The Final Performance

The conductor behind me flicks his wrist, pointing to the strings section while looking at the brass as his shoulders rise, his chin tipping up, arms wide, bringing the orchestra to its crescendo.

My voice rises in turn, riding atop the powerful wave of sound, beads of sweat roll down my face. I hold the note with power and stability, hand stretching towards the blinding stage lights in the ceiling casting directly onto me. My fingers spread as if I'm grasping for something just out of reach. Specks of dust hang in the air, catching the light and shining around me like suspended snowflakes. I hold the note for three beats.

"If only true love was enough." My pitch drops and the opera continues.

"But alas", I sing solemnly, "I must bid thee adieu". My hand presses to my heart, my limbs shrinking protectively around my form.

She isn't much of an Archon, but she can perform. I flinch, the comment from the crowd managing to find its way to me.

"Our love but a sweet fairytale." I continue, voice quivering, for effect or out of genuine sadness, I don't know.

Look at her, she doesn't belong above us, she belongs down there, she's much more suited to entertain.

She never held any real power anyways.

"Yet I am here", I belt out, looking directly into the stands, arms spread, feet closed, "and here I shall remain."

In the darkness ahead, I can see, and sense, hundreds of gazes fixed on me, in admiration, and in judgment.

What am I even doing? I ask myself, staring into my reflection in the dressing room mirror. The final show before our winter break was a resounding success, as usual. Like the comments said, I might not have been much of an Archon, but my ability to dazzle and delight is impeccable. Gods know I've had my fair share of practice.

The room is dark save for the row of vanity lights above my mirror, casting my face into light and everything around me in a dim glow. Even when I'm alone in the dressing room, with everyone else having long since gone home, I'm somehow in a sort of spotlight.

When will the light turn off?

I exhale and bow my head. A sudden tiredness overtaking me. I see my hands clasped together on my lap, fingers intertwined in a messy tangle.

What are you even doing? I look back up to see my reflection staring back at me, her eyes intent and serious.

W... what? I shake my head and look back. It's just me, it was always me. Perhaps the grueling schedule is proving too difficult to handle. Maybe it's time for a little break or a vacation to relax the mind and the body. I'm sick of this, constantly feeling exhausted yet restless. It's been an entire year, but nothing has changed, at all.

My hand shoots out, aiming for the switch in frustration. It clicks, the row of lights shut off, and I'm enveloped in darkness. Only the light from the hallway peeking in from a crack in the door illuminates the room.

It's been an entire year since I've been deposed as this nation's Archon. Dereliction of duty being the charge. Ineptitude in preparing Fontaine against the prophecy, they argued, accused. I could do nothing but sit on that defendant seat, for the first time, and beg for people to continue to believe in me.

Of course no one did, who would? And then….

I shake my head and snap my mind out of that memory. I don't need this. It's already been long enough. Time heals all wounds, no? So shouldn't I begin to settle and heal into my new life? Why have I not begun to feel contentment? To feel happy? I don't want for food or lodging, my needs are met via a generous "retirement package" provided by the Palais, I'm told this is what most mortals desire. So why?

It's been so long, when was the last time I truly relaxed? Do I even remember or know what that means anymore? The responsibilities on my shoulders may be gone, yet the weight remains.

But really, what AM I doing? I look down, eyes adjusting to the near pitch blackness around me, and notice my hands, both of them, clutching the leather and wood around the edge of my stool, fingers digging into them. My whole body is tense, and I feel heat rising through my chest, making me sweat nervously.

Ah, another anxiety attack. I've been having many of these lately when I was... No, stop it Furina, don't think about that. It's all over now and you are free, you are supposed to be free.

A drop of something falls from my face into my lap.

Am... am I crying? How did I not notice? I thought things would be better now, the pressure and burden is gone, I should be happy... right? Why do I feel... why do I still feel nothing? Do I even remember or know what feeling, what feeling feels like?

I look back up into the mirror. I see my own silhouette, a shade, shoulders tense, angular from tension, my eyes glistening, catching what little light there is, the streaks of tears washing some of the makeup down my face in blurred lines.

"You look exactly how I feel", I joke to my own reflection. She says nothing in return, she just continues her stare.

"Stop that," I quip, "I actually have a great crying face I'll have you know…"

Someone once told me I looked beautiful when I cried. She'd hold my face in her hands, caress and kiss away the tears and comfort me until I was sound asleep. I'd fall into her arms when we were away from the scrutiny of the public, taking in the light jasmine of her scent, the comfort of her warmth and embrace as we explored each other deep into the night.

I kept so many secrets from her, and I kept her a secret from my people in turn. She knew nothing about me, but she accepted me nonetheless, and did so for 60 years. How many stolen glances did we steal at each other when we were in public? With that knowing smile meant only for each other.

But time waits for no one, especially not a mortal

She grew old, tired, and I was forced to watch this woman that I loved wither away, fall through my grasp and turn into dust.

When I said my final farewell, I... did I still remember how to feel then?

I did

I remember the splitting sense of regret when she smiled at me in her final moments, being unable to move or even talk, as if to say that she forgave me for concealing myself, and her, for all those years. The love she had for me shone as brightly as the moment we first saw each other.

I shake my head in frustration.

Why am I thinking about this again? It's been... hundreds... of years. I swore I'd not think about that again. Is it this play? Does it evoke too many memories I'd rather not remember?

"Hello?", I whisper, my voice quivering slightly, "Is anyone there?" I dare to ask.

Nothing, my reflection sits there, looking back at me, now with a slight look of disappointment in her eyes, in my eyes. That reflection spoke to me once, reassured me, comforted me. But now, she too is silent, and I'm alone as I've always been.

I thought after all was said and done, I'd feel happy, the title and crown of Archon lifted from my head, free to pursue whatever I wanted, love whatever or whoever. But reality had other plans.

Regardless of who I am now, who I was continues to haunt my every step like a persistent shadow. Even if I don't notice it, it's always there. I am under constant scrutiny by those around me. People fill the stands and every seat at the Opera for my shows to... to admire me? Or to judge me? Maybe both.

The fact is, just because I've relinquished my role as the Archon, it doesn't mean that I am free from the limitations or the constraints of the seat, not yet, not in Fontaine.

I inhale sharply and cough, my chest feeling tight from the sudden thought of being caged, forced to play this new role for another eternity. My mind caught once again in this circle of negativity, going round and round, down and down.

Will I ever be able to stop acting? Will I ever be truly free?

I'm so caught up in my own mind that I don't detect someone approaching until I hear a small squeal behind me and I bolt, shrieking comically, nearly launching myself out of my seat and directly through the ceiling.

My shriek is matched by the source of the squeal and our voices join in unison into a literal cacophony.

I hear the sound of scrambling and see a shadow in front of me.

Then everything is quiet.

After a while, the assailant speaks.

"Lady Furina?" The demonic being asks, slightly out of breath, "Lady Furina, is that you?"

My hand relaxes on the book I'm holding over my head.

"Miss Claire?" I squint, "my other hand reaching behind me to scrape along the side of my mirror, searching for the switch. My fingers brush past the knob and I click, flooding the room in light, causing us both to wince from the sudden brightness.

I can't help but burst out laughing when I see Claire, the director of the play standing there in a shriveled fight or flight posture, her eyes wide, her face pale, her knuckles white with a broom clutched in her hands, also ready to strike.

"I thought everyone had already gone home", she chokes out, joining me in my giggling, "you scared the soul out of me when I walked to my desk and realized a person was there, I thought I was being ambushed."

"You thought you were being ambushed? I thought someone had finally sent an assassin after me!"

I finally manage to slide back down from my desk onto my stool, having calmed down a little but still shaking slightly from the adrenaline.

She walks up to the vanity desk next to mine where her purse sat. In this light, I notice more than ever the refined angles and lines of her face, her soft yet shapely cheekbones, and that gentle yet determined look that's always in her eyes. She's very pretty, it's a wonder someone hasn't come to try and sweep her off her feet. Or maybe they have and were just not up to her standards.

Claire is only 37 years old yet she has already become one of the most accomplished and esteemed stage directors in Fontaine.

I still remember the look of shock and... "horror"? on the faces of her and her crew when I walked through the door to her audition for the Vaguelette.

After I repeatedly and painstakingly reassured them that it wasn't a prank, that there were no hidden kameras for some comedy expose in the Steambird, she had been warm and welcoming to me. She treated me as one of her actors without giving me any special treatment during practice.

I enjoy working under her and I respect her as my subjec... as a person, she gives me a sense of stability and reliability in this time when I feel as if I'm adrift in a lonely dingy atop an endlessly empty ocean, lost with no direction.

However, outside of practice, she is almost like a different person. She is anxious and constantly taken aback by my presence. She always has that forlorn look when I catch her looking at me, and when I prompt her for it, she brushes it off every time.

Nonetheless, we've developed a sort of tentative friendship over the past 3 months of working together. I just need to find a way to dislodge the "lady" prefix from her vocabulary when she refers to me sometimes.

"I forgot my purse here so I came back… I thought you left hours ago."

"Ahh... hahaha," I laugh, "I... I had, I didn't realize what time it was." I close amicably, plastering a pleasant smile on my face. It has been hours since the show ended?

"Lady Furina", she comes closer, the worried look having overtaken her features, her eyes fixed on the streaks running down my face, "Is something the matter? Were you crying?"

"Crying?" I ask, "Ohh... no no no, I was…" I try to find an excuse, hand coming up to hastily wipe at my face, probably making an even bigger mess in the process, "I was just so moved by the tragic tale of the little Oceanid and her lover that..." I pause, eyes darting left and right, "Ah, yes, I was so moved by their love story that I couldn't help but cry. Method acting has its drawbacks you see." I open my hands to her placatingly.

"Lady Furina..." She voices, eyes averted from mine. She clearly didn't buy that, "we have sold out every show since you joined us, but…" Her face drops slightly, "UGH, I should've paid more attention..." She huffs as she fishes through her purse.

"I... what are you doing Claire?"

"Why don't you rest for a few days?" She interjects before I could deflect, "this was our last performance before the break anyways. Don't come to practice or think about the play, just relax and recharge." She pulls out a slip of paper and a pen and scribbles something on the slip before handing it to me. "This is my address, come see me anytime you need help with anything or are just feeling down." Decisive as always...

I take the piece of paper from her and look at it. I'm not really close to anyone, except maybe Neuvillette, so receiving someone's address was a little unexpected. People usually couldn't wait to be rid of me unless they were after other things that I had.

"Thank you miss Claire," I say, eyes still looking at the slip like it's a foreign object, I feel a little smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

"It's no problem at all, it's the least I can do for my star performer, not to mention my former Archon."

Your former Archon

"Oh," she clasps her hands over her mouth, "I'm sorry..."

I look up, confused, before realizing what happened.

"Ah... hahahhaha" I laugh again, "It's alright, I don't mind" I force some levity into my words, "Please don't stand on ceremony around me, I'm no longer the Archon after all. We've been over this!"

"I'm sorry..." she repeats.

"Please, stop apologizing, you'll make me uncomfortable if you keep this up." I laugh and turn back to the mirror.

I squeeze a portion of cleansing water into a sponge, admonishing myself for the mess I've made, and start dabbing at the smears I made earlier.

After what feels like a long time, she says: "I... I never expected you'd be like this... if I'm honest." I pause my ministrations and turn to her.

"Pardon?"

She sets her purse on the makeup station beside mine and slips onto the stool beside me, looking into her own mirror.

"What is it?" I pry playfully, "just let it out, you are scaring me, what's gotten into you today?!"

"I just never expected you to be this, umm... down to earth," she finally manages to say after a long pause.

"Down to earth?" I ask, puzzled before a chuckle escapes me, "that's surprising to you?"

"Yea," she says, eyes locked with her own reflection, I reach over and turn on the vanity light for her desk so she is not sitting in the dark. She tips her head towards me and nods slightly.

"When you were the Archon, Lady Furina," she intakes a deep breath before continuing, "when you were the Archon, you were so... far from us, and your personality was nothing like how you are in private…" She lets out a breath, "I... I was surprised the first day I met you at how, please don't take offense to this… normal, you were."

"Normal?" I smile, "did I disappoint you? Did you expect a diva to walk through those doors?"

"Oh! No... well, I mean..." She trails off. Even in the dim light I could see the flush colouring her cheeks.

"I knew it!"I laugh, this time out of genuine amusement, and I take her hand from her lap, "I don't mind it at all, in fact, I'm thankful that you see me this way." I give her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze, "it's, how should I say, a nice change." I finish weakly.

"...and besides, didn't I mention that there is no need to see me as anything more than a normal person?" I remind her of a previous conversation when she was still bewildered at my presence. "I thought I was already deposed, so there is nothing to fear~"

"Lady-"

"Like I said," I cut her off, her hand still in mine, "just Furina is fine," I smile gently. "Are you really that eager to make me have to sit back in that chair?"

"No... no, not at all.. la... Furina." She struggles to get out. It's been months and it still seems difficult for people in Fontaine to drop the moniker.

Despite no one having ever taken me seriously as an Archon in the first place

I shake my head. I'm having a wholesome moment and I intend to bask in it for as long as possible before these dark thoughts ruin it. I just need to maintain this facade, feign happiness and contentment, until I believe it myself.

"Come onnn..." I whine, letting go of her hand, "you are supposed to be the director, the boss lady. You run the most successful show in Fontaine, I am but one of your performers!" I hop off my seat, feet crossing, and twist with a practiced flourish, finishing into an elegant bow, "No need to be so-" I am cut off as she steps off her stool and approaches me, her body blocking the lights behind her, casting me partially into shadow.

"Claire?" I ask, my face tipping up slightly. She steps closer, without saying a word. What is happening?

"Claire I..." I mumble, flustered, "I'm not read-" I am cut off as I feel her arms encircle and draw me into a gentle but tight hug.

"Furina," she says in a low tone. I've not been hugged... I can't remember the last time I was hugged since... "you were an icon in Fontaine for generations." I'm taken aback again.

"Wh, where is this coming from... all of a sudden?" I manage to blurt out, a nervous laugh escaping me, hands pressing lightly into her waist.

"You're being so weird today Claire…" I force a giggle when she doesn't respond.

"I already told you, I'm deposed, I'm a normal civilian, a rather useless one at that..." I trail off again, regretting letting the last part slip out.

"I've admired you since I was a little girl," She finally says, "and so has my mom, my grandma, my great grandma," She continues emphatically, though I can hear a light sob coming from her throat as well, "When I walked in, you were crying to yourself again, weren't you?"

"I..."

"Miss Furina," I can now feel wetness on my shoulder, "since the first day you walked through our doors", she chokes out between now open sobs, "I've always known that our stage is too small for you." I'm completely at a loss for words at what she is saying.

This is so sudden, and yet…

I fall silent, my arms fall to my sides limply, I'm stunned by her words. No one has bothered to acknowledge my isolation. People have been pleasant, polite, sometimes rude and jeering, but no one has… done this for me. Clorinde and Neuvillette, they've tried, but there will always be a wall between us from that day.

I close my eyes and take in the moment of rare comfort and understanding? It's nice that someone can see me, even if it's mainly the bad side. I mentally kick myself again, I really need to work on this defeatist attitude.

She pulls away, hands still resting on my shoulders with a reaffirming grip. She opens her mouth again to talk.

"Are you..." I manage to preempt, a crooked smirk falling into place on my lips as my eyes well up again, "are you trying to fire me?"

She laughs through her tears, "You catch on quick...I suppose I am..." I laugh in turn, my body shaking slightly from the mix of emotions and I lean my face onto her shoulder.

"How long have you planned this?"

"3 months, I was just too scared to do this until now..."

Tears are now freely rolling down my face again, but I'm also smiling, this is nice.

"Archon or no, loved or hated, only the entire world is a stage big enough for you." She says seriously, "As much as you've been a star as radiant as the sun for our troupe," she pauses before continuing, "you are like a bird who consigned yourself to the safety of never flying again."

"That's just rude to say," I chuckle, "what happened to the nervous wreck when around me Claire?" Her chest trembles slightly at my quip.

"Our stage can't contain the radiance of the sun that you keep trying to hide." She sighs, "please stretch your wings and fly." there is a brief but poignant pause, "and if your journey finds you back to us, I'll... we'll be waiting with open arms."

Stretch my wings, and fly?

An old fairytale I read comes flooding back into my mind.

Before birds knew how to fly, there was a little bird who dreamed of taking to the skies.

She thrust out her wings, but the breeze was too mild, leaving her to stumble across the earth.

So she went to the gorge, where the wind showed off its wild and incomparable strength.

She cast herself from the cliff, and flapped her wings amongst the howling winds, until she was able to fly freely in the sky.

To the anemo god she went and said, "I understand now, all I needed was a stronger wind to fly."

In reply the anemo god said: "What you lacked was not wind, but courage."

"It is courage that allowed you to become the first flying bird of this world."

I imagine running through a field of lush, green grass, a warm breeze flowing through my hair, caressing the skin under my light, translucent dress.

I imagine clutching on for dear life on the back of a great dragon, seeing the world and people below me, tiny as ants.

I imagine sailing the high seas on my own sailboat, cresting waves taller than the Opera Epiclese and weathering the everlasting thunderstorms around Inazuma.

I imagine walking through a foreign city, where no one knows who I am, where I can exist without scrutiny.

Finally, I imagine gliding through the sky on my own wings and ascending into the sea of stars to explore the infinite cosmos.

I remember now, I did have those dreams, long ago when I was first born, before I was chosen as the next Archon and given the title of Focalors, I had those dreams.

Stretch my wings and fly, huh? That... sounds like a good plan.

End Notes

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed that. It's more or less a dive into my own views around Furina's character, this is of course an AU that diverges from the Fontaine story since I want to explore Furina's personal journey in a scenario in which her power and status was forcefully removed from her. I'm trying to get back into writing so comments are welcomed, I'm trying to write more engaging dialogue and prose, hopefully I continue to improve as I move forward with this story~

Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!