Author Note: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ No dog-tower-kun. No ghosty epilogue Soh. Fuka is Dorothy and Soh/Totoh is just a loyal pet doggy who later became Dorothy's familiar after she acquired her witchy powers.
Yes, I am PastelDream on AO3.
Welcome to my ending c;
The day Soh dies, no one is able to comfort Fuka.
The atmosphere is heavy, and Kyrie suggests that something needs to be said.
None of the things they can think of really feel appropriate, though.
Caramia knows she is heartsick. The open sorrow on her face when she returned from Karasu-sensei's clinic with the tiny flower in her palm made something twist terribly inside of him. He is still blaming himself for letting her escape his supervision. He became too excited—too naive, and placed too much hope in the weight of her decision to join his famiglia to think that she would obediently avoid the Wolf Gang boy and discard her feelings.
He had seen how much the restriction was taxing her. Hated it, and wished she'd forget Soh and his little restaurant cart every time he offered to make her pancakes.
Caramia thinks it probably wasn't naivety, after all.
It was ignorance; selfishness.
Axel notes the way her anxious tells appear as depressed habits whenever she is called for patrol duty. Her dainty fingers twine and loosen. Her lips press together and her pale eyes become unfocused when they wander the streets on their turf, and he knows by that point it's useless to keep talking, unless he just wants to listen to himself.
Fuka doesn't complain at all.
She announces her departure and wears a smile when she leaves the estate with Axel. She laughs at dinner and allows Kyrie to tease her.
But, it's clear to the men of the Oz famiglia that their only female member is grieving. Things cannot carry on like this.
As her don, Caramia feels that he has erred her. Perhaps, at the time, he had allowed his own feelings to influence a reprimanding that came across too severely. If he had explained himself better, maybe she might not have left the estate.
.
.
.
Fuka deserves comfort, and...though it may be too late, she also deserves an apology.
Caramia visits Fuka at the prettily made up storage shed one evening.
It was always rather big for what it was intended for. Now, with the little garden decorating either side in the front, it has a cozy atmosphere. It is almost like a cottage.
The don knocks gently on the door, and Fuka answers after a beat. He takes a look at her face and wonders if he's woken her up. Her eyes are alert, though, and her greeting is bright when she gestures for him to come in.
He notices the heavy lines under her eyes.
...How much sleep has she been getting?
How much of her time is spent here awake and crying?
Worries abound, Caramia adds this to the list of things he wants to discuss with her as he sits in one of the two armchairs they've recently brought to the room for occasions like this.
A stove for tea might be possible too, he thinks while having a brief look around. He will have to hear Kyrie's thoughts on the matter, first.
Fuka sits opposite him, smiles and places her hands in her lap. "It's quite late, Caramia-san," she prompts politely when he doesn't initiate conversation. "Is there something you wanted to speak to me about?"
Caramia takes in her patient expression and the slight slump to her shoulders.
She is very tired, he realizes. He should have waited until morning to do this.
But...no.
This is very important...and it can't wait any longer.
Caramia sits up a little straighter; clears his throat. Tries to look the part of the don that is his.
But...gently. Be gentle.
"There is," he replies slowly. "...Signorina, how have you been feeling lately?"
Discomfort flickers across Fuka's face. It's swift, and Caramia is both surprised and disappointed by how well she is able to hide her pain. Her brow creases, her lips twitch and she even goes a little pale, but it all happens in less than a second before she's smiling at him again.
The only obvious tell is the slight strain in her voice.
Then, when she speaks, the way she avoids his eyes tells him all he needs to know. "I'm feeling alright..."
He is wading into dangerous water. Soh is definitely a sensitive topic, but he must apologize. It has been three weeks, and he must try to help her heal.
Soh is gone.
Caesar is missing.
The Wolf Gang is rumored to have disbanded.
Fuka must let go of this obsession, and...move on.
"Caramia-san?"
"Mm?" the don musses his tangerine-colored hair and looks at Fuka. It seems unlikely that he can fix this on his own, but he is trying to find some magic words—anything he can say to make things even a little better—
Something warm covers his hand and Caramia jolts out of his thoughts. He glances down and realizes it's Fuka's hand covering his own.
When he looks at her, she wraps her fingers around his and squeezes gently. "I'm okay, so please rest. If neither of us gets any sleep, Kyrie-san will probably scold us."
Caramia laughs softly. "That sounds about right," he says, but he can't help the grimace that curls on his lips at the thought of Kyrie coming to his own conclusions about why they might both be so tired in the morning.
The lion allows Fuka to walk him to the door. He thinks she's quite clever to have talked him out of a discussion tonight, but he has intruded long enough. He will make a point to speak to her properly the following day.
He steps outside and turns back to her; the smile he tries for her feels too bitter and he hates that.
He really needs to say something.
.
.
.
"Fuka, I… I'm very sorry."
I would like to apologize.
You have my sincerest sympathy regarding Soh.
"No, I...That is…" Caramia presses a hand against his face and groans. He is usually more articulate than this. None of his feelings are coming across…
"Thank you."
When he looks up, Fuka is smiling at him.
Indeed, it is a smile; it is small, but genuine.
"Caramia-san, I appreciate your concern. I'll try to do better on patrol from now on."
"Mmm...well," Caramia relents at last. "Please don't worry about that…"
He reminds himself that they can try to have this conversation again tomorrow. Maybe he might consider bringing Kyrie along with him.
Or, maybe not.
"I'll speak to you in the morning, signorina. Sweet dreams."
"Goodnight," Fuka tells him, and then the door to the shed closes gently behind him. Caramia lingers on the step until he hears the lock click, and then heads back to the estate.
.
.
.
He should have his thoughts together by tomorrow.
For Fuka's sake, and for the sake of the future of the Oz famiglia.
The porch light flicks off after Caramia leaves. Fuka sits alone on the edge of her bed in the dark.
It is a particularly clear night. If she peers at the starry sky through her window and then closes her eyes, she can still feel his whispered confession on her lips; feel the love he professed to her enveloping her on an open field like a warm wind.
Her tears slide down her cheeks, and just like every other night for the past few weeks, her fingers automatically move to wipe them away.
Once it starts, it always seems like it will never stop.
Her chest feels like it's caving in and her whole body trembles. Sometimes it's so exhausting just to expel all the sadness inside of her that most nights she ends up falling asleep without any recollection of crawling into bed. She wakes up with blown pupils and tired lines under her eyes and knows that crying doesn't make her feel better, and it certainly isn't doing any favors for her appearance.
When she's finished brushing out her peach-colored hair, she turns away from the vanity mirror, sets the brush down and hears him teasing her gently.
"That kind of expression doesn't do anything for your cute looks, Fuka!"
"Are you getting enough sleep?"
"Hey, try to smile...Okay?"
Fuka does smile.
For her famiglia, the men who generously accepted her into their care when she was lost, offered her a place to stay and a job to earn her keep.
For Caesar, who is still nowhere to be found; who must be very lonely without Soh.
For Soh, who still haunts her dreams and leaves impressions in her despairing heart.
Fuka is enduring. She understands the sense of helplessness she feels is part of the process called grieving, but no one ever told her it would last this long; be this painful.
Be this hard.
It's like something has bloomed and withered too quickly inside of her.
It took everything.
There is hardly anything left.
.
.
.
Her heart feels so unbearably empty.
This is not her territory. She is keenly aware of this.
The air is tight and heavy with another kind of magic. It is the kind that can agitate and soothe. Toss tornadoes and make rainbows. Build a home in an empty heart and never desire to leave.
It is new and old, and very powerful.
It is not hers, and that is precisely why she has been avoiding it.
But, she has watched enough suffering; has endured as much as a troubled heart vicariously.
The bricks spiral out, but everything has been sepia since Dorothy closed her eyes.
These colors do not belong here.
She is powerful enough to make it right.
.
.
.
And, perhaps that is a sufficient excuse.
She decides it will have to be, because she simply cannot stand this anymore.
Glinda the Good seats herself at the edge of the girl's bed. Her gown of night and stardust glitters as she leans over and brushes the long strands of hair away from her sleeping face. A crease forms between Fuka's brows and she mumbles something in her slumber.
The motherly witch looks on sadly.
"Why do you like to play with houses?" she wonders, mystified.
But, surely, none of this was intentional. If she thought it was, even for a moment, she would have declined to interfere.
No one is happy with this outcome, though. That much, she can be certain of.
Glinda spreads her fingers and calls a pale, shimmering blue orb to float in her hands. It is small, but it is the source of magic that lay the very foundation of this make-believe town. Its human shape had been surprisingly difficult to manipulate back into a more appropriate form, but Glinda is a formidable witch and Dorothy's power is not quite on par.
She admits that there is a lot of potential, however.
The vessel for this gift is expiring where it rests. It is unfortunate, but there is nothing magic can do to prevent the end of one's lifetime...
.
.
.
There is only one option, then.
Fuka squints at the soft blue light glowing against her lids, and then slowly opens her eyes.
There's a beautiful and unfamiliar woman sitting before her. Her kind eyes are a light shade of brown and her long, golden hair is set in soft waves that tumble around her shoulders and down her back. She is dressed in navy and stardust and the elegant crown on her head glitters like it's made of starlight.
Fuka's sleepy first impression is that she must still be dreaming.
But the blue light that had woken her up is very real, and it swirls in the woman's hands.
When Fuka looks at it, she is struck awake with a keen sense of familiarity.
The woman smiles at her knowingly. Her soft laughter is bright and lilting, but not unpleasant; like a bird's song.
"When I found it, it was searching for you. What a terrible thing, to be separated from a part of one's self..."
Fuka fails to understand. "Who are you?" she asks, rubbing the blurriness of sleep from her eyes. She can't deny that she is fully conscious now. The objects in her room are coming into focus, but the woman hasn't disappeared.
The woman purses her lips for a moment, evidently considering. Instead of answering, she replies by asking a question of her own.
"Have you decided?"
Fuka furrows her brow. She turns her face to the exposed shed window and wonders at the incredibly full moon on the blue horizon.
"Decided...? What do you mean?"
The mysterious woman smiles, makes a soft, wistful sort of sound and leans away from Fuka. She doesn't say anymore, and Fuka stares at the strange sphere of light she holds in her lap. It retains a certain circular shape and seems solid, but when the woman passes her fingers through it, it shudders in response.
Fuka scrutinizes the woman's appearance once more. She thinks she is almost too beautiful to be real.
"Are you an angel?"
Glinda places a hand over her amused smile and laughs. "Is that what you think of me?"
Fuka tucks her legs closer to herself. "I'm not really sure what to think…" she answers honestly.
"Do you wish for an angel?"
Angels answer prayers and make miracles, Fuka thinks, and she admits that she has been feeling quite hopeless.
Did her sorrow summon the presence of an angel?
Does she wish for one?
.
.
.
She thinks she might.
"Then, I think it's alright if you consider me that way."
Fuka still doesn't understand any of this, but she nods. For some reason, she trusts.
"I can't bring back what you've lost forever," the blonde takes Fuka's hands in hers. Looks into her eyes and presses her lips together sadly. The strange light hovers obediently at her side and she gestures to it. "However, I can return the gift you've abandoned. Remember, and think carefully about what you might do with it."
Fuka looks at the light. Her pale eyes shine with refreshed curiosity.
"Are you saying this belongs to me?"
"It would insist that you belong to it…" Glinda frowns at the orb, her disapproval of such an idea quite clear. "But, magic should not be possessive. It is the depth of an individual's strength in the most extraordinary form. To allow power to overshadow your heart and twist your sense of self...That is how bad witches are made."
Fuka tries to speak, but her mouth has suddenly gone dry.
Witches…?
The word echoes inside her head like the pain of a terrible headache.
She closes her eyes and every inch of her skin feels as though it's on fire.
Her hands tremble as a dark discoloration sears up her wrists and spreads across her palms. It fades into a sickly green. Her face, her arms, her legs—everything is that terrible color.
She crumples. She screams until she chokes and her throat is raw.
.
.
.
Fuka gasps.
When she opens her eyes, the woman is still sitting on her bed and holding her hands. She is looking at her pitifully.
She remembers.
Her self-isolation. The tower.
Scarecrow.
Lion.
Tinman.
Totoh.
The hurt and anger glinting in Caesar's golden eyes. Every one of his persistent footsteps felt like he was trying to smash her apart.
The push and pull—the gravity of his presence. She had been so frightened whenever he gave chase, but when he was near, she felt like she'd rediscovered a lost part of herself.
Only now does she truly understand why she felt that way.
"That fate was never yours." Glinda tries to console her. "Your fear was unfounded. Whatever kind of witch you are, your actions have been nothing but benevolent. Your magic is deeply hurt by having been abandoned and distrusted, but there is time to reconcile.
"Will you believe in yourself and accept it?"
Fuka shakes her head helplessly. She's not sure if she can trust herself. She is not even sure if that part of herself will rejoin her. Even if she takes her magic back now, she is a fledgling witch who can only build walls between herself and others.
The town she has built wars with itself. It is not peaceful, it is not happy and she is to blame because she has never been confident enough in her own abilities to leave that kind of impression.
Totoh—Soh—is gone and there is nothing she can do to change that. She should not have left him behind when she wandered away. If she had stayed with him, her familiar would not have left and endangered himself to be with her.
If she hadn't left, the tower would never have stolen him from her.
"What can I possibly do now?" Fuka sobs into her hand. Her eyes are brimming with tears. "I have ruined everything...!"
Glinda shakes her head; answers her calmly. "You are a creator as surely as this town is your creation, my dear. But, you are misguided to think that the people you put here aren't lonely without you. If you desire a home for all that you love, you must include yourself in it.
"You can rebuild, but you must trust yourself and take the advice of this witch with more wisdom," Glinda gestures and laughs despite herself. "Do you understand?"
Fuka nods. She rubs the tears away from her face and looks at the orb of light flickering beside her.
She sees anger, but she also sees fear. She sees hurt, but she also sees hope.
Her fingers reach. She is scared, but hopeful, too.
Fuka hesitates. She flinches as the blue orb darts closer in response to her approach.
.
.
.
Finally, she holds out her palm.
The light eagerly pours inside of her. It wraps around her in beaming wisps, caresses her skin and sinks into her painlessly. Fuka feels like she's trapped in the fiercest embrace of her life...only from the inside.
And she absolutely understands what it means.
...I'm sorry, too.
I missed you, too.
Fuka—for 'Dorothy' has been gone for some time, she admits—heads for the tower alone.
It is the middle of the night and she rarely sees a soul in the streets, but that is a blessing for what she intends.
When she dismantles the tower, she does not wish for anyone to be around. It was made to detain her, and it will surely not mind risking casualties to resume its duty now that she has decided to permanently vacate it. It will fight her brick and mortar for the magic she has seeped into its foundation to give it life.
But, Fuka will need all of her power in order to successfully build a path that will take her back in time.
.
.
.
"Build a path?"
"If it's your magic, I believe it can be done," Glinda had said. "But, you will need all of it. You must pull the tower apart brick by brick and build a new path that spirals in the very center of the town. You must follow the path as precisely as you can and you must not allow anyone to go with you."
Glinda had told her that once she reached the very center, she would have to create a door to her intended destination. It would not remain long and she would have to deconstruct it as soon as she found herself on the other side.
It was as simple as that, but…leaving everything behind as it was did not sit right with her.
As she made her way into the heart of the town, Fuka began to think about all that she'd truly be abandoning now.
Her dearest trio of friends. The Grimm, Anderson, and other famiglia. All of the citizens that called this place home.
She had thought she'd been keeping everyone happy until now.
...But, that simply hadn't been the true. It took a broken promise to herself and her people to come to that realization.
If it is possible for her to walk on the path of time, even for just a short distance, she will do everything in her power to build, travel and right her mistakes.
"The distance you may go depends on your power of will. It is very important that you believe in yourself...Fuka."
Fuka stands before the great tower. It hasn't been more than a few hours since she last saw it, but it feels much, much longer than that.
She can feel the energy crackling around it. It makes her shudder, but she knows she doesn't have to be afraid.
If she can build walls, she can break them down, too.
.
.
.
The young witch lifts her hands; she curls her fingers and tries to coax the first few bricks away from the tower.
It responds almost immediately by lashing back at her with an oppressive wave of energy that almost knocks her to the ground.
It is very angry, and it does intend to reclaim its captive. Not a moment after she regains her balance, she feels it needling her. It's trying to shred her away from her new vessel and funnel her back between the cracks in its stony walls.
But, Fuka is adamant.
She tries again—this time with more force.
The first few bricks come away with surprising ease. She has a few seconds to revel in her success, and then she has to dodge them when she realizes they are flying toward her with a deadly accuracy.
From there, the tower begins to come apart on its own. Its blocks pull away from top to bottom in a whirl of unmarred stone and then begin to circle her.
At first, she wonders if it intends to rebuild itself around her.
When the first three bricks slam into her back, she realizes it's actually trying to kill her.
Fuka runs.
The tower pursues her vehemently. She expels magic with one hand in great bursts to deflect its violent attacks, and in the other she directs and manipulates them into a spiraling path in the ground as she flees.
.
.
.
The path is only about a fourth done and she is already suffering mild injuries when she hears Scarlet screaming out to her.
The bricks halt as she turns around, and sure enough, she sees his red mantle. The hood is askew on his indigo hair and his mouth and carmine eyes are wide with disbelief. The sniper rifle sits heavily in his small hands, but it seems like he's not sure where to point it.
The tower will target him if he attacks, Fuka realizes.
She acts without thinking. With a wide flick of her wrist, the rifle is forced from Scarlet's grip and goes flying. It skitters several yards across the town center.
Scarlet looks utterly confused—and rightfully pissed. He is yelling at her in a way that she has never heard before, demanding to know what she's doing.
"What's going on?!"
But there is no time at all.
Just as she intended, the tower has shifted its attention back to her.
Fuka takes off again. She waves her hands in great, desperate arcs, alternating between deflecting and pulling. The bricks slam into the pavement with such force, it is a testament to the power she has poured into them that they don't burst into rubble on impact.
Scarlet does not interfere again. In fact, she can no longer see him. Other citizens, obviously alerted by Scarlet and the tower's attacks have started rushing out of their houses to discover the source of all the noise.
.
.
.
The path is three fourths complete when Kyrie steps into the town center.
His gloved hand reaches out to grab her forearm right after she dives and slides to avoid a stream of angry bricks drilling right for her side. He turns his hip so subtly to dodge as he pulls her out of the firing line that she can hardly believe it when they don't decide try for him instead.
The tower watches. It seems to wait and see if the green-haired man is going to be a problem worth eliminating.
"Kyrie-san," Fuka is nearly out of breath. She smooths the skirt of her dress and checks her bleeding elbow. Watches the tower right back.
When she turns her face to him, Kyrie cracks his bare hand his across it. Fuka is so surprised that she doesn't even recoil at the sting to her cheek.
Kyrie is livid.
His visible blue eye is hard and narrow, and there is an odd sheen to it. His jaw is taut, his nose is slightly scrunched and his expression is stricken.
He is mad.
Fuka has never seen him like this before…
But, Dorothy has.
"You can't do this… YOU CAN'T DO THIS!"
"Dorothy," Kyrie grips her shoulders. The tower bricks are orbiting them, but she is the only one that seems to notice.
"...It's you, isn't it?" His voice shudders with excitement—or, perhaps rage.
He knows. He remembers.
Kyrie searches her face. She doesn't want to give him anything to confirm what he suspects. It is pointless and cruel. But she has always worn her emotions on her face too plainly.
Kyrie smiles slowly, but his hands are like vices on her.
"It's you..."
It is too late.
It's too late.
Fuka wrenches herself out of Kyrie's hold and stumbles into a run.
He moves to chase her, but the tower decides it's finally time to interfere. Fuka agonizes over the choices of either sparing him as a target for the swarm of stones, or allowing it to put some distance between them.
She manages to do both for a while, but when Caramia snatches her wrist and yanks her to him so hard her teeth click, she knows she's only been buying the rest of them time to show up.
Caramia looms over her like the great beast he once was, and he is terrifying.
He is shaking.
There is something animal about the shape of his pupils; the way his fingers dig into her arms like claws. There is nothing friendly about him, and that is not how Fuka remembers Caramia.
This is the same face the lion wore when he intended to frighten Dorothy on the day that they met.
She had never admitted to him how close she had come to tears in that particular moment.
"Dorothy…" Caramia's face contorts. Like Kyrie, his emotions can't seem to decide on sadness, excitement or rage. He releases her; whines pitifully. Grips his hair in his hands. Then he grabs her again.
Caramia roars.
Fuka bursts into tears.
She smacks her palms into his chest, pushes several times until she's free and then she runs away.
The tower chase resumes. Axel doesn't even try to speak to her. He uses his shotgun to blast through the tempest of stone now hailing through the town indiscriminately and tails her persistently. The residents cry and flee in confusion and fear.
The tower path is nearly finished.
Kyrie matches her footsteps on the spiral. It's almost as if he knows what it's for.
Fuka tosses her hands out and the arched outline of the door appears. It's just a straight shot; it's just a few more steps.
But the bricks are all in place now, and there is nothing left to hinder her assailants.
Caramia throws his weight and knocks her off balance. It's just a glance to the shoulder, but she's sent tumbling several feet from her destination. Before she can even roll over and get up, he's wrapping her up in his arms and hoisting her over her shoulder.
"Please! You don't understand!"
"I think I understand perfectly," the lion responds shortly, but his voice sounds flat; tired. His arms lock around her like iron bars, and in a moment of sheer desperation, Fuka kicks and screams.
She has to go back.
She has to fix this.
She can't let them drag her away from the tower path. They don't deserve what comes next.
The other famiglia have nearly succeeded in quelling the hysteria. However, as Axel and Kyrie make their way over, the ground begins to shake.
A few bricks wriggle themselves free from the path. Caramia reflexively loosens his grip, and that's when Fuka makes her escape.
They all react so quickly, it is daunting; but Fuka is desperate.
Kyrie lunges. Her foot catches his hip and throws him off balance as she's checked to the ground by a sharp nudge from Caramia's shoulder. Caramia drops to pin her, but she slams her hands into his chest again and he goes flying into Axel, preempting his attack.
She is crawling by the time she reaches the path. She calls the stones back into the appropriate order and rebuilds the door.
The door glimmers patiently in front of her. The jasper path continues on the other side.
"Please, don't…" Kyrie is pleading. He strains his voice as he calls out to her. "You can't do this...Dorothy!"
Fuka closes her eyes; tries not to imagine her favorite scarecrow with his favorite hat pressed over his face and tears falling onto a yellow brick road.
"You really can't do this to me. I will miss you the most."
"I'm sorry," Dorothy whispers; her voice shakes and her eyes burn with tears.
.
.
.
Fuka steps through the door.
"I'm sorry..." she says. "I promise. This is the last time."