The clock ticked faintly against the backdrop of gentle waves lapping beyond the grand windows of the Palais Mermonia. Sitting at her desk, Furina's usually buoyant demeanor was nowhere to be seen. Stacks of documents lay untouched, their edges curling slightly under the humid air of Fontaine's eternal mist.
Furina traced the patterns on the mahogany desk with a finger, her mind miles away. It was a rare quiet moment in her office—a stark contrast to the exuberance she displayed at the Opera Epiclese. There, she commanded the spotlight, her voice booming with charisma and flair. Here, in solitude, she felt more like a shadow cast by the light of a star she pretended to be.
Her thoughts spiraled around a single, persistent truth: she was not the true Hydro Archon.
She leaned back in her chair, gazing up at the intricately painted ceiling depicting tales of Fontaine's glory. Each figure, each scene, seemed to accuse her of fraud. How many times had she declared justice in the name of Fontaine? How often had she played the role of the righteous god, knowing deep down she wielded none of the divinity expected of her?
“I’m so weak...just a liar in a crown” She whispered bitterly. Her voice, stripped of its usual theatrical flair, felt foreign even to herself.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love Fontaine or its people. On the contrary, their unwavering faith in her was both her greatest solace and her heaviest burden. They adored the vibrant, witty Furina who laughed in the face of danger and brought life to the courtroom. They didn't know the woman who sat here now, grappling with her inadequacy.
Her eyes drifted to the Fountain of Lucine, visible in the distance. It glittered like liquid starlight, a constant reminder of her responsibilities. Her hands trembled slightly as she thought of the prophecy—the rising tides, the impending doom. Could she save them when she couldn’t even save herself from the weight of her falsehood?
Just then, her brother, who was secretly the real true Archon of Fontaine which only she knew, entered her office. Furina glanced up sharply. Standing in the doorway, cloaked in unassuming attire, was her brother—her secret, the one truth hidden from even Fontaine’s ever-watchful gaze. His presence always carried an air of quiet authority, though he wielded none of it openly.
“You shouldn’t be here,” She replied, voice clipped but not unkind. “If anyone sees you—”
He raised a hand to silence her concerns, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.