*Traces my hand along the surface of a grassy park lawn that was clearly wetland many years ago due to how it floods with water every year* Who did this to you….
it is a lovely morning in okhema, and you are a horrible goose
setting: fantasy au, cursed prince phainon x vassal reader
prince!phainon who was cursed by an evil witch to be a snowy white goose in the day and returns to his true human form when the sun sets, and only a true love’s kiss will break his curse
cursed prince!phainon who really couldn't care less, because as a goose he has all the freedom he normally would only have dreamed of. He can skip boring meetings to spend time with his darling vassal, avoid entertaining his endless suitors vying for his hand to eat berries with his dearest vassal, ignore his ‘princely’ duties in favour of snuggling close to his beloved vassal.
cursed prince!phainon whose curse is really just an open secret in okhema, who has just about everyone in the capitol lining up to try to kiss him because what if they’re his destined true love who will break his curse? but phainon just honks at every last one of them, biting hands (and drawing blood) when a wandering hand gets a little too close for comfort. seeking refuge in his one and only vassal, who has always been there for him. he doesn’t need these irrelevant people - all he needs is you
cursed prince!phainon who traps you in his room by convincing you to cuddle him after dinner, and conveniently falling asleep on you so you don’t dare to move. he looks so comfortable sleeping on you! you wouldn’t wake him up just for the silly reason of wanting to return to your own room, right?
cursed prince!phainon who turns back into a human when the sun sets and the moon rises in the night sky. phainon who curls around you, admiring how he fits perfectly in your arms as a goose, and how you slot right in his human arms like a puzzle piece. phainon who kisses every single inch of you, all except for your lips. phainon who whispers words of adoring in your unsuspecting ears, who presses his head to your chest to feel your heart beat and your ribcage expand.
cursed prince!phainon who is back to being a snow-white when dawn breaks and you blink the sleep from your eyes, who urges you to his private bathroom so you can take a bath with soaps and his scented oils. phainon who honks persistently and at increasing volumes until you submit to the whims of the goose prince and carry him in your arms around the palace, resting his feathery head against your sternum.
cursed prince?phainon who disguised himself hired a witch to curse the crown prince of okhema with a curse that only a true love’s kiss can break.
in which: a quiet night spent sharing a blanket turns soft and intimate when lohen sleepily clings closer to you, mumbling affectionate things without realizing how flustered he’s making you.
the room is quiet except for the soft sound of rain against the windows.
it’s late enough that neither of you should still be awake, but somehow you and Lohen always end up like this — lingering together long after conversations have faded out, comfortable enough with each other that silence doesn’t feel empty.
you’re half-asleep already, curled up beside him beneath a blanket that definitely isn’t big enough for two people.
not that lohen seems to mind.
if anything, he’s closer than before.
you can feel the steady warmth of him against your side, one arm loosely wrapped around your waist while his head rests against your shoulder. his breathing is slow and even, calm enough that you wonder if he’s fallen asleep too.
then he shifts slightly, pressing a little closer.
“…mmm.”
your eyes flutter open slightly.
lohen’s voice is quiet and rough with sleep. “you’re warm…”
your heart instantly stumbles.
you glance down at him, face already heating at how comfortable he looks like this — eyes half-lidded, hair slightly messy, his usual composure softened by exhaustion.
“am i?” you murmur.
he nods once against your shoulder. “very.”
the answer comes immediately, like he didn’t even need to think about it.
your face warms further.
“you say that like you’re surprised,” he mumbles.
“i just didn’t know you noticed.”
lohen opens one eye slightly, looking up at you with visible confusion.
“how could i not?”
your chest tightens a little.
he says things like that so casually.
like it’s obvious he pays attention to you.
like it’s obvious he notices everything.
before you can respond, lohen shifts again, moving even closer somehow. his arm tightens slightly around your waist, and you nearly stop breathing when he presses his face against the side of your neck.
“lohen.”
“hm?” his voice vibrates softly against your skin.
your brain completely short-circuits. “y-you’re very close.”
“yes.”
he doesn’t move.
if anything, he settles more comfortably against you.
you stare at the ceiling, trying very hard to ignore how warm your face feels.
“is that… okay?” he asks quietly after a moment.
you glance down.
lohen’s eyes are open now, watching you carefully despite how sleepy he looks. there’s something soft in his expression, something gentler than usual.
you nod quickly.
“yeah.”
his shoulders relax immediately.
“good.”
and then — like that completely solved the issue — he closes his eyes again.
you let out a quiet laugh despite yourself. “you really like being warm, huh?”
“i like you.”
the words are so quiet you almost think you imagined them.
your heart skips.
lohen doesn’t seem to realize the effect he’s having on you at all.
he just sighs softly, arms still loosely around you, completely relaxed now that you’ve stopped tensing.
“you’re comfortable,” he murmurs sleepily. “i sleep better like this.”
your chest feels unbearably full all of a sudden.
carefully, hesitantly, you reach up and run your fingers lightly through his hair.
lohen immediately melts further into you.
actually melts.
you feel him relax completely against your side, his grip around your waist loosening into something soft and instinctive.
“there,” you whisper teasingly. “now who’s warm?”
lohen cracks one eye open again, looking up at you for a long moment before answering.
“still you.”
your face burns.
and judging by the tiny, sleepy smile pulling at the corner of his mouth—
I can show you love (they don't know 'bout us). (soft yandere! columbina x female! reader)
; very soft yandere in the sense that this is just a co-dependent toxic relationship, some canon divergence (timeline, events, AND map don't exactly line up to canon), just a pair of women in love (not clickbait), god x follower, proofread to the best of my ability so if there's still typos feel free to throw tomatoes at me.
; She claims to refuse godhood, but her treatment of you is not far off from what you’d expect of a god. When she embeds herself with the Fatui, she looks back to ensure you’re still following her.
I. Moon goddess, I meet you with bread in my hands.
You are surrounded by religious fanatics, and your mother was one of them.
As a child, she would press winter icelea leaves into the palm of your hand, the burning menthol festering on your skin, instructing you to kneel down and pray to the moon goddess’s altar in your home. A miniature stone statue carved in the image of the moon goddess was often surrounded by your family’s offerings: herbal candy, grainfruit imported from Natlan, and wheat. When you find yourself lost in life, she will guide you - your mother claimed. But how can a statue guide you? You did not understand her reasoning, but you followed her instructions nonetheless.
Kneeled down, head bowed with your low voice reciting prayers you’ve planned beforehand. Sometimes your mother watches you from the hallway, sometimes she doesn’t.
Occasionally, she would pray right by your side, soft, reverent murmurs escaping her lips in the still silence of your household. Her worship washes out your obligated prayers.
Moon goddess, born from pure divine moonlight, please bless our crops for the harvest season.
Moon goddess, may the night lull you to a dreamless sleep and may the day bathe you in warm sunlight. Please grant my growing child intelligence and wisdom.
Moon goddess, I plead to you as your faithful follower in both life and death, I beg of you - guide this poor lost soul back onto the right path.
Yours, in turn, came up short.
Uhm, Moon goddess, I want that kid who threw a rock at me to trip and fall.
Miss goddess, I hope tomorrow’s dinner will have more fruits than veggies.
Moon goddess… I’m not really in the mood to pray right now.
Moon goddess, I’m just pretending that I’m praying to you.
Moon goddess, you never answer my mother’s prayers, why is that?
You never became a believer because of her lack of action. When you look at your people, their devotion to her never made sense to you; it felt unfounded. Why pray to a being who never answered? But they say that at one point in time, she did.
Even so, you looked at the Moon goddess’ altar with veiled skepticism. You thought of her as a fake, but kept your cynical thoughts to yourself lest your mother pulled at your ear and scolded you for being ungrateful.
It’s only because of the moon goddess that you blah blah this and you blah blah that. All your characteristics growing up were attributed as deeds performed by the revered Moon goddess; you are not smart, it’s only because the Moon goddess guided you to the truth. You are not talented, the Moon goddess simply lent you some of her moonlight. Your beauty, too, is a wish your mother made when you were still in her womb, granted by the benevolent Moon goddess.
By that very illogical logic, your mother's death was a blessing given by the Moon goddess as well. Maybe her mangled corpse that you saw with your shellshocked eyes was a product of the Moon goddess using her god powers to twist her around as if she were less human and more malleable metal.
It all sounds ridiculous when you think about it. Her so-called blessings are ridiculous.
You hate it: the idea that everything that you are, your feats and identity are all because a higher being blessed you with the ability to be so. Your years of adolescence were spent in growing resentment for the Frostmoon Scions’ god: why is she blind to your suffering, to the plight of others?
The elders say that she lives in a secluded cave called the Silvermoon Hall that’s hidden from the naked human eye. She only comes out when she wishes to, apparently. You wonder if this is a fabrication on their part. You've never even met her, if she exists at all.
Regardless, you come to relent, worshipping the moon goddess alongside your peers.
Now, years into adulthood, you still carry out this duty even with your heavy baggage of bitter feelings. A well-established routine of going to the altar to kneel and pray to the Moon goddess for better days ahead. You still believe that your life right now is a product of your own decisions, regardless of what others may say otherwise. You merely pray out of duty - this is the dying wish of your mother, after all.
You leave the pressed winter icelea leaves on the altar, noting down the absence of herbal candy before leaving your house. Moon prayer night is near, the elders need all the help they can get with arranging the festival.
Soon, the Moon-Prayer Blossoms will be in full bloom.
You look forward to seeing it.
It’s not long before you’re hounded with menial tasks. Get this item from point A to B, tell X that Y told them to check up on the bountiful feast - you’ve done this years before, and will continue to do so until you’re part of the ‘elders’ that you hold some contempt for.
What you don’t usually do, however, is bring offerings to the mystical Moon goddess.
Your auntie, a kind old lady with greying hair and crow’s feet around her eyes, called out for you moments ago. Her hands clasped around a woven basket covered with a patterned cloth, steam passes through the fibers - freshly baked bread, you presume.
She told you then, “Please, bring this to the Moon goddess’ home.”
You sputtered, “I don’t- I have never seen her territory, Auntie. I don't know where it is! Besides, isn’t this the Moonchanter’s job? …Not that I mind!” In truth, you’d rather do labor work, really.
Your Auntie sighs, weary and tired, “I know, but the Moonchanter has been preoccupied with internal affairs since dawn. The Moon goddess’ territory can be seen if you follow the trail of Kuuvahki light up ahead. You merely need to lay it down outside the cave; the Moon Maiden never appears in person anyway.”
Why don’t you do it instead? You wish to bite. But you are polite, so you refrain from acting uncouth.
With a nod, you take the basket from her arms and follow her directions; there’s a Kuuhenki idling around the area, which, when approached, begins weaving moonlight into a path that you can take. You thank their generosity with a grateful bow. Not long after, you’re faced with a towering wall of stone, no indication of being a cave whatsoever, but if the legends are to be trusted… this is simply akin to a door that the Moon goddess can remove at will.
Tentatively, you knock on the stone wall. There’s an echo inside; hollow, this massive stone truly serves as a door to keep out feverous followers.
“Miss Moon goddess?” You set the basket down on the ground, “I will leave our offerings here. It’s bread, as per usual, you may eat it to your liking… or throw it away, if you wish.”
You frown - you don’t sound like a typical worshipper. Your tone lacks the signature admiration your peers held when speaking about the Moon goddess - she won’t curse you with bad luck for your transgression, will she? …if she’s here at all, that is.
“I’ll be on my way, then.” They still need your help back at the Frostmoon Enclave, most likely. And it won't be another week until Moon Prayer Night, but, “Uh, Advanced Happy Moon Prayer Night, Moon go-”
You halt your speech, just now noticing a Kuuhenki spying on you from behind a tree. It lets out a surprised squeak before disappearing right in front of your eyes. Your mouth clamps shut, finding its odd behavior to be a premonition for something. What was that for? Feeling watched, you think that if you don’t leave soon, you’ll be interrogated by Kuuhenkis.
When you redirect your head forward, you’re appalled to see that the stone wall has been removed during the split second you looked away. Not a crack or rumble whatsoever, it’s almost like…
“Come in.” A soft, echoing voice from within reaches you like a gentle kiss in the wind, beckoning you forward.
…the Moon goddess is inviting you into her territory herself.
You stood there motionless, mind running through countless possibilities in an attempt to rationalize your situation, but you knew in your heart of hearts that this was not normal. The Moonchanter often tells her experiences when dropping off offerings for Moon Prayer Night: she leaves the basket outside, and the day after, the fabric is folded open halfway with the contents empty. None of them mentions her being invited in.
The Moonchanter is either lying about her experiences, or you’re, for some reason, granted special permission by the Moon goddess herself. You can only bite your lip and miserably think: Why me? Why me?
Out of all acolytes, why must it be you?
Faced with the very real possibility of meeting your god like this, you struggle to accept it. Surely, this cannot be the actual deity you worship; she's failed to show herself for several decades - nearly a century - according to the elders, why show up now? just for you, nonetheless.
But this is a goddess, and you are nothing more than a mere mortal follower. You do not know if she’s a kind god, but you dare not gamble on her patience today.
Steeling your breath, hesitantly, you pick up the basket and enter the cave.
“...Please pardon my intrusion, then.”
You are in unknown territory, the hexagonal stone pillars, pristine in their shape and appearance, loom over you like a Wild Hunt monster. The woven basket is nursed closer to your chest, a measly shield against whatever awaits you. The unpredictability of this enclosed space, a dominion of your people’s god, sets your nerves dangling off the edge of the very cliff you’re now looking down on.
…Why is there a cliff? You thought that the path to the goddess would be nothing troublesome.
Minuscule rocks crumble off the platform you’re standing on, disappearing into the void below before making a mute splash a few seconds later. It makes you take a shaky step back. Maybe she heard you complaining and decided to send a sign that you’re under her palm right now. You send a brief apology to the Moon goddess in your head.
You don’t want to die today, in a cave of all places, too. But how can you get down without ruining the offerings tucked inside your basket?
“Hello? Anyone there?” You hope not, in all honesty. “Miss Moon goddess? Kuuhenki? I need a little help, please!”
The singular response you get is your voice echoing back down below. You sigh - that sound echoes, too.
This isn’t worth your time. It’s better that your crops and acquaintances are cursed with bad luck than to endure this one-sided journey any longer. Rising to your feet, you turn around, foolishly expecting your entrance to still be wide open waiting for you. What greets you instead is a mocking smooth, solid stone wall - a perfect copy of its exterior.
She’s not letting you out without getting your basket, it seems.
A beautiful voice singing a lullaby stops the moment your body collapses down onto a patch of Moon-Prayer Blossoms, mercilessly ruining the beautiful glow they housed. You inhale every bit of oxygen with a greed you’ve never possessed in your life before - Riding a moonlane inside a cave is too disorienting for a normal human like you, the out-of-body experience leaves you breathless and shaking. It feels as if you’re transported back to the time when you first learned of moonlanes, but you are grateful for the Kuuhenki who acted as your mode of transportation nonetheless.
You hear faint sounds of pitter-patter nearing, reminding you of rain against a glass pane.
A hum, “You’re finally here. The Kuuhenki told me you would arrive.”
You look up, instantly getting blinded by both the sudden influx of light flooding your vision and finally seeing the revered Moon goddess who plagued your life. Long black hair cascading from behind like the Aristocratic banners from Mondstadt, a pair of closed eyes sealed behind a sheer patterned eye mask, hanging sleeves with cloth that are undoubtedly created by the craftful Kuuhenkis… she looks just like the massive statue reaching for the moon on Hiisi Island - save for the attire.
“I… Yes, I am.”
A few Kuuhenkis approach, making noises that sound joyous to your ears. You ignore them for the time being. Standing up, you unceremoniously thrust the basket into her arms - gift giving has never been your strong suit, “...For you, Moon goddess.”
“Thank you, what do they call you?” The moon goddess, who looks like she’s crafted from the finest silver threads of pale moonlight itself, asks you with a gentle tilt in her voice.
“Me?” you blink, “My name is (y/n), moon goddess.”
“I see. What do you need in return?”
“Nothing?” You clear your throat, realizing how lacking your speech is in the presence of an actual god, “Ahem. We offer this to you with no repayment, moon goddess.”
She nods in gratitude, immediately removing the covering cloth to pick up a small loaf. After checking if it’s still warm (it’s not), she takes a bite. The Kuuhenkis excitedly crowd around her while you watch her in awkward, muted silence. You fear you’re never taking another task like this for the foreseeable future.
“It’s good,” Her hand stretches, offering the same loaf she bit out of, “Would you like to try?”
“No need,” You gently push it away. “I eat plenty of it back home. That’s specifically for you, Miss Moon goddess.”
Speaking of home… You don’t want to be here any longer. Beautiful she may be, but the taste of her century-long neglect still sits wrong on your tongue. “Uh, once you’re done eating… I hope it’s not too much to ask for, but can I get back up to the surface, Miss Moon goddess?”
“Leaving already?” She swallows her food, giving way to a brief pause before flashing you a cordial smile, “Hm, you don't seem to like me, don’t you?”
That takes you aback, suddenly conscious of your entire body language and facial expressions. Is it written all over your face? But her eyes are covered.
“The Kuuvahki radiating around you feels unpleasant,” She answers before you can inquire. Taking a step closer, she softly murmurs, “Can you explain to me why that is?”
You’re not fond of spilling your entire life’s backstory, let alone your years of pent-up frustrations, to justify why you’re not the biggest fan of this goddess, so you settle with: “Well, you don’t seem to be the most present god.”
“That I am.” She easily agrees, contrary to your expectations, “What else?”
“...That’s it, really.”
“You are upset that I never made an effort in godhood,” She easily points out. The moon goddess takes another bite out of her loaf of bread, slowly humming in thought while she chews. She makes you wait for her reply. After a few moments, she finally says, “I did not wish to be born a god. As for those people… Their prayers never reach me anymore. I willed it to.”
“You willed it to?” You parrot, eyes widened in shock.
“I stopped answering people’s wishes a long time ago.”
Oh, then… she never heard your desperate chant to save your mother and all your lackluster prayers during your youth. That saves you the embarrassment, at least. It was hypocritical after all - claiming not to believe in deities only to be a sudden, faithful, devout follower when you were faced with your only family’s fading breath. You wouldn’t know how to answer the Moon goddess if she revealed she was privy to all your silent prayers all along.
Regardless, the revelation that the resentment you’ve held close to your heart is essentially meaningless makes you take a step back. You’ve been pouring your negativity onto this godly figure all this time, now you don’t know where to throw it.
She points upwards, but all you see are rock formations of the cave, “For this is not my home. My home is outside.”
“Hiisi Island?”
“The Moon.”
“Why?”
“My prologue; an unfinished song.”
Her words leave you confused, akin to puzzle pieces connecting to form an incorrect picture. Unfinished - not right. You’d hate to be nosy, but what is there on the moon for it to be her home? Maybe it only makes sense to gods like her.
At your silence, she places her unfinished loaf back into the basket and hums, arms wrapped around the offering in a protective hold. “Thank you for taking the time to visit me. Please bring me bread again next time. I will repay you for your efforts.”
Next time? You don’t want a next time-! “O-okay, when?”
“Moon Prayer Night.”
After unlocking the door to your lonely house, you immediately discard the altar generations upon generations of your family made. They make a pathetic sight being thrown to the trash without a second thought, but it’s pointless now; the moon goddess is a god who does not want to be a deity. You respect her wishes.
She answers no one, and that’s okay. There is no need for you to keep up the pretense of being one for religion.
If anything, you think that this moon goddess is not so different from you.
The thought alone allows you to breathe a little bit better.
II. Moon goddess, I follow you willfully blind.
During Moon Prayer Night, you usually spend the grandiose holiday alongside your fellow people.
The Moonchanter would lead a lengthy prayer with each person pitching in their own part before partaking in a feast and celebrating a prosperous year ahead under the care of the Moon goddess for being closer to the moon on this particular night. You’re in the company of your childhood friends, conversing and laughing along the festive atmosphere before retiring back to your abode. If you’re lucky, you’d be able to snag at least one bottle of ceremonial alcohol when the elders aren’t looking.
This year, in their eyes, you’re nowhere to be found in the festival grounds.
“It’s you again. Hello, (Y/N).” The peculiar goddess greets you upon your return.
After giving her a basket overflowing with loaves of bread that you personally baked, you apologized for its subpar quality because, in your words, “Asking for another basket so soon would make them think I’m not delivering it to you personally, so… I tried my best in making a batch that’s at least edible, Moon goddess. If it’s not to your taste, you’re free to give it back - I’ll dispose of it myself.”
An assurance from her, refusal to let her return the favor, and quiet bread-eating montage later, you unexpectedly find yourself looking after the Moon goddess above ground, beyond her mystical abode, which you recently learned has a name: the Silvermoon Hall.
“How do we celebrate?” She looks up at you, waiting.
You point to the festival grounds on the horizon, the stringing lights a few Kuuhenki wove akin to specks of dust from this view. If you strain your ears, you can even hear them laughing and singing, “We usually have a designated place where most of the celebrations are held - over there. but they might recognize you, so… We’ll celebrate on our own.”
Rather than a disappointed sigh or petulantly kicking a pebble toward the shore, the Moon goddess readily nods her head before crouching to watch a passing crab. Or more appropriately - sense.
“Is this how we celebrate?” She asks, lips parted in wonder as the crab begins burrowing itself into the sand.
“No…” Not even close.
You’re a bad host, all things considered. If it weren’t for her glaringly obvious appearance, the Moon goddess would have been enjoying the attractions and plated snacks by now, joyously basking in the laughter and joy that echoes back to her. The music is festive, the moon is close, she’s happy - she would be. When you hand her a sparkler ignited by your Pyro Vision, you mope around on her behalf.
The Kuuvahki energy lying dormant on the shoreline causes bioluminescence when the Moon goddess slowly walks by, waves lapping up to her ankles. It’s her own permanent sparkler, you think, watching the one loosely held by her fingers die off to nothing but ashes. She halts, letting the burnt wooden stick fall to the ground before looking at you.
You fish around your long skirt’s pockets, feeling around for another one.
“I enjoy this,” She speaks, nodding in thanks when you hand her a freshly lit sparkler. She points to your empty hand, “You’re not holding one. Why is that?”
“There’re only a few in my pockets,” You explain, resuming the trek to a small, unknown forest on Hiisi Island. “They’re for you. Don’t worry, Moon goddess.”
“Okay.”
Silence engulfs the Moon goddess and you. After wringing yourself dry from a (required) swimming session, you arrive at the forest that other residents never knew about. You lead her to the edge, where the clearing gives way to a most auspicious sight: the false moon. It swallows your figures whole underneath its inauthentic moonlight.
“I wouldn’t call this my favorite spot,” You begin, sitting down on the grass and patting the spot next to you. Using your shoulder as a guide, the Moon goddess follows, accidentally sitting a few inches closer than socially appropriate, “But it has a good view…The moon is closest to us tonight. Do you feel any different, Moon goddess?”
“I think so,” Her ribbon-decorated hand lifts itself to clutch the fabric around her chest, the wing ornament is frazzled from pressure. She tugs, as if wanting it out. “Its pull is always stronger around this time of the year.”
“A pull?” You question, observing her from the corner of your eyes.
“Yes.”
You expect her to elaborate, but she remains silent, wordlessly looking up at the eggshell of a sky that protects your planet from what lies beyond.
This tranquility is one you don’t want to impede. Crossing your legs, you watch alongside her, silently wishing those at the festival grounds a merry Moon Prayer Night and apology for your unforeseen absence.
The navy sky has dipped into a striking pink and yellow by the time you escort the Moon goddess back to her little land on Hiisi island. A Kuuhenki jumps in joy, instantly coming up to her and encircling her like a flower crown. These creatures are starting to grow on you.
After holding your hand as a goodbye, she lifts the protective barrier and begins to walk albeit in her usual slowed fashion. You’ve taken too much of her time for today and yesterday, you’re well aware, but–
You take a deep breath, “Miss Moon goddess.”
She hums, her floating walk coming to a pause.
It’s better to say it now, else you’ll regret not saying it in the future.
“Sorry for hating you, uh, back then. I was naive, I admit. You’re… a nice god, I had fun tonight.” You inhale, somehow knowing that she’s hyperaware of the Kuuvahki changing around you. She must know you’re nervous right now. “Thank you, really.”
The Moon goddess smiles at your admission. The Kuuhenki accompanying her titters in excitement, wiggling its body around as if celebrating.
“Come visit me soon, okay?” She singsongs, turning back around to continue her journey to her residence - the Silvermoon Hall, “I’ll be waiting.”
She never vocally accepted your apology, but her invitation for next time holds the same weight, if not more.
You intended for a week to go by without visiting the Moon goddess after carelessly letting time slip by. Not even three days in, however, you open the door of your house after hearing muted knocks – you’re baffled to see that it’s a Kuuhenki, cheerily swaying back and forth with a note balanced on top of their head.
Unfolding the clearly aged paper, the last sender you expected is the Moon goddess herself.
‘When will you visit again? I’ve grown bored of kicking pebbles here. Please hurry.’
When you think of your pushy Auntie who all but forced you to take her basket of bread and deliver it to the Moon goddess’s place, never did you think that a friendship would form with the very god your people have worshipped for centuries and you yourself scorned. But after visiting her multiple times in a short span, you’re sure of it now: you are undeniably friends with the Moon goddess.
Your life has irrevocably changed; you can’t go any longer than 3 days without visiting before one of her Kuuhenkis comes knocking on your door, always, always carrying a note with them - always so happy to carry out the role of messenger for their moon-born goddess. Your heart has gone soft, you believe, for you bend to her pleading without a fight. Just hours after sending that note, you’ll come knocking on the entrance of the Silvermoon Hall, bearing food that is more than baked bread.
In particular, she’s grown unbearably fond of your homemade confectionery, even suggesting on multiple occasions that you teach her yourself. To which you replied: “There’s nothing that can act as a cooker here, Moon goddess.”
Cheekily, she retorted, “Oh? We will find a way, believe in the moonlight guiding us.”
Her presence, unexpected it may be, is a slice of peace in your life. Cut and served on a silver platter, tasting sweet and tart on your tongue, feeling light as clouds. What used to be afternoons spent praying on the altar are gallantly replaced with afternoons and nights chasing after Kuuhenkis with the Moon goddess, showing her the cuisine existing throughout Nod-Krai, and conversing while the topics hop every other second.
This night, the Moon goddess is expressing a particular curiosity toward the one thing every human possesses: names.
“Where did your mother get your name from, then?” She asks, lying down on a bed of Moon-prayer Blossoms. Her left hand absentmindedly plays with the flowing fabric of your long skirt, blunt index finger tracing the signature Frostmoon Scion pattern. You sit next to her, watching a few Kuuhenkis paint the scene playing right in front of them.
“I’m not sure,” you reply, “I never thought to ask her, and she never told me.”
“Oh.” A pause, “Does that displease you?”
Your hand plays with her front bangs, “No. It’s not something that keeps me up at night. My name is (Y/N), that’s all there is to it.”
“I see.” She hoists herself up into a sitting position, long, black-magenta strands pooling around on the grass, no different from the fabric of her robes, “Will you give me a name, then?”
“I’m afraid not.” Came your firm, instantaneous reply, “I’m not a creative when it comes to names, it’s best you ask someone else for this. Someone like… the Moonchanter?”
Surprisingly, the Moon goddess vehemently shakes her head, “I want my name to come from you. I’ll be happy with anything.”
“But I won’t,” You frown, “Believe me when I say I cannot name anyone for the life of me. I refuse to give you a name, Moon goddess, you’ll thank me in a century or so.”
She frowns, “I won’t. Not when it’s your gift.”
“Just trust me! Well, we can ask the Kuuhenki for a name instead, how about that?”
She plops back down, a frown now on her face, “I don’t want to. I’ll wait until you’re ready.”
“Ready to give you a name!? But Moon goddess works just fine… Right?”
“...No.”
“Closer.”
Your feet take a couple of steps forward.
“Hmm, closer.”
You click your tongue, “But I’m already close enough? Any longer and we’ll be chest-to-face here.”
The Moon goddess giggles, “You protest, but you still follow my directions.”
“You look like a wet puppy if I say no,” You look down at her hands. “Why do you need me so close?”
“I want to give you my blessing.” Her admittance is simple, but it has you taking a step back in shock. A blessing, the same thing spoken in prayers from generation to generation - the very thing you were scraping your throat for in your mother’s last moments. But the Moon goddess does not grant your instinct to withdraw – unexpectedly, she wraps her arms around your waist to keep you in place. Your heart thunders from uncertainty. What does a blessing from a god entail? Will this lead you to your death, instead of straying you from it?
“Calm,” She whispers, ear lightly pressing down on your chest, listening in to the erratic rhythm of your heart, “I won’t hurt you.”
“I… Okay…” You take a deep breath, “...Okay. I know. I trust you. It caught me off guard, that’s all.”
“I know.”
Not even a second later, a warm pulsing gold light emanates from your back - from her hands, you assume. You feel the light settle onto your skin, absorbed by your body in an instant. You feel your chest lighten, fatigue clear away, and headache subside. You blink several times before sighing in relief.
“That’s–Thank you, Moon goddess.”
She doesn’t let go of you.
During a rare occasion wherein you spend time with the Moon goddess outside of her cave, she says, amidst stargazing, “One day, I shall bring you to the moon,” and then she smiles, “That will be our true home.”
You hum, staring at the false one situated above your head, lost in thought. Going to the moon sounds nice; the experience would probably stick with you forever, but you think you're fine down here, on Teyvat.
“If I don’t perish from old age first, maybe.”
She shuffles closer to you, humming in content when her bare leg brushes against your long skirt.
“You won’t.” The Moon goddess declares, voice rooted in nothing else but certainty.
“Are you curious?”
Lately, the Moon goddess has reached new levels of talkativeness with you. Her head rarely gets lost in the clouds when in your company but she still has the tendency to say cryptic, short replies that would take days before clicking in your brain. Now she speaks with an eagerness that’s been growing since she asked you to give her a name. It’s a form of hunger you can’t fully grasp, perhaps a goddess living in chosen isolation caused attachment issues within her psyche.
“Of what?” You reply, stopping your peek-a-boo session with a Kuuhenki to devote your full attention to her. She’s lying down on top of the crescent moon.
“Teyvat. Have you visited other places?”
“Yes?” You blink, recalling some memories, “I’ve gone to Snezhnaya once, the motherland of Nod-Krai.”
In a burst of glowing bird feathers and Kuuvahki patterns, the Moon goddess teleports and lands right in your arms. You catch her before she can topple you both over. Snuggling closer to you, she hums, “What is Snezhnaya like?”
“Cold. Very cold.” You still get goosebumps thinking of how icy that region truly is, “But it’s a beautiful land.”
“Do you see yourself calling it home?”
“...I don’t know,” You pull back to observe her, “Why do you ask?”
“I’ve grown tired of idling around,” She readily admits, hands greedily feeling up your legs through the obstacle of a skirt, “I’ve refused the position of a god a long time ago. A peculiar person left a note on this land, claiming they had a spot for me up there in the north. I’m thinking of joining them. Will you leave Hiisi Island with me?”
That’s– “I’m not sure… I can’t just up and leave my home, Moon goddess.”
“We can share a new home in Snezhnaya.” She tilts her head, thinking that your problem lies with the property, “I can be your new home.”
“No… My community,” You lick your lips, watching as she nears you, “My friends and family, leaving them feels…”
“We can visit them, don’t worry,” Her hands withdraw from your legs to reach behind her head, undoing the sheer eye mask she always wears. It comes undone like a snapped tension, pitifully lying between trampled Moon-Prayer Blossoms with the Moon goddess too preoccupied to care.
“...How about I just visit you instead? I feel like I have too big a responsibility around here…” You don’t, but you’re admittedly too afraid to fall into this sinking hole you’ve found yourself in. You fear attachment, you fear the Moon goddess and her honesty in admitting what she wants with no hesitation.
Her hands cup your face, gently squeezing in her hold as she opens her eyes for the first time – with you as the only audience to such ethereal beauty. It’s hard to discern her feelings with her obscured eyes. But right now, you see her desperation in full force, displayed in a museum and written with a title that pleads for you to follow whatever she says.
“Please. I do not wish to leave without you, (Y/N). I refuse to.”
Her forehead rests against your own, stars and moon-filled eyes never breaking away. In this brief moment, she becomes your entire solar system: your moon, your sun, the glittering stars, the striking comets you’ve only read about in books, and the vast, empty void of space. The universe, you realize, is a woman who holds you like a flower tethering the edge of ruin – pleading for your presence like no other.
Is the Moon goddess capable of hypnotism? You feel the thought materialize before being overwritten with the urge to say ‘yes’ no matter what, just to erase the crestfallen look on the Moon goddess’ face. Your Moon goddess’ face.
“But how could we possibly survive out there?” Your excuse is flimsy, she knows this, too.
“We will, because we’re together.”
You squeeze your eyes closed. The space that exists outside of this world is begging for you. How can you possibly say no? You can’t. “...Okay. I’ll come with you.”
The sensation of soft lips on your forehead will be remembered on your deathbed. It’ll be the last thing on your mind before you succumb to the same embrace that took your mother.
To think that you hated her for most of your life, just for you to leave the Frostmoon Scions for her.
III. Moon goddess, do you promise never to leave my side?
Hours before embarking on your journey to where ice never melts, the Moon goddess pulls you from your packing session to hold both of your hands respectively. At your questioning look, she smiles and says,
“I’m giving you more blessings. I can’t have you dying out on me.”
You let her do as she pleases.
You expected to board the newly built mode of transportation that some called a ‘train’ for your journey to Snezhnaya – even packed with it on your mind. Upon reaching the edge of Nod-Krai’s borders and seeing the famed vehicle with a line of people waiting, you worriedly look at the Moon goddess. You feel around for your pouch of Mora.
“Let’s get in line, Moon goddess.”
She tilts her head at that, “In line? Why?”
“This is how we’ll reach Snezhnaya. I remember telling you about this the night before…?”
“Ah, yes.” She nods in acknowledgement, “We won’t be taking that.”
Will you be riding on Kuuhenki moonlanes, then? “How will we get there?”
“We walk.”
After being stunned into silence and dragged by the wrist to forcefully walk through a thick layer of snow, you’re floundering after the unbothered Moon goddess like a fish out of water. It’s freezing cold, your cloak and jacket made from rimehorn deer skin prove to be powerless against ice, the only thing keeping you afloat is your vision. A delay in movement will lead to your death, you’re sure.
But if you’re cold, then surely the Moon goddess… you gasp.
Fumbling with the heated encased red orb, you cry out for her, “Wait, Moon goddess! Please rest, it’s cold, you must be uncomfortable and freezing walking around barefoot!”
“Not at all.”
“...! You have no jacket to protect you from the cold!”
“I don’t feel cold,” She turns back at you, soft smile ever so present, “Besides, I prefer you use your vision for yourself.”
“Are you cold?”
The moon goddess has a habit of pointing out the obvious.
The false moon shows its face for the day, dragging with it the night sky. After seeking refuge in a (hopefully) empty cave for recuperation, you shed some of your layered fabric for easier breathing. The price paid, however, is feeling the biting chill that lingers near the entrance. Rubbing your pyro vision up and down your arms, you fidget with the thin Frostmoon Scions' attire covering your shaking body, “Somewhat.”
She spreads her arms wide open, “Come here, I'll warm you up.”
You blink, “You don’t have to–”
“I want to,” Her fingers flex, eager to hold you. “Come here.”
“Hesitant, you scoot closer to her – she meets you halfway to envelop you in a warm hug, large sleeves acting as a protectant from the cold outside. She sighs in content, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. Teasingly, she blows air, giggling when you flinch. As an apology, her fingers ghost over the bare skin your outfit fails to conceal. Her fondness for sweets cements itself in her touch: it feels sweet like sugar, or maybe that’s just the caress of a love so pure it can materialize.
Voice quiet as a feather, admits, “I quite miss stargazing.”
A fond sigh. “We did that last week. It hasn’t been that long, Moon Goddess.”
“But it feels like an eternity since,” Her head moves to tuck herself under your chin, “Let’s go look at the night sky tomorrow. For now, accept more of my blessings.”
“Sure.”
She begins to softly hum a lullaby she knows by heart. Her voice bounces off the cave’s walls, joining her in a symphony specially created for you. You’re not sure if what you’re doing is the correct choice, but you’re happy to be free from the ghost of your mother that haunted your house from the amount of items she lives through - so you’ll continue to follow the Moon goddess.
You still believe that your life right now is a product of your own decisions, and the situation you’re in is one of them.
“And what of your companion?”
The head of the organization who recruited the Moon goddess casts you a brief glance, lone, star-pupiled eye wanting to determine your standing in their newest comrade’s life.
She replies without hesitation: “Think of her as my other half.”
Her arm wriggles free from the stuffy ‘Fatui’ coat she’s donned, latching onto your forearm like she’s scared you’ll take off after she said those words out loud. In assurance, you huddle closer to her body.
To leave now is out of the question; an impossible thought. You will follow your Moon goddess into the sun, moon, and stars.
“From this day onward, you are granted the name Columbina.”
Your ears linger at that particular word: Columbina. It fits the Moon goddess.
“Columbina, huh? That’s a nice name.”
You bring it up while walking through the Zapolyarny Palace’s corridors.
“You like it?”
“Yes, I think it suits you.”
“Then… Say it again, please.”
“Co-” Her feet pitter-patter against the zapolyarny palace’s cold, polished floor, coming to stop mere centimeters from you. Soft fingers find purchase and play with your bottom lip, tugging at it. “Lum-!” She laughs, overjoyed. “–Bina.”
Her fingers remain on your mouth, no insinuation of parting anytime soon. “Is that my name now? Hm, it took you a while.”
“It doesn’t have to be your name exactly, per se–”
“It’s my name.”
“-! Fine, have it your way.” You huff, speeding up to leave her behind. As expected, she just teleports in front of you.
What you did not account for is her kissing you. Somewhere the Frostmoon Scions aren’t privy to, Columbina, the newly named Moon goddess, seizes your heart in a mercilessly cold corridor.
You walk an unsteady line between friend and lover, unable to possess the courage to admit that you want what she wants out loud. Cowardice, hesitation, fear, uncertainty - regardless of reason, you keep her dangling on the hook. You share a living space with her within the Zapolyarny palace, most days spent in each other’s arms and company - not much different from your time on Hiisi island. Her scent is your scent, your clothes her clothes, her accessories your accessories, your food her food; you are one and the same, constant companionship making you different and alike to her at the same time.
From other nations, you’ve heard the concept of lovers being so close they resemble each other through mannerisms. But that couldn’t possibly apply to you; you are not her lover. She is not your lover. It’s more accurate to call yourself the sole follower she accepts, even if your relationship constitutes no traditional worship and devotion.
No– worship and devotion between you and her does exist, but the roles are reversed, much to your utter confusion. Oftentimes, it’s the Moon goddess treating you as her guiding light, despite being the one to bestow you her blessings.
The grand door to your shared room opens, forcibly bringing you out of your stupor. Still lying on the bed, you watch as the Damselette enters – movements lethargic and slower than usual, no doubt drained of her powers from the doctor’s insistence.
“Long day?” You move the blankets to make space for her.
“Yes.” She doesn’t fall face down onto a plush, velvet-cased pillow – it’s your chest she falls on, treating them as the cushions she loves so much.
You laugh, the sound dying out when you realize she’s immediately unconscious.
Looking up at the room’s hanging ice chandelier, you think: maybe this state of stagnancy between you and Columbina is fine. It’s okay to leave it be; you have each other, that’s more than enough.
You close your eyes, following her off to dreamland.
IV. Columbina, do you promise never to leave my side?
It’s hard to tell if a season has passed here in Snezhnaya. The thick chunks of ice and persistence of winter never wane, even at the peak of summer. Cooped up inside the Zapolyarny Palace under Columbina’s behest and only coming out to stargaze in the gardens with her at night, without you knowing, a significant amount of time has passed.
You have been living in an idyllic world where you forget that such pleasures shouldn’t last for so long. Incessant bliss keeps you blind to what goes on outside the Zapolyarny Palace - to life. She even encourages you to be so: drawing the curtains shut, omitting newspapers from your line of sight, accepting her blessings, and steering you clear of talks with her co-workers. You listen to her wish and don’t dare to pry.
Your days consist of exploring the palace with Columbina, patiently waiting for her to finish her Harbinger duties, and finding ways to entertain yourselves. When in her company, thinking anything beyond her is needless: she’s with you, that’s more than enough. You’ve reminded yourself of that numerous times.
The world you’ve once known back in Hiisi Island dwindles to the expanse of your shared quarters and the grand residence of her Majesty, the Tsaritsa. When Columbina offers to explore a marketplace down in Snezhnograd, you’re baffled.
“Outside?” Your head turns to the covered window, “Oh… how long has it been since?”
Your idyllic world lifts a layer of haze: there is more beyond being a parasite attached to Columbina. But what?
“Yes, come with me. I’ve obtained what you call Mora from Pantalone.”
A yes from you results in seeing the sun after… months? A year? Walking alongside Columbina wearing her Harbinger coat, you watch the densely packed marketplace she wanted to visit. Bargains, sales, arguments, cheers of joy, shouting to visit their stall – it’s so loud, you’re used to the silence that envelopes the Zapolyarny Palace.
Out of curiosity, you can’t help but ask, “Are you looking for something specific, Bina?”
“Yes.” Her fingers seamlessly intertwine with yours. “I want to buy us some bracelets.”
You fluster, “You don’t need to…”
Her thumb rubs circles into your skin before letting go, closed eyes watching people move like a river stream, “I want to.”
In her quest to find bracelets, you unintentionally part from each other as people push and force their way through the crowd. You were looking at small animals preserved in ice a second ago, and the next time you blinked, Columbina was nowhere to be found.
You stay in place, Columbina will find you any minute – she’s quick to notice your absence.
Unfortunately, a second or two of separation is all it took to crush your idyllic world asunder and peel your eyes open to the horrifying truth that you’ve been ignorant of.
The sound of a cane’s tap tap tap and a few kind persons screaming at each other to “make way for the old lady!” attracts your attention. Turning your head to where the commotion is, you're surprised to see a frostmoon scion here in Snezhnograd.
You blink.
…You faintly remember her. The aged, chipped antler on her head can’t be mistaken for anyone other than one of the children you used to teach rituals to.
A young girl no older than 10 who was training to be a priestess, but looking at her now, it feels as if you're the younger one.
Her posture is curved, a hunched back prominent. Tapping the walking cane forward, she slowly makes her way to you. Long, black hair now turned to gray and white. Body all wrinkled.
“What…?”
Her aged appearance feels so wrong to you. In your mind, the section wherein you locked away your memories of the Frostmoon Scions, she never aged. She would remain that young, bright girl who asked for nothing but more mushrooms on her portion and skipped rocks on nearby lakes.
Entranced, your hand reaches out to touch your face. Your fingers touch the expanse of your eyelids, cheekbones, lips, forehead – all smooth, not a wrinkle or crease felt. You remain as youthful as ever.
But right now, she’s older than you are. It’s impossible - how could it be that long ago? If you aged accordingly, you'd be on your deathbed long ago. She’s speaking to you now, your ears register it as white noise. You can’t help it, you’re stuck in place. Body, mind, and heart.
Time is inevitable, but how come it passed you by? You are mortal, full-fledged, and pathetically so.
In disbelief, you run off back to the Zapolyarny Palace. Conversing with the old woman (young girl, your mind persists) will shatter your very perception of reality.
How are you not aging?
It’s sundown by the time Columbina twists the doorknob open, the vacant look in your eyes as you sit at the edge of the bed welcomes her home. She needs no words; she understands clearly.
“Do you know the cause of your stasis?”
You slowly shake your head, “No… I– why?”
She kneels down before you, gently slipping the bracelet you purchased on your limp wrist. Thereafter, you feel a familiar golden glow emanate from her into your body– flooding your veins, nervous system, brain, and bones. You blink.
You have always naively believed that the blessings Columbina bestowed upon you were meager, almost dust-like outputs of her power. Akin to throwing a crumb to get a bird to shut up. Perhaps that’s true, but the number of times you’ve accepted her blessings cumulates to more than just small dots of power.
Her blessing… You gasp. Columbina, without your knowledge or consent, forcibly froze your aging process. Immortalized in a way, just like her.
“Why?” You inhale, falling into her awaiting arms. You crash onto the hardwood flooring together, her long hair forming a halo despite her devious action. “I don’t understand. I don’t deserve anything you give me, Moon goddess. Columbina… My only god…”
You don’t deserve any degree of her love, her act of immortalizing you fills you with a guilt so severe that you taste it at the tip of your tongue. You don’t – you hated her for over two decades, it’s best that she kills you now and finds someone better suited for her. Your filth and incapability of being a proper acolyte are a disgrace–
“You do. But this method won't be forever.”
You look at her open eyes, her sheer eye mask obscuring you from seeing her in full. “...What?”
“My deal with the Tsaritsa. She promises to help me to the moon, there must be something there that will truly make you stay by my side. True immortalization.”
“Columbina…”
“It’s okay,” She coos into your ear, voice always so enchanting you’d think she were a siren if not born a moon goddess, “You’ll be okay. You love me, and I love you.”
You do. “I do.”
A wave of Kuuvahki energy wipes away your tears. Columbina, your dearest most precious Moon goddess, smiles.
“You love me, right?”
“I love you.”
“We love each other, why deprive ourselves with loss?”
“I don’t know…” You close your eyes, letting her engulf you fully, “It just feels wrong to be such a burden to you.”
“You’re not. I’m just as much of a burden to you. I love you, (Y/N).”
You stay silent.
…You still believe that your life right now is a product of your own decisions, regardless of what you may say otherwise. Is meeting Columbina an error in destiny, or were you bound to find her one way or another? She feels present and omnipresent – back in Hiisi Island, her power was everywhere. She was the water you drank, the blades of grass you felt on your bare feet, the energy you felt in the air, and the very foundation of existence.
It’s not much different now; your world is constricted to her and will continue to be so until the world outside collapses and drags the four corners of this room down with it.
Maybe that in itself is love. A love so pure that others can’t understand – don’t need to. They know nothing of your relationship; only you and Columbina know each other.
anastasya: okayyy so there's a pair of weird freaks living in my palace.
tbh i think the funniest phenomena that's been happening in the last couple years is "youtuber, having gone too deep into the research hole, has been made an investigative journalist against their will"
this guy started out poking fun at australian politicians and ended up investigating the firebombing of his own home, during which he uncovered connections between the same politician he was making fun of + major organized crime
JasperDasper started out just curious why everything had suddenly become about trans people and questioning some of the sources used in a book. He came out of it, 4 years later, with a 5 hour long video that connects all transphobia to less than 60 people. (I'm not joking. literally every single transphobic rhetoric and bill passed is because of these 50 or so people.)
If you wanna watch it I cannot recommend it enough; I just warn that it covers a LOT.
"Lucifer dotes on you so much," Diavolo noted with a laugh. "It's actually making me a little jealous!"
"I do not," Lucifer rebutted. He sliced into a tender cut of steak with slightly more force than he had previously, just to drive home his point. The meat was overflowing with juices and the scent of herbs. It looked so soft, a knife wasn't even necessary. The thought of a single bite melting on your tongue made your mouth water.
"Lucifer, perhaps I could be of assistance? You should taste your meal before it gets cold," Barbatos offered. He had just replenished the wine in Diavolo's glass and ensured your cup was similarly topped up. Everything for dinner had been served. The butler was left with nothing to do.
"That won't be necessary. Here, I'm finished. You can enjoy now."
Lucifer turned the plate and passed it over to you. The fine porcelain made a soft thud as it landed on the tablecloth. Your whole steak was cut into perfect little bite-sized pieces.
Diavolo watched with amusement as Lucifer began cutting up his own steak into much larger bites. The corners of his lips were turned up as he chewed.
"Yeah, this doesn't count as doting at all," you commented. It got a chuckle from the palace duo.
Lucifer shot you a glare, warning you to stay quiet, that was in odd contrast to his actions. He had pulled your chair out before you sat down, and pushed you in after you took a seat. Short of actually feeding you himself, Lucifer was most definitely doting on you.
"Lucifer dotes on you so much," Diavolo noted with a laugh. "It's actually making me a little jealous!"
"I do not," Lucifer rebutted. He sliced into a tender cut of steak with slightly more force than he had previously, just to drive home his point. The meat was overflowing with juices and the scent of herbs. It looked so soft, a knife wasn't even necessary. The thought of a single bite melting on your tongue made your mouth water.
"Lucifer, perhaps I could be of assistance? You should taste your meal before it gets cold," Barbatos offered. He had just replenished the wine in Diavolo's glass and ensured your cup was similarly topped up. Everything for dinner had been served. The butler was left with nothing to do.
"That won't be necessary. Here, I'm finished. You can enjoy now."
Lucifer turned the plate and passed it over to you. The fine porcelain made a soft thud as it landed on the tablecloth. Your whole steak was cut into perfect little bite-sized pieces.
Diavolo watched with amusement as Lucifer began cutting up his own steak into much larger bites. The corners of his lips were turned up as he chewed.
"Yeah, this doesn't count as doting at all," you commented. It got a chuckle from the palace duo.
Lucifer shot you a glare, warning you to stay quiet, that was in odd contrast to his actions. He had pulled your chair out before you sat down, and pushed you in after you took a seat. Short of actually feeding you himself, Lucifer was most definitely doting on you.
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