ok, so maybe you were already planning to write something like this, and apologies if you didn’t want tsaritsa asks, but how do you think she’d react to reader’s death in your au?
hi hi, of course, any requests are fine! (major hotd spoilers)
there's a lot i have thought about the reader's death/erosion, but i still don't know in which direction i want to go considering the archon quests aren't out because i do want to have this series follow the quests.
BUT! there are a couple scenarios that this could go without interfering with the canon (or what i have planned 😈)
the first route would be that the reader physically dies along with their will.
so maybe you were found by servants after weeks of not being seen. your body was consumed by the abyss, rotted from the inside out, and along with that. took your remaining will to live.
i would imagine her reaction to your death being something like rhaenyra's reaction to luke's (or jace's) death in hotd.
when she first entered your chambers for the first time in hundreds of years, there was only a pained silence. but as soon as she was close enough to your corpse, she couldn't find the strength to maintain her perfectly honest facade and fell to her knees by your bedside.
she probably shook you harshly at first, trying to get you to react or wake up, ordering you to answer her. but when you didn't stir or move an inch, she couldn't help but break down completely. she wailed into the arm she was holding before looking back up at your masked face.
slowly, she took off your face, revealing the extent of the curse. you face was corroded, taking away the features of your skin, the irises of your eyes, and the vigor of your youth. she could only take you in your arms like she did when you were younger and had bad dreams. only this time, she was the one sobbing into your hair and placing kiss after kiss to the crown of your head, as if trying to will you to respond to the affection you were deprived of for centuries.
and the second route would be if the reader erodes spiritually as well as mentally.
you felt it coming for a long time, the way you were forgetting memories you treasured above all, like the warmth of your little brother's presence or what your father looked like.
eventually you began developing a cruel temper around the servants, making them scared to even go near you. the breaking point came when you froze one of your attendants where he stood, making his body a solid block of ice that shattered with a single touch.
of course, your mother kept her tabs on you consistently, having some of your attendants relay your health and if you were content enough. but when the news of the attendant's death came, a cold realization took hold of her. the curse was eroding your spirit faster than it was your body.
she had seen the effect of erosion on gods. some which ceased to exist in the mortal realm but we're alive in spirit, others who worked their way around the curse of time by forging new bodies and carried an insurmountable will. and then there were the others. gods who began losing their sense of self and became volatile and dangerous, all while forgetting their memories and who they were.
yes, you were still alive and mostly breathing. but you, who was calm, collected, and disciplined, became this creature of the abyss. a god fully corrupted and lost to the curse of time. not only were you a danger to others, but also to yourself.
she went to see you.
you were far from docile when she saw you. your chambers were covered in a thick sheet of ice, the familiar figures of a few servants acting as statues of ice in your room. you were standing, breathing heavily, gripping your hair with desperation.
part of your former self was still there.
your mother was always against the idea, that you should live out the rest of your life as you could. but seeing you like this, barely holding on to consciousness and clearly suffering because of it, she made her choice.
you couldn't process the embrace she held you in or the tears that soaked into your shoulder. all you could feel was an incredibly cold sensation creeping up your body and the slight ease of your temperament.
when she broke the embrace, all she could see was your figure enveloped in ice, preserved in the moment. you were still alive, but for now, dormant.
she slipped out of the room, cold determination planned. if anything, her resolve to free you from your curse was much more intense.
note: this is mentioned in the post about the tsaritsa's daughter and the harbingers and takes place slightly before scara's part and during pierro's. i recommend reading the other posts first for some context: see post here.
y'all need to stop being shy, requests for other characters are open 👀
again, will prob be ooc considering she isn't even out yet 😭
lore spoilers!
you haven't seen your mother in thirty seven years and five months.
it was more than enough time for a human being to age from childhood to adulthood, to pursue their talents or settle down with their spouses. enough time to conceive a child and nurture it so they can blossom. of course, as fickle fate is, it was time many people would long for. those who were stripped of life or condemned to the solitude that came with time and white hair.
for you, the majority of those thirty seven years were a struggle you were barely even conscious of. you would sleep for long intervals of time, enough where the young nurses of zapolyarny palace became married or received promotions by the time you woke up again. you barely recognized them in the short period of time you were awake, sometimes because of the changes in their physical appearance, other times simply because your mind was far from lucidity.
the first time you woke up after being cursed, you couldn't help but cry endlessly, but not about your curse.
all you could really process was the fact that your little brother, the boy who clung to your dresses while you clung to your mother's was gone. the boy who would bring your mother flowers and was naturally curious about everything he could see and touch. you would never see his pale blue eyes or hear his curious little voice.
and your father.
he was gone too.
naturally, the first thing the nurses and attendants around you who supervised your curse did was running to find your mother. you, the grand duchess of snezhnaya, who was equally skilled in poetry and dancing with the sword and halberd, who knew how to persuade from a scarily young age, was awake and mourning the family she lost.
she looked no better than you did.
of course, she hid the signs well to maintain the dignity that her position as tsaritsa commanded. but your mother's eyes, a pale blue color that calmed anyone down with a glance had red borders and puffy eyebags. her hair, which was a soft silver color was slightly messy, a few hairs out of place that were often tame. it was barely noticeable, and the servants didn't seem to notice it as much as her eyes. (you knew the difference, having braided her hair and intertwining it with your brother's flowers)
but what you really noticed was her expression. the god of love was often calm, cool like cold water after a burning summer day or the winter breeze after drinking fire-water. often, she'd have a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lip, becoming wider whenever your father or her children were around. though when it was simply her family around, a larger smile was present.
but now, her face, which was always pale, was now nearly as gray as her hair, the loss of family tearing away the warmth of her face. her lips were tightly pressed together in a thin line and trembling, struggling to keep her composure.
the attendants filed out of the room out of courtesy, allowing the tsaritsa to be alone with her remaining child, her beloved daughter. her steps were light and almost hesitant, making her way to your bedside where your cries refused to quiet.
you were wrapped up in thick blankets and shawls up to your neck, a result of the dangerous temperature of your body. the internal temperature of your body was freezing, shivering even in the warmest room in the palace, even with your pyro vision, which had dimmed significantly. your lips were blue and the points of your ear were covered with a thin layer of frost.
she raised a trembling hand to your shoulder through the blankets, soothing it with her touch. she had seen what the curse did to you. the dark blue that stained your hand and arm, rotting you with abyssal energy, a slow and painful erosion. and then the hypothermia that wouldn't go away no matter the warmth of the room or your pyro vision.
a few tears slid out, then they became a multitude until she unceremoniously slumped on a chair next to you, arms gently pulling you into her embrace through the thick sheets and cradled you with heartbreaking tenderness. her arms held you with a shaking firmness, tears ethereal on her face despite the fact she was crumbling from seeing her beloved daughter erode in the most painful way possible.
instinctively, her hand sought your cheek, a habit of wiping off dirt after training or tears when you fell hard on the pavement. instead of a soothing touch or your warm skin, ice crystals formed on your jaw the moment she brushed it. she drew her hand back when you whimpered from the sheer cold.
you could barely process the broken sob that escaped your mother's lips, but you could see her eyes. the tears in them were now accompanied by a cold, hard determination and a quiet fury that burned brighter than any fire. your eyes grew more blurry, but you felt the moment she leaned down to press to kiss to the crown of you forehead before unwrapping her arms around you.
you missed the warmth.
during the first twelve years, between the conscious moments of your healing period, you would weakly, but consistently ask for your mother's presence. yet every time, the attendants could only look at you with pity and sympathy before you eventually blacked out again without so much as a glance or word from your mother.
then around the middle of the thirteenth year since the placement of your curse, you began sitting up in bed and asking to see your mother. this time the attendants didn't have the protection of your exhaustion and could only give you the bitter news.
your mother was avoiding you.
of course, the attendants phrased it as such: that your mother wished for you to return to full vitality without distractions. but even to them, it sounded like a half thought of excuse. of course, this didn't stop your persistence, insisting that the attendants search for her again and again.
it was the late end of the sixteenth year where you were no longer confined to the hospital wing and began to slowly walk around in your chambers. of course, walking was a struggle among multiple layers of thick coats and your recovering body, but your stubborn will made it work.
the very first thing you tried to do was see your mother, hearing she was busy in one of the meeting rooms in the east wing of the palace. it took you ten minutes just to get there, and by the time you did, you couldn't even get close to the door. the temperature in the hallway was so cold, your fingers became a deep light blue color beneath your gloves.
not only did your mother's aversion towards you become an obstacle, but so did your body and the slightest drop of temperature. while your body was slowly acclimating to the temperatures of the palace, all you could really do was relearn how to play your instruments. the progress was slow and taxing, but eventually, your musical prowess was restored to what it was, playing complex pieces on the piano and the violin.
you couldn't play for your mother anymore, so you often left the door to your chambers and let the music flow into the wind for any passer-by to hear. of course, sometimes it attracted servants or your mother's new henchman.
pierro was old, but he radiated power that didn't seem natural for a world like teyvat. much like your father, he was khaenriahan, having the same four pointed star in his eye. to you, he was cordial, somewhat taking the role of an observer or a historian when the music died down. tales of khaenri'ah and the vinster king were always at the tip of his tongue, coming up in regular conversation.
you liked him for a while. that was until your body became a bit more tolerant of the cold. suddenly, before you could even get into the hallway where it seemed your mother ate, lived, and breathed, he was already standing between you and the coldness that didn't affect you as much.
it became a routine where almost daily, you were seen with the man escorting you back into the warmth of your chambers, your face scowling slightly while he drowned about your mother's busy schedule. the constant reprimands were waning your opinion about him negatively.
after seventeen years of the constant pushing from pierro and your mother's refusal to see you, you both grew irritated with the other. pierro began shooing you out with a single, terrifying glare and you would comply, already formulating and memorizing his schedule.
the hallway was barren, cold, and agonizingly quiet when you stepped foot into it. the years of memorizing pierro and pulcinella's schedule leading you to finally be able to cross the doorway that led to the conference room your mother was in. thirty seven years of pushing and prodding until you finally succeeded.
you shivered beneath the thickness of your coat. but that only brought a small smile to your face, one of accomplishment. early on, the temperature was enough to freeze your fingers solid through layers of thickly padded gloves and cover your legs with frost. now, only with a few layers of clothes and regular gloves, you could tolerate it with a heavy shiver and very slight frost on your fingertips.
the hallway was lined with intricate tapestries and paintings. next to you was your grandfather in his youth, to your right, an oil painting of a rendition of the events of the archon war. the floors were padded with dark blue rugs and silver linings and details.
your teeth clattered together as you walked down the very same hallway your little brother often chased you down, footsteps light and uncertain against the carpet. you remembered it used to be vivid, with the windows open, letting warmer air through. but now, most of them were closed except for the one at the very end, the only source of light in the early morning.
soon you stopped in front of the door of the conference room. you could hear quiet mumbling and the sound of your mother's heels against the hardwood floor. you knocked lightly, hesitantly. what seemed like an eternity passed, but what was probably only a couple of seconds before you heard your mother's voice for the first in thirty seven years. it was cold, much like her dominion over the cryo element.
"enter."
the room was far colder than the hallway, making you wrap your arms around yourself tightly. you stepped into the room with tentative footsteps, looking around the room with disturbed curiosity. the front of the room had several diagrams of strange looking things, carefully detailed to show off the intricate designs. a few, vaguely, familiar names like barbatos and focalors were labeled above some of them.
on the main desk in front of the diagrams were several stacks of books, some of them open to certain pages. you recognized one of them: perinheri. but others like before sun and moon or the pale princess and the six pygmies were unrecognized.
but what really drew your eyes was your mother's frame. she was always the type of person to dress more casually, even before the nobility. her hair used to be in a plain half up half down style with a clip to hold it in place. her dresses were simple and a bit loose, wearing minimal jewelry in the comfort of her own home. she used to look like a gentle goddess, much like her title implied.
but the woman in front of you looked vastly different.
instead of the pain blue dresses she wore, the one she had on was far more lavish, a coat wrapped around her shoulders. she wore jewelry that you rarely saw unless it was a prestigious event for the nation, like her crown, which now sat upon her head. to you, it looked more like a cage than a sign of power. the earrings she had on were replaced by the expensive ones your father gifted her, one of his endearing gifts that he gave out of nowhere. her hair was fully up in a bun, braided except for the strands that framed her face.
she looked like the nobles she barely tolerated.
"mama?" you called out.
you saw the way her posture tensed like a rigid block of ice. her fingers set down the plume in her hand, slowly turning around to face you for the first time in thirty seven years. her eyes were harder, colder, but undoubtedly, they were your mother's. but when they looked at you, and met your eyes, they became softer, but not with the surprise of seeing her daughter walk again. no, it was something that made your own smile fall.
it was guilt and shame.
her lips, which were in a thin line opened and closed, trying to find the words to her thoughts.
she wasn't the only one who looked different. you had grown taller, a good few inches above her, having inherited your father's height. your face lost some of its baby fat, but still enough remained where she could imagine herself caressing it or your father pinching it lightly while you puffed them out. of course, she knew every detail about your recovery and dottore's checkups on you, how your development stopped around the physical age of sixteen.
but you were no longer her little duchess.
you swallowed thickly, taking a few steps forward. "mama." you repeated with certainty, but it was all you could really think of saying. her lips parted and shut before she steadied her resolve.
"my child." she paused, staring at your face as if trying to memorize it through sight alone. then her eyes fell back to the diagrams, her voice cold and distant, so unlike the gentle mother you longed to see for decades. "you should not be here."
your face fell but you pressed further into the room, completely ignoring the fact that your fingers were turning a solid blue beneath your gloves. you shook your head stubbornly. "then where else, if not by your side? i'm your daughter! mama-"
"i will hear nothing of your stubbornness, (name)." her voice was deadly serious and harsh and you could feel the temperature of the room fall a few degrees. "you will return to your chambers and you will remain there."
"and do what? sit around with the servants for company while you pretend i will ever get any better?!" you couldn't help but vent out in anger, your fists clenched in defense. you were always so calm, docile, but this anger, even anastasya had to admit, was expected from you. you may have taken from your father's appearance, but emotionally, you were every bit like her.
it scared her sometimes.
"enough of this. i will give you the chance to leave without repercussions." her own words surprised her. she could never imagine herself threatening her own child, especially not her living, cursed, daughter. but the sheer anger she had, bit towards you, but rather the source of your curse was enough to make her a ticking time bomb around anyone who crossed the line.
"repercussions?" you repeated, your voice low with hurt and anger and the restraint of tears. "you can even look me in the eye, can you?! are you that desperate to be rid of me?"
anastasya's eyes visibly widened, stunned by your words. quickly, she spun around, showing more vulnerability than she would have liked. "no, no, gods no, never that-"
"because at this rate," you cut her off sharply, coldly like the ice that consumed you. "i'll be dead by the time you ever glance at me again."
"i-" she caught herself. her eyes looked at the ground as if it had all the answers she was looking for. she pushed you away for a reason, a way to keep you safe from her revenge against the heavens and the gods who act on folly. of course she loved you, as any mother would her child.
but sometimes the greatest act of love can be the one that hurts the most.
she inhaled sharply, steeling herself into a solid wall of ice and frost before meeting your eyes again, erasing any hint of emotion. her voice was in the form of a command that could challenge celestia itself. "you will leave this instant, and you will not come back under any circumstances."
you heard the door open, revealing pierro staring at you with contempt, waiting for you to leave the room. you grit your teeth, clattering slightly once you felt the frost creep up your neck. "i hope that whatever you end up from this is worth losing your daughter, because it certainly isn't worth losing my mother."
you shoved past pierro, breaking into a sprint down the hallway.
you glanced at the books in front of you through your mask, a pair of tweezers prodding at the open skin of your corrupted arm. next to you was a newspaper imported from fontaine, a small column of the first and second place winners of the fontaine film festival. you could only glare at the blonde haired figure and their floating companion.
it has been roughly four hundred and sixty two years, three months, and eleven days since you last saw your mother in that conference room.
your research led to one point and one point only.
if dying was your fate, then you'd die on your own terms.
note: not sorry for the angst guys 🫶 also requests for other genshin characters are open so lmk 👀👀 don't we all love doomed relationships?
might be a part two idk
you were brought to the house of the hearth when you were about four or five years old. it was hard to keep track of your age after living on the streets for so long. your parents were poor, having died in your crumbling home from sickness and starvation. you left your home after you realized they weren't waking up, even with the terrible stench that plagued their room.
that was how you found yourself living on the street, snatching fruits from vendors and fleeing into the alleyways you called home. it was undeniably difficult, a child who was illiterate and on the brink of death from hunger sleeping under bridges and the outskirts of town. yet you carried a strong will that would be enough to put the gods to shame.
you tempted fate one day. you snuck onto a camp in which heavily armed guards stood. the only reason you managed to avoid them was because a gun wielding agent had been dozing off, giving you a window to dash towards a few crates of what you could assume was food.
you pushed open a half open crate, mouth watering as your eyes noticed the abundance of fresh vegetables and sweet smelling fruit. your stomach growled and you helped yourself to a fresh apple. lost in the taste, you didn't hear the heavy footsteps until a rough hand lifted you by the frayed collar of your shirt, though it loosened when the man noticed your age and how thin you were.
"o-oi, get sasha!" the man stuttered out, a hand still holding your collar to prevent you from escaping. the only reason you didn't run afterwards was because you dragged yourself into a food coma on a woman's lap after devouring warm food after months.
by the next morning, the woman, sasha, had escorted you to a well maintained building in the middle of the mountains of fontaine where a woman with salmon colored hair thrown over her shoulder waited with a small smile.
suddenly, you had a family, or something similar to that.
but it wasn't made up of the other children of the orphanage, who seemed to ignore your existence or mocked the way you spoke in the broken dialect. nor was it the mother, whose demeanor was that of a kind and caring guardian. you weren't exactly smart in some of the subjects the adults of the hearth taught, but you knew exactly how to read a person. everything you knew about her was enough to make you stay away from her.
instead, your family was made up of the woman's daughter, clervie, and a short girl with white and black hair who loved insects. perrie, as you called her. you grew attached to both of them after a few months.
clervie was as bright as the sun. by the first week of your stay in the house of the hearth, she had followed you around, plaguing you with questions you didn't understand or couldn't answer. she never seemed to mind it, often dragging you along to whatever room she was going to.
but you were undeniably closer to perrie. she was quiet, thoughtful, and often gave you some of her food. while you didn't like insects, you'd hold her spider bambi in your hands with a grimace, if she asked.
the three of you would sneak out of your rooms in the middle of the night just to stargaze, often complaining about the other children who you didn't like. you had developed a very strong opinion during your time there.
"anya smells like feet." you mumbled, stuffing a small pastry into your mouth. you had nicked them from the kitchen before going to the large window the three of you usually went after lights out. the same window where perrie often bandaged clervie's wounds after trying to escape. or your own after picking fights with the older kids.
"that doesn't mean you had to say it to her face." perrie sighed with a hint of worry. almost instantly after your arrival at the house of the hearth, you noticed the mother's true nature. a woman of cruelty who liked to watch the house's children battle until one became victorious, the other discarded to a bad man. neither you or clervie saw the way the mother had started looking at you over the years, a spitfire girl who challenged everything that moved.
despite your temper, you were mostly average. you were strong in your own right, but in scuffles against older children, you often found yourself equally beaten or on the ground. you didn't excel with the subjects, but you were undoubtedly brilliant at reading people and very persuasive despite your somewhat crude language. you had a vision, but you couldn't resonate with it.
"someone had to." clervie chirped in for you; you sent a mischievous grin her way. the two of you dreamed of escaping the house of the hearth, constantly running into the night before ultimately being caught.
in fact, that was how you got your pyro vision.
one night, you had snuck out through the kitchen door, barely making it past the entrance before fatui agents were chasing you down. you and clervie booked it, sprinting across the grounds like criminals in the loose, losing each other amidst the foliage of the forest. you, who were incredibly fast from running away from angry vendors in your childhood, suddenly felt something hitting the back of your head hard.
you groaned, already feeling a bump forming above your nape. when you turned and looked at the ground, all you saw was a shining red stone on the ground with the pyro symbol on it.
you got caught because your vision chose to stab you in the back, and by the time you and clervie were in the hospital wing after being disciplined by the mother, she made sure the entire west wing of the hearth heard her laughter.
as time passed until you were around fifteen, you only became more reckless to try and escape the house of the hearth. you had seen the times perrie and clervie come back from dueling a sibling. clervie would cry and quietly demand a freedom that she knew wasn't coming, and perrie had grown cold to it, emotion dulled by repetition. you considered yourself lucky into that aspect. crucabena had yet to summon you for that.
instead you sat fuzzing, dabbing a cotton pad against a cut on perrie's cheek, grumbling. "you really can't go a moment without getting yourself hurt, can you?" you clenched your jaw tightly, pressing against the cut slightly harder than intended. you pulled your hand back when you saw the slight flicker of pain in her eyes.
"you're worried." she said, her voice calm. she noticed the signs recently, the increasing fights and escapes, the nightmares of seeing your parents dead, the subtle tension in your shoulders, and the aggression in your words. you looked away like a scolded child.
"i just.. i didn't think she'd drag you both into it." you finally said. your eyes remained averted from hers, setting down the medical box with indifference. "i can't lose either of you." suddenly, your hand was held in perrie's blackened one. it was warm, and while she didn't offer any words of comfort, the squeeze she gave was enough to dim your worries.
a year later, you were assigned to clean the training room late at night after getting into another fight yet again, when all of the sudden perrie entered the room, walking blindly and stopping in front of your figure, which was wringing out a mop of dirty water with a grimace.
"perrie?" you called out once you noticed the distant look on her face.
it was only when she handed you a necklace with a lumidouce bell that you felt an overwhelming mix of emotion and the hot rush of tears spilling over your eyes.
you didn't leave your bed the entire week.
your tears knew no end, soaking into your pillow and leaving dark marks. you didn't open the door. not for perrie, not for the smaller children who held worry, nor the older children who were confused about your sudden absence from fights.
instead, you could only keep looking at a small music box on your nightstand. clervie gave it to you on the anniversary you joined the hearth, as you had no birthday. she had smiled with mischief, claiming she stole it from her mother's office. you cherished the expensive machinery, listening to the song before bed and keeping it safe.
now it only brought more tears.
by the start of the second week, two fatui henchmen forcefully entered your room, pulling you out of bed and dragging you outside. you kept your eyes low to the ground, ignoring the glances from the other children, and most of all. perrie.
by the time you finally looked up, the sun was blaring in your eyes, and as they adjusted, you saw an older boy, well about to enter adulthood with a raised sword and fear in his eyes. a sword clattered to the ground, but you made no move to pick it up.
"come now, you didn't really think the time wouldn't come?" you heard the mother's cruel voice from above, her eyes narrowed with anticipation. "don't tell me you lost all your bite now?"
the duel started the moment you picked up the sword, barely managing to sidestep the boy's reckless swing. you weren't lucky the second time. his sword cut deeply into the side of your arm, making you cry out in pain. you put some distance between the two of you, but even that wasn't enough to clear your head. the sudden change between grief and defensiveness making your body work overtime.
every parry was sloppy and every strike was sluggish. you had already taken multiple cuts to the torso and the face. with one hard swing, your sword was thrown across the arena, falling too far for you to reach. you fell back, head hitting the ground as you looked up at the boy who would become your killer, all for the sake of survival.
but the final blow didn't come.
your vision, which you often cast aside for never resonating with you suddenly sparked to life. flames and pain blazed on your arm, making you scream with a bloodcurdling cry. it spread quickly, climbing up the boy's sword until it reached his hands and swallowed him whole where he stood, the smell of burning flesh completely ignored by your senses.
your body, under the stress from many ends couldn't tolerate the heat of your vision. instead. it could only burn your arm and crawl up your neck and the side of your face before darkness hit.
peruere felt empty.
not only had she been forced to kill clervie, but now, she could only block out the voices of the other children. the mother of the house had very bluntly told her of what transpired.
you technically won the duel since the boy had been killed in the blink of an eye. but your body was too weak to handle the potency of your vision and it burned your flesh to the point where half of your body was unrecognizable. she had seen your body before it was wrapped in white cloth. arm blackened and charred to the bone, face half melted off.
the anger that fueled her, the one caused by your death and clervie's, was the same that led her to kill crucabena the following year. she kept the lumidouce bell necklace and your music box with her, even after she was crowned "king" and became the new knave.
a few months after she became the knave, dottore came to her. it was a well known fact that the old knave used to send children who failed missions or were maimed to him. they would become lab rats and ultimately, die. fate was never kind to them.
yet as the double doors to her office opened, her heart twisted in her chest and her breath caught in her throat.
the arm which had been charred to the bone was replaced by a high-end prosthetic that clearly looked like the marionette's work. the other arm was covered with scar tissue, no doubt used to replace the burnt skin of your face. your hair, which was once so vivid and well taken care of had become an icy white.
she had seen you the moments after you died.
yet it was undeniably you, alive, looking at her without a hint of recognition.
but you weren't fully human now.
though under the layers of your clothes, she could hear the ticking of what was now your mechanical heart.
note: for context, this is the second post of the reader being the tsaritsa's daughter. reminder that these are strictly platonic due to reader physically being a teenager!! see post here. might be ooc. (prob is lowk) pierro and pulcinella are really short considering there's not much on them..
lore spoilers!!
ps: part 2!!!
00: the jester, pierro.
to say you didn't like him was an understatement. you met him shortly after he joined your mother's band of fools, as you liked to call them. he was cordial and at first, you liked him enough. he'd share stories about his days as the mage of the vinster king before the cataclysm. similar stories your father used to share about his own family in khaenri'ah. and you'd listen, partly from interest and the other half because it seemed no one else wanted to approach you because of your fragile condition.
though, when you began seeking your mother after recovering enough strength to leave the warmth of your chambers with thick clothes and shivering hands, he became an insurmountable obstacle. it was like he could sense your presence at the massive doors to the throne room or one of the many council rooms in the palace. he'd beat you to the door, closing it behind him with a gentle click to prevent you seeing your mother and he'd escort you back to your chambers.
eventually the attempts became more frequent and more desperate than the last, your younger self homesick for a mother that was so far yet so close at the same time.
in one of the last few attempts you made to try and see your mother for at least a second, he'd finally gone cold.
"your mother refuses to see you, child. behave as the duchess you are and see yourself to your room and recover."
he had shut the door in your face.
from that day, you made it a point to avoid him, and he accepted it without a thought. though, there were still a few moments in which he quietly watched over you between the centuries. moments in a warm room where you let your violin echo your loneliness, or the few times you were outside for a few minutes. your face would crumble as the sun which once felt overwhelmingly warm to you now did nothing against the curse on your body, still freezing your hands and arms even with thick coats.
as time progressed and decades passed, you'd make your disdain clear with side glares and dismiss his reprimands with meaningless and empty promises. though on the very rare occasion you tolerated his presence, you'd listen to his stories like you did centuries ago, because in that aspect, it was like a glimpse of your father lingered on in his tales of khaenri'ah.
01: the captain, capitano.
the relationship between the two of you was oddly meaningful. the man was as quiet as a mouse when the two of you were alone. you weren't blind; you knew he and many of the harbingers only kept you company to keep an eye on you. because of that, you didn't find the formidable man intimidating, but a man with wise words and great intellect.
when you picked up the sword after being bedridden for such a long time, your steps weren't even close to your former prowess. once a child who wielded the blade and polearm with the vigor of a graceful warrior now tripped and staggered with simple movements. yet he often sat in silence, watching the flaws in your stance and with a deep voice, he'd point them out.
"your feet are too far apart and your arms are too close to your body." his footsteps were heavy on the thick carpet. he knew better than to be too close to you, his cryo capabilities would freeze your skin. instead, the scabbard of your sword pushed your arms a few inches to your right side.
"having a firmer base and keeping your feet light will allow you to move like a swan and strike with the strength of a tiger."
some days, he'd come around just to watch you get back up to your feet. he'd heard about your achievements in your youth (wonder from who), and watching you struggle to keep up with simple exercises made something in him want to see you improve. other times. he'd simply come and drink tea in silence, listening to you vent your frustrations about your swordsmanship, and most importantly, your mother.
when your body started adapting to your curse, he started dueling you. while your limbs started freezing over and showing signs of fatigue, he looked like a boulder being brushed by a light breeze. when the jester heard about it, he discouraged the practice and relayed that your mother found it unwise. but you stopped listening to anything that came from him. you made it obvious you wouldn't listen unless your mother said it face to face.
the captain, despite his loyalty to your mother, couldn't refuse your demand to keep training you. and so he did, even when your body was at its limit and your fingers turned a deep cerulean. he was harsh, but by the time you were collapsed on the carpet shivering, he had already draped a thick blanket over you and ordered a servant to bring tea. it was through him that you learned how to insulate your body with the own coldness of your flames.
then when your body warmed enough to stand and move slowly, you'd sit and drink tea together in silence. it was poetic, how a man who was slowly eroding was teaching a child cursed with the same fate. though one day, you were tempted to ask about the thing that plagued you the most.
"what lies beyond your hat, thrain?" he was calm about it, as if he had been prepared for years.
"a face disfigured by time and the consequences of sinners." you could only assume he meant the same erosion that was chiseled into your left hand. dark blue coloring and cracks of light blue creeping up your arm, so different from the half of the curse that affected your vision.
as the years went by, you regained some of your former prowess, and even thrain had to admit that he was putting in effort in defeating you. you weren't near his level, clearly, but you were scarily close considering the curse that burned you at both ends.
shortly before he left for natlan, he confided in you. in came in simple conversation after one of your duels. he calmly his tea, faced clouded with darkness while you regained your breath and warmth. he told you of his anger of the pyro archon, the way the gnosis held the solution towards the night kingdom and ley lines.
of course, you knew the way they functioned. your limited freedom and confinement to the indoors often led you down rabbit holes of information found in the books in the library. but when he told you of the souls in his body and his plan for natlan, you shut down as a defense mechanism.
the day he left, he visited you one last time. you were quiet and distant, but despite that, he allowed himself to get close to you. he patted the top of your head and murmured goodbye before his heavy footsteps disappeared down the corridor.
when the news came of his dormant state, you allowed a single tear to escape the gap of your mask, for the man who was your mentor and made his peace.
but for now, your plan was set in motion.
02: the doctor, dottore.
you quickly found out the doctor was a complex and multifaceted man. his interest in you was quickly piqued, an order from the tsaritsa herself to monitor your wellbeing. you met him a few years after he became a harbinger, a young man expelled from the akademiya for illegal research with too much ambition and too much thirst for knowledge.
the laboratory created for him in the depths of the zapolyarny palace was cold, even by the standards of an acclimated snezhnayan. the first time you stepped foot in it (quite literally), ice crept up your leg and made it a dense block of ice before you could step back. servants had to carry you back to your chambers while dottore followed closely behind, muttering his observations.
your leg refused to thaw until he took the risk of placing fire on it directly. from then on, he made a makeshift lab in the corner of the drawing room in your chambers, visiting you a couple of times a month due to the tsaritsa's demands. you found that dottore was an unconventionally antisocial man. despite talking to himself about his observations and findings, he'd give you one word answers to the things to didn't understand.
"interesting. the compounds and composition hasn't been changed, yet the chemical traces suggest contradicting elements.. why is that?" he watched a small sample of your fire with fascination, seeing it gently lick a blank sheet of paper. in the blink of an eye, it became a thin sheet of ice that broke with a slight touch.
"what does that mean?" you swung your legs languidly with boredom.
"something."
eventually, begrudgingly, zandik, as you somehow forced out of him, found himself warming up to you. sometimes, he brought you sweets or played the piano in your room after the experimenting left you cold and weak. he even began to strike up irrelevant findings in his other experiments just to erase the awkward silence.
but then, his visits became weekly. he'd realized that for some reason, you weren't aging as you should have. sure, you were a godling, but even then, you should have aged until you reached adulthood. but a single year of human development became three for your internal timeframe, then five, then ten, and so on until you became physically stuck at the age of sixteen.
unlike you or pierro or thrain, zandik was human, despite all his attempts to become immortal. you watched his body become slower and strained, watched as wrinkles formed around his eyes and mouth. but he wasn't scared. one day, he told and showed you of his success. on one of your checkups, a boy around your age accompanied him and your heart nearly stopped.
he looked like your little brother, had he lived sans the red eyes.
segments, he called them, a way for him to remain immortal while decaying like a human. the boy was warmer than the original zandik, though he still carried the same sharp ambition and relentless intelligence.
when the original zandik died, you cried for hours, not because you were particularly close, but rather because he became someone else you lost. eventually as time passed and segments grew from children to old men, you stopped crying for them, and each segment strayed from the familiarity the original zandik had with you.
but perhaps out of the consciousness of their being, everytime one of the segments was close to their time, they'd leave with a farewell, something even zandik didn't do, in which you'd stubbornly say you'd see them the following week. of course, by then a younger segment had replaced them and continued as if nothing happened.
once the news from nod-krai and sumeru reached your ears, you did not weep for him. instead, you looked at the piano in your room and sat on the stool, fingers pressing the keys to a solemn melody, the same he played after tiring days. when the song ended, you could only glance back at the piano.
"for good, our final farewell, zandik."
03: the damselette, columbina.
she came to you a particularly lonely night. the palace was oddly quiet except for the gentle weeping coming from your cello, a rendition of a popular ballet piece from the korolevskiy troupe. the song served as the entrance of the grand dance between the male and female lead. you had seen it with your father and mother when it was first released, your little brother barely walking and babbling.
your mother naturally loved it, a grand orchestra piece made by a single composer, the song acting as a final goodbye to his beloved sister. (yes i love pas de deux) you didn't understand it then, too young to comprehend it, but old enough to have the melody remain in your mind. but by extension, you grew to understand why she adored it.
after all, the song was a final, grand act of love.
amidst the timbre of the cello, a soft voice hummed the voice. from surprise. the grip on your bow tightened and what could only be described as a squeal squeak out of the cello. you turned around, surprised to see her standing mere feet away from you. you hadn't heard her coming. she tilted her head, her voice as soothing as a balm for the soul.
"why did you stop?" your eyes tried to meet hers, only to find a crisscross blindfold over her shut eyes.
"i wasn't expecting people. did my mother send you?" you queried, distant but not unkindly.
"the tsaritsa? no, she did not. i was merely wandering about the garden, but the wind carried over the melody. what was it?"
"you've never heard of the grand step of two?" you asked with bewilderment, a break in the composure you were carefully building around yourself. "it's the korolevskiy troupe's best movement."
"i rarely get the chance to leave the palace." she hummed quietly. you took a few seconds to digest her words before placing your bow back on the strings and began playing the descending scale once again. this time, she familiarized herself with the scale before singing it back in cadence.
from then on, her voice became the harmony to the melody of your violin or cello, or even the piano in your room. her voice, soothing as it was, sometimes lulled you sleep in between playing and you'd wake up to her gone, the sleeping only becoming more frequent after the abyssal curse reached your neck. sometimes, you'd talk about mundane things.
"is it as good as everyone says? the play from the korolevskiy troupe?" she mused over tea.
"it's recognized across teyvat as one of the most successful ballet pieces. to think you haven't seen it, i can't deny it, it surprises me."
"perhaps you and i can go see it- oh. forgive me." you shook your head, the movement stiff with melancholy. with the raging winters, even stepping foot outside the palace would be enough to freeze you solid.
"just make sure you see it." you said with a sad smile.
the day she did, she came back to you a few days later. sandrone had accompanied her and cried during the second act, during the grand step of two. she confided in you then. the piece caused her to feel homesick. homesick to a place she never truly belonged and the exhaustion of being utilized for her ability.
you didn't know what it was. unlike the other harbingers, you had never seen her demonstrate any strength that belied her gentle appearance. but there had to be a reason why your mother ranked her so high. at first, it was only a mention that breezed past your thoughts, but eventually, you could see it in her face.
you didn't want to lose anyone else. sure, your heart had become colder and accustomed to death and loss, but even thinking about it made your gut clench as if to throw up. she was the first to simply coexist with you, the first to see you, not as the tsaritsa's daughter, but simply you.
at first, you tried to dissuade her with the obvious that your mother wouldn't tolerate treason against her or the fatui. if she got caught, it would be a death sentence. but you saw the smile on her face, melancholic and languid, her mind already set.
you let her go.
as expected, the rooster had issued the palestar edict on your mother's behalf. days passed following the chaos between the woman who was in fact, the trilune goddess, and zandik.
a single letter had been delivered to you, the emblem of the frostmoon scions colored on the back with a single sentence:
"we'll watch the korolevskiy troupe together someday."
the letter was burned to ashes in the fireplace.
the plan didn't leave room for hesitation.
04: the knave, arlecchino.
she was the first one to be sought out by you. it wasn't directly, but the ascension of the criminal who killed the former fourth harbinger to be her replacement had roused your curiosity. sure, lesser ranked harbingers or mortal ones were simply replaced once their time came, but to think it was mere child who defeated the fourth harbinger was astounding.
you rarely left your chambers for a couple of years. it was around this point where you began wearing a mask to hide your face. the curse had caught up to your face. you understood why thrain hid his, yours a disfigured atrocity that made you break every mirror in your chambers and refused dottore's checkups. even rosalyne, who you often sought out, was denied entry.
the guards stationed at the throne room didn't even stop you at the massive doors, staring at you with bewilderment before opening the doors. there alone in the grand space stood a white and black haired teenager around your physical age, her frame turning towards you. her eyes narrowed imperceptibly with suspicion.
"are you another harbinger?" she asked, though it came out more as a demand. you mere shook your head with a languid grace.
"a mere passer-by. i try to understand who the fools who serve my mother are." you climbed up the steps slowly, almost painfully. your vision had become more unpredictable with the centuries and instead of your body freezing every time the temperature was below your body's liking, it also started freezing things through your clothes, evident in the splotches of ice of the stairs where your feet were.
"mother?" she murmured before humming with realization as she looked at a lavish portrait in the throne room. the tsaritsa with a man, a little boy who looked just like her, and an older girl who took after her father with the tsaritsa's eyes. "you're the grand duchess."
you hummed absentmindedly. you avoided looking at the portrait, the change in what you looked like and now would have probably been another breaking point. instead, you fixed your gaze on her. "you're young for a harbinger, though i suppose life favors the victors." you paused. standing beside her, the ice beneath your feet melted and you felt a hint of warmth. it felt wonderful, the first time in nearly five hundred years in which you felt warm and not cold. "hmm.. perhaps one day, you could join me for tea."
she started coming over to your chambers often, surprising rosalyne who teased you for not inviting her over. simply put, it was refreshing having someone of similar age to you close, even more so someone as honest about her intentions. you found to be serious and stern, though sometimes when it was just the female harbingers and yourself at one of sandrone's tea parties, she'd relax.
her warmth was more than welcome, and you often found yourself falling asleep on her shoulder. often, she relayed what pierro told her about her heritage, about the fall of the crimson moon dynasty and the rise of the eclipse dynasty in khaenri'ah. sometimes, you would supply her with your own stream of information from years of reading about the matter.
the curses you shared, so different yet so similar at the same time only seemed to strengthen the amicable bond between the two of you. hers, which burned so brightly also burned and corrupted her soul. yours, which was once the brightest flame of them all reduced to a power that slowly killed your body from the sheer cold.
she told you of her past, growing up in the house of the hearth alongside the only friend she ever had and the cruel mother that tore the bond between them. her silence suggested the sheer cruelty. in turn, you told her the broader details of your disappearance from the public eye, why the citizens of snezhnaya hadn't seen the grand duchess for centuries.
the knave began leaving for fontaine throughout the year, now managing the house of the hearth her own way. you could see the changes in her, the way she began growing out her hair and wearing makeup to look older than she really was. you watched with a saddened heart and envy as the young girl became a truly formidable woman who cared deeply despite her aloof demeanor.
in the meetings that became less frequent, she began to talk about the children of the house. particularly a set of twins and a younger boy who was well versed with mechanics.
"freminet, he's talented in many areas, yet his lack of confidence holds him back." she said once, her voice much deeper than you remembered it. "you'd get along with him, considering your own expertise in the mundane." she said it as if you weren't a multi centennial being.
she noticed your unusual silence one day, thick and almost oppressive in nature. the tea that was usually in the table in front of you wasn't there, and neither was the cursed girl she grew to see as a valued friend and sometimes slept on her shoulder when the curse exhausted her.
"peruere." you started, voice low and pained. your heart and face burned, feeling the curse extend slightly further. "if the time ever came, where someone you loved dearly was at risk, and it went against the life you've constructed as a harbinger.. would you fight as the knave or as peruere?"
"where does this come from?" she asked, her voice laced with curiosity and intrigue. "i'd rather avoid that sort of thing. but in the hypothetical sense.. peruere."
she didn't understand it then, why she could sense you smile under the mask, but now after columbina was gods knows where because of dottore, the decision was much simpler to make as she clenched her fist with steady determination.
the moment she went back to snezhnaya, she went to see you. yet you did not open the door, not the first time, nor the second, or the third day.
you could only listen to her retreating footsteps as you sat against the wall, the room covered in ice as you shed the last tears you ever would.
05: the rooster, pulcinella.
he was much like pierro in terms of keeping you away from matters concerning the fatui. by the time he had come, you weren't interested anymore. you kept your distance from him. you had heard how he constantly twisted people's words against them and began rumors among the ranks about the other harbingers.
not only that, but it seemed the facade of the dedicated mayor who took care of ajax's was really just a means to control him. he was young, you knew childe trusted him implicitly, but you and most of the harbingers understood it was for leverage.
to you, he was just another obstacle in the way of you seeing your mother, but unlike the director, you didn't fight him. although if there ever came a time where he crossed the line, you were more than ready to put him in his place. you weren't a harbinger after all. the rules did not apply to you.
06: the balladeer, scaramouche.
you met him after one of dottore's checkups. the scientist told you of an interesting being he found while in inazuma, a puppet, hidden in the ruins of an old village. at first, it was just a mention until he quite literally crashed into you at the turn of a corridor.
he scoffed and walked away while you stayed winded for a bit, mostly because the captain had not gone easy during a duel and had you wanting to run away from the room.
you rarely saw him between going and leaving harbinger meetings or when you tried to seek out your mother despite the constant refusal from the jester or the rooster. he didn't pay you any mind, as if you were just another deluded person in the palace.
the first proper interaction you had with him was after your last attempt to see your mother. it had been successful, but the event that transpired left you feeling empty and cold. you found yourself in the balcony of one of the towers, not caring about your limbs as they became solid ice or the crystalization of the skin of your face. you didn't cry, but you never wanted to disappear as much as you did at that moment.
"to think the beloved grand duchess of snezhnaya isn't very beloved by the tsaritsa herself. amusing." his voice was as cold as the winter storm that raged outside the castle. you turned and looked at him, four pointed star pupils glaring at him with heat that contested the ice of your limbs.
"you cross a line, balladeer." your voice imitated the command in your mother's voice exceptionally well. "though, i must say that you are the pot calling the kettle black. the abandoned puppet of the shogun, that i fear, is far more depressing than my situation."
"i've made my peace with it." he scoffed. he stopped beside you, wearing only the black and purple clothes that were far too light for such a cold place. he couldn't feel it, you noticed. you envied it.
"if you made your way here to become a harbinger, then clearly, you have not. though, i can't exactly blame you for it." your teeth clattered together as frost covered your chin. he looked at you incredulously, before scoffing again.
"why are you here? are you really willing to suffer for the actions of someone who clearly doesn't want you near?" his words struck something in your and for that moment, they served their purpose. you clenched your jaw and went back inside the palace with difficulty.
there was a strange rivalry between the two of you, not oppressive, but that of two people with incredibly similar situations trying to coax the other to move on while clinging to the past. often, you'd find yourself in situations where you took turns insulting the other while other harbingers like dottore were around. it filled the room with light humor, considering that if any other person said those things to either one of you, they'd be missing by dinner.
however, the two of you also shared the appreciation of knowledge. it had come up in random conversation, but it stuck with you, his theory of a false sky. you found yourself invested in research about the possibility of it, eventually leading to your investigation of the four shades. particularly ronova, the shade of death.
when he started collaborating with dottore, you found yourself suspicious. you knew he wasn't over his past or the betrayals inflicted on him. but to become an artificial god, was a blasphemy that even you didn't consider wise.
"what are you trying to prove, scaramouche? that you can rewrite fate?" you asked him the night before he and dottore left for sumeru. he turned on his heels, answering as if it were the most obvious thing.
"fulfilling what i was created for. godhood is meant to be mine, even if it's achieved through unconventional ways." he scowled slightly. "maybe the reason you're curse hasn't gone away is simply because you let it control you."
you no longer remember him.
07: the marionette, sandrone.
you found the woman intriguing, really. you first met her when rosalyne invited you to her tea party on her behalf, dragging you along while telling you that it would be good for you. you simply let her, mostly because you didn't have anything better to do and you wanted to leave your chambers for a bit.
yet as you entered sandrone's room, what could only be described as a squeak left your lips as a giant automaton filled the room with its tall and rather wide frame.
"don't mind pulonia, take a seat." her voice was high and pompous. you sat next to rosalyne, naturally, far enough away to put some distance between yourself and the giant mecha. rosalyne never let you live your fear of pulonia down.
to say you were a bit terrified of her brilliance for mechanics was an understatement. her workshop was filled with books and parts used for mechas, complex where even your extensive knowledge of the sciences failed to grasp what half of it meant.
you rarely visited her workshop, as there wasn't much in common between the two of you. she tolerated you, as she put it, often spending time complaining about columbina's perpetual singing or rosalyne's habitual drinking habits. she did, however, find an interest in the aspect of your curse. she'd look at the frost on your hands that rarely went away and began ordering pulonia around, much to your dismay.
"why the interest?" you mentioned casually once, observing sandrone as she tinkered with a small device barely larger than a bracelet. she huffed slightly, shooting you daggers, her voice haughty and exaggerated.
"because every time you come over, i happen to find one of my teacups encrusted with ice." she pointed an accusing finger at you. "do you know how long it takes for it to melt?! or how many handles have been snapped off?! clearly gloves aren't going to be a long time solution so i'm making one."
"does that mean you want me at your tea parties? i'm honored." you teased with a small smile. she groaned and rolled her eyes
"please, i'm only doing this because i'd never hear the end of it from rosalyne." she muttered out. what she made was a carefully designed bracelet with constant heating. of course. the gadget froze over the moment it was placed on your wrist, leading to a groan from the woman.
she noticed the way that around her, you took after rosalyne and often teased her. it was probably one of the only things left that really showed that despite the curse, you were still a teenager. of course, whenever she did get annoyed, she'd "send" pulonia after you. she never really did, but watching you run out of the room was amusing enough.
she never did stop trying to build something for your hands. you were her guinea pig for the warming device, yet every time, it failed to work. she never got too discouraged, and by a few days later, you were pulled back into her workshop.
the teasing started dying down after years, as if the curse had hardened you, and it did, literally and metaphorically. but after rosalyne's death, it tanked, and not even threatening you with pulonia was enough to get you to act like before.
your presence at her tea parties became less frequent until you were just another empty seat.
08: the fair lady, la signora.
you were there when she became a harbinger out of formality, even though to had two servants flanking your side and helping you stand straight. you watched as pierro read your mother's decree out loud for the rest of the harbingers to hear. rosalyne-kruzchka lohefalter, the crimson witch of flames, to become the eighth fatui harbinger, and the title of la signora bequeath to her like a heirloom.
you only really met her when you were taken to the infirmary during a difficult night where you would not stop shivering. she was there, getting salve for the burns the liquid flame caused to her face. her eyes locked onto your frame, hiding beneath thick layers of blankets and sheets that barely did anything to stop the shivers.
"what's a kid like you doing here?" she asked kindly, the mondstadtian unaware of your royal blood. the servant beside you had looked at her with a pointed glare.
"this is the grand duchess and the tsesarevna, (name) anastasyevna." (yes matronymics) you were far too out of it to really listen to what they were saying, and eventually the cold brought you into a deep sleep. but when you woke up, you didn't see the servant, but rather rosalyne sitting beside you while reading.
she set down her book when she saw you stir slightly and gave a small smile. her hand was incredibly warm as it takes through the strands of your hair before settling on your cheek. surprisingly, frost didn't cover it and for the first time since you were cursed, someone gave you affection without the fear of your curse.
you quickly learned that your mother had specifically instructed her to look after you, mostly because it seemed that your skin didn't freeze with her touch and because the woman was instinctively maternal around children. as young as you were, you followed her around a lot when you were strong enough to walk like a duckling following its mother.
she never seemed to mind it, encouraged it, even. you, who never stepped foot outside of snezhnaya, often listened to her descriptions of her old home in mondstadt, though they were always laced with slight bitterness, and her studies in sumeru.
once you got better and began playing your instruments again, she often listened closely with a glass of wine, and in her eyes, a melancholy glazed her eyes, especially if the song was ever slightly solemn. you never questioned it. sometimes, she had sheet music sent from the other nations, ballads from mondstadt, anthems from sumeru, or folk songs from liyue.
in every aspect except blood, she became a partner in crime and something of a guardian. the two of you often teamed up to tease sandrone, more so when she began developing a bit of a temper. though you found yourself asking rosalyne more and more about your mother, which she always changed the topic to something else.
she was your constant source of heating, often finding yourself with your head on her lap while you complained about your mother or the endless checkups that she insisted. she'd pinch your cheek lightly with a light chuckle or rub the points of your ear when they were covered with frost. (she never lost that habit, even centuries later when you were taller than her and lost your childlike behavior.)
later in the centuries and after you had seen your mother, rosalyne remained as one of the people who had a deep bond with you. your new antisocial behavior made her push you into interacting with the other harbingers, such as sandrone and pantalone.
"what did the korolevskiy troupe perform this time?" peruere asked, handing over her plate for a slice of cake while you languidly sipped your tea beneath the mask.
"the mountain sparrow. you missed a good one." rosalyne answered, lying next to you on the couch, her hand twirling with your short (or tied up) hair. you ignored sandrone's sharp comment about sitting next to dottore and pantalone. and columbina's rebuttal of seeing sandrone cry.
"the composition was crafted from love and death. it'd be difficult to sit through it without shedding a tear." your voice was a low hum.
"perhaps a rendition?" rosalyne teased lightly, though peruere did seem interested. you shook your head.
"perhaps another time." the fair lady frowned slightly but didn't push.
she had seen you grow from a warm-hearted child to an antisocial teenager, the curse consuming and eroding your being. alongside it, you had developed a thirst for power that wasn't there before, spending more and more time researching abyssal energy and the ley lines.
inazuma was a region you knew little about, even through all the literature in the palace. rosalyne had promised to bring back a few light novels and to tell you about the region when she got back, as she did every time she departed for a nation.
only this time, nothing but ashes came back.
09: the regrator, pantalone.
you met feofan before he became a harbinger, one of zandik's experiments. originally, he was just a name in passing after a check up, though the doctor eventually began talking about him more in his pursuit of an elixir of immortality.
he was much like zandik in terms of ambition, a man born with nothing who hated the gods for interfering in mortal affairs. you didn't think much of him until he became a harbinger by zandik's recommendation. it was then that he and zandik were rarely seen apart, even during your checkups.
your blood was one of the materials zandik sought to try and craft an elixir of immortality. while it didn't work on him, it did for the chain-smoker. despite his hatred for the gods, it seemed the rule didn't apply for you. he felt indebted, even if he never said it out loud.
most of the time, his actions were subtle. you'd open the doors to your chambers and you'd find various assortments of sweets or silks from liyue. he was the reason you owned a cello, finding it in your room after a particularly bad winter night.
"are cigarettes really worth another set of lungs, feofan?" you asked once, nose wrinkling slightly from the smell. you had made yourself comfortable in his office, the room warm and covered with thick tapestries and carpets in front of the hearth. his smile was small and he answered with a hum.
"life's simple pleasures will always have a place. besides, there's nothing a good cigarette can't fix. i may as well make use of immortality to appreciate it thoroughly." you rolled your eyes.
"no being in teyvat is truly immortal. even the gods you hate will eventually erode to the works of time and death. it's only a matter of duration." he gave a light chuckle to your words and simply let out another puff of thick smoke.
"that just gives me more reason to take pleasure in these vices."
one time, he offered you a sip of his wine. he knew you wouldn't get any older physically, but your life was limited, so why not give you a glimpse of adulthood? it was only the one time, both because you spat out the bitter drink and stained a very expensive coat of his, and because he had been reprimanded by the rooster.
part of you knew the man would die not much longer after you eroded, the elixir no longer having a donor for the immortal aspect. you knew he knew, but he always told you the same thing. forget the past, live in the present, and ignore the future.
"if everyone had the same mentality you did, the world would cease to exist." you said over the gentle weeping of the piano dottore played. "equal attention to the three are necessary for survival."
"they distract from the moment. could you imagine being focused on something you couldn't control that you miss the time you spend with a good bottle of wine or comrades?"
needless to say, you appreciated his somewhat absurdist view on the passage of time, even if you couldn't relate to it.
you wanted to take fate into your own hands.
10: ???
11: childe, tartaglia.
you refused to see him for the longest time. it wasn't just because the rooster had personally sought him out at an absurdly young age, but because your mind betrayed you. instead of seeing ginger hair and deep blue eyes, your brain changed his features to a platinum white and eyes that held the four pointed star.
the fourteen year old didn't know who you were, a result of centuries of hiding away in the palace because of your curse. but all he knew was that you were mentored by the strongest man there was. and that was enough to get him to plague every walk around zapolyarny palace.
you'd leave your chambers and walk around the corridors only to have a second set of footsteps imitating yours. you'd shoot him a pointed, but heatless glare through your mask to try and get him to stay away, only for the boy to stubbornly follow you. eventually, his presence became expected and you'd save him a seat next to you in one of the drawing rooms.
"stubborn child, why do you insist on following me like a stray?" you demanded once, watching the boy take multiple biscuits from the serving stand on the coffee table, completely ignoring the warm cup of tea in front of him. he stuffed one in his mouth.
"cause you're the captain's student. he refuses to duel me." he stated, as if it made perfect sense for one of the strongest humans alive to duel a fourteen year old boy. "and if i beat you, then he'll be sure to consider me as a fine duelist."
you sighed in disbelief and continued drinking your tea.
you didn't think much of it until you started realizing more and more lower ranking fatui members were coming back injured from training. when you observed the training one day, you realized that it was childe's doing. despite his age and childish behavior, he had an intense bloodlust not even some vengeful gods had.
you indulged one day, picking up a wooden sword from one of the many racks lined up against the wall and walked over to the ginger, who stood over a well beaten pyro agent. his eyes lit up with adrenaline and he rushed forward, swinging his wooden staff. it only hit air as you side stepped it easily along with the other swings and grabbed him from the back of his collar like a petulant brat.
"what gives?!" he complained, freeing himself from your grip. you huffed lightly.
"if you cannot land a single hit on me, how do you expect the captain to duel you." you watched him huff with disappointment. you sighed through your nose and set the wooden blade down.
"from now, you come to me. other harbingers have already complained that their fatuus are out of commission because of your ruthlessness. understood?" you ordered. his eyes twinkled with satisfaction and victory. you won the battle, but he won the war.
of course, your duels often consisted of his calculated swinging that hit air and your constant side stepping before poking him with the end of the wooden blade or simply making him fall on his ass.
though, you felt.. proud.
once he was tired enough, you'd sit him on a couch and give him sweets. it was in those moments where he'd tell you about his family, especially his younger brother teucer. you listened out of politeness, but inwardly, anger consumed you. you knew the rooster was only taking care of his family as a way to control and manipulate ajax.
with time, he proved to be an exceptionally talented fighter, especially after he gained a delusion. you actually had to carry some of his attacks and his movements were in tandem with yours. even some of his techniques with the polearm were influenced by some of your own, untraditional methods. but you did make sure to put him in his place when he got too cocky.
"at this rate, you might actually make me take this seriously someday." you said, extending a hand towards his form. he shifted back from his alternate form and took it. he had grown taller than you, yet he still carried that childish behavior. you had grown used to it at a certain point.
"only seriously? i was hoping i'd defeat you." after his orders to go to liyue, dueling became rarer because of the schedule conflicts. but after rosalyne's death, even going near you seemed impossible.
so now that the tsaritsa got dropped and more crumbs of her lore.. 👀
imagine! being the tsaritsa's remaining family: her daughter.
what was once a family of a loving father (im assuming he's khaenriahan), a mother who is, or at least was, the god of love, a little brother, and you, her pride and joy. talented at a young age and blessed with a pyro vision, the warmth of the royal family in the nation of the frozen tundra.
despite being a musical prodigy and the realm's delight (hotd mentioned 👀??} you were often seen behind the tsaritsa's dress, clinging to her skirt as if she'd disappear or you'd lose your way around the palace you called home. back then, she'd gently scold you for being so timid, yet she never dared push you away. she'd stroke your hair or place a hand on your upper back when she talked to the rest of the nobility, as if subtly showing you off.
the people of snezhneya had grown accustomed to such displays. after all, you were her tsesarevich, the grand duchess and eventually, the title of tsaritsa would belong to you once you were a few centuries older. but the prowess you showed since birth and the near identical demeanor of grace your mother had proved you were the right fit.
your mother was loving, caring, close to you. you'd spend hours with her in the gardens with your little brother, sometimes playing your flute or your violin for her approval. which she always gave with a small smile and a kiss to your forehead. other times, you and your little brother would pick flowers from the garden and show off your finds to her, which she often kept between the pages of books.
then the peaceful life you once melted like ice in a raging fire. your father was dead, cursed by his khaenriahan blood and sentenced to something perhaps worse than death. your little brother was too young to handle the load of the curse, and he followed.
you weren't killed, but you weren't spared either.
the khaenriahan blood in your veins from your father's side had cursed you. you didn't become a monster, an aid from your young divinity, but your body was rotting. at first, the curse from the shade of death affected your features.
your left half seized to look human. dark blue lines crackled your skin from fingertip to the elbow, and lighter shades crept up the rest of your arm, the curse of the abyss. then your body lost its equilibrium. you were unbearably cold to the touch and you'd shiver even with thick winter jackets in front of a fireplace. then, it was your vision. the vibrant red flames dulled and changed to a pale blue color, and instead of creating warmth, it froze everything it touched, yourself included. the mere presence of the elemental energy in your body was causing very small damages to the inside of your body, and using your vision for too long caused your limbs to begin to turn into ice without a strong heating force.
the days after the cataclysm, your mother held you as close as she could, watching over you in your bed as your body was fighting being burned from two ends. she'd look at you with heartache and tears in her eyes that refused to fall while yours fell like waves. by the time you'd regained enough strength to start sitting up, you could no longer feel your mother's touch.
she had reached for your hand when you had woken up, but inside of feeling the warmth of her child, your hand began to turn blue and crystallize from the coldness of her power. she drew back as if she had been burned, and something in her eyes shifted.
she didn't visit you after that, too engrossed in her revenge against the heavenly principles and the shade of death that took her family. not even when you had recovered most of your strength. the only thing you got were words relayed from a servant to prioritize your health and to keep yourself warm at all times and an order to remain in your chambers for the time being.
for a while you listened, shivering under layers of warm clothes and thick blankets and trying to ignore the pain of the erosion. after your body adapted to it, you had tried to talk to your mother hundreds of times only to be dismissed sternly, and the task became impossible after the arrival of the first few harbingers of the fatui.
the curse showed no sign of slowing down and only seemed to possess more of your body. even with monthly mandatory checkups with dottore, the shivering never went away and your body stopped aging somewhere between what looked like adolescence even though centuries had passed.
and now, five hundred years later, you sit alone with your melancholy and hatred for your life. a child of love, now one of resentment and abandon. part of you hated your father for being khaenriahan, your little brother for leaving you behind with an empty husk of a mother, and the cryo archon for abandoning you, for not being able to face you.
but part of you, hidden behind a blank white mask hiding the abyssal curse that spread to your face, hates yourself for being alive at all.
should I build on this?? 👀😚 (platonic interactions)
