone. Someone was slamming something somewhere, but that was meaningless compared to the pain. She was hungry and thirsty and tired but all that was dulled, she was dry, dry, dry, it hurt it hurt someone please help she opened her mouth again but everything was too dry and she was so so tired.
Sharp barks, and a click-
Click?
Her body seized as she forced her own click, garbled on blood from a torn throat. The clicker chirped back, something sad and sorrowful and so so distressed. Apologies, but she didn’t know why.
Until she was picked up.
Despite the damage, Furina let out a shrill scream of agony, the clicker rumbled softly, self soothing and trying to sooth her but she was in so much pain, it was like someone was trying to skin her, pulling off flesh stuck to muscle in a slow unforgiving fashion. She puked up bile, which made her throat roar in even more agony and everything was so painful and she wished she could cry or die she wanted to die-
Running water
Relief. Like ice and silver and warmth and iciness and everything. A swell of music and a perfect slice of the sun to lay in. Agony vanishing within a coat of sleep and seafoam.
A newborn finally breathing its first.