For Love Alone Brings No Avail: A Furina headcanon/fic
Quick foreword: I haven't written fiction in about 3 years but Furina inspired me. Please don't judge the style, I originally intended this to be a quick hc but I got carried away 😅 So no concrit please
CW: angst, spoilers for Fontaine arc
Furina has a favourite plushie that she has had since taking up her duties as an "archon". But due to so many centuries passing, the plushie has inevitably started to fall apart. She's been desperately trying to keep it together all this time. She has had it resewn and restuffed so many times that it's barely recognizable anymore in its original form. Now it is so fragile that a single touch could cause it to be ruined forever. When she started her performance, this plushie would always bring her comfort, and through all this years she refused to let go of it, even though it has been mended and remended and remended beyond recognition. Can she even remember how it used to look like? Does she even dare to hold it anymore, with the risk of it falling apart under her touch? Yet it's the only reminder of her very first days in the world, the only remaining memento connecting her to those memories now shrouded in obscurity.
Yet, one afternoon, not long after having been freed of her duties, she sits down on her bed, facing the plushie. It has been placed at the top of a cabinet, where she can't accidentally knock it over and harm it. Its one button eye (she didn't dare to have the other one resewn, the material is so thin now) is looking down at her, so far out of touch, safe but isolated on that high surface, with only the dust bunnies to keep it company. She has new plushies now. Is she betraying it? She quickly looks away, but a growing tension in her throat inclines her to turn back and face the plushie again. Is she overthinking it, or does it have a certain sadness in its eyes? She feels like choking now.
She pulls a stool over and stands up on it. Very carefully (she knows she's prone to vehemence), she reaches for the plushie and holds it gently in her hands. It is not soft anymore. She holds it to her face and sniffs it. Smells like dust. "Barely a plushie anymore, are you?" she whispers to it. She laughs softly and sadly. The plushie's one button eye glimmers in the lamplight. Then, she steps down from the stool and leaves the room.
She loves the smell of the evening at the lakeside. The damp grass and the faint scent of flowers, and something else she can't name. Perhaps it's the scent of water (does water have a scent of its own?). She walks down the shore, listening to the soft murmur of the waves. The water is pretty deep here. The sun is just setting — a perfect backdrop for a scene like this, she thinks.
Her heart is starting to beat faster. She is holding the plushie close to her chest, like one would hold a baby (they always made her hold babies, to bless them, and the mothers had tears in their eyes and thanked her a thousand times, but she really doesn't know how to deal with babies). Now she carefully picks the plushie in both hands so she's facing it. Its one button eye is already hanging from a single thread, did she not notice that before? She holds it closer and buries her face in it. She stays like this for a little while, her forehead against the disfigured face of a beloved plushie. Then, she kneels down and softly places it in the water. It immediately disappears in the dark blue depths.
The rays of the sun taste like honey at this hour. The evening birds sing in a colourful choir. Waves are dancing sleepily on the surface of the lake. And somewhere deep in the water, a button eye glimmers.
"Goodbye, my friend" Furina whispers. There is a dampness on her face. "You are free."
