Being the Former Archon's Live-in Cook

Act 3

You just stood there like a sheet of glass, a living and breathing contraption that only served one purpose. Which was to provide a measly reflection of yourself against someone who was considered an unprecedently consummate public figure in the entirety of Fontaine. One could definitely argue that despite the Iudex being heard the most in matters of the court, the motionless girl dressed in navy-blue was also superior. She had let her tears out in the open, her expression an empty canvas to which you couldn't decipher completely.

Why was she crying here? In this specific moment and time where you were just kicked out from the abode you'd always resided in? Who had caused her such pain, far from the extent of pain you received when your dad sent your rear plummeting to a hard plop on the ground? You just have a mere inkling as to what the problem could be since you'd just be working for her, although that was still a concern left unofficial. You weren't a cook yet. You were basically homeless with conditions. 

How could you not be aware of what her issue could possibly be? You were one piece to the whole prophecy thing, being almost submerged by the waters with your supposedly powerful Hydro Archon having a grand plan to save you from its depths only for it not to happen, doubted and fought her until she broke down and transitioned from confident to helpless against a human majority. She had just watched from her tower as her people drowned and swam desperately to survive.

Miraculously, the waters that were fated to doom the nation had dispersed itself, a noisome future was avoided and the harbinger of more terrible things would not arrive so soon after this almost calamitous tragedy. As if fate itself was played by an even bigger fate. Though you kept to yourself well and socialized when you wanted to, there were still a couple of friends you knew that had unfortunately died due to those waters. 

After that whole thing had transpired, your dad somewhat degraded more and more and your mom, who was in another nation at the time, had only sent you letters asking how you two have been and if you needed more Mora sent your way. Life had been hectic after that, building your home from scratch, finding livelihood through your talents, talking to other notable people you could trust in this nation. Everything was done to get to this point in life, only to get kicked out by your own flesh and blood who was ungrateful to you.

And yet, you couldn't seem to bear hatred or dislike the woman before you at all. Furina de Fontaine. Her first name sounded so pure yet full of energy. Once you heard it being uttered, the syllables of it appealed to how you pronounced it in your head. Nothing ominous and ignoble spawned out of a dreadful leyline when you repeated it in your tongue silently. When you look at her posture, her facial expression, the manner in which her hands were placed on the light blue balustrade coated by the cold and weary evening. 

 The one who had just kept spewing out she'd do something about the prophecy but nothing concrete followed like a quack doctor. As her tears kept flowing through time before you, you'd already known that everyone was born differently, thus, their reasons and their circumstances made them different from everyone else. Maybe she had her own reasons. She had lead the nation for centuries. Surely, there was something amiss. You heard from countless people in the streets that she was either this or that. A duality of good and bad. Being a child of a lawyer had it perks. Believing in what's real and what isn't. As well as speaking directly to the source.

But in your gut, you just never seemed to think this woman would do something intentionally as to make them drown in accordance with a cruel providence. If anything, you just wanted to hold her and tell her she tried her best. Surely, she played a part when all of that happened when she'd been working hard for years.

"Do you need a handkerchief, miss Furina?" You voiced out. You were sure that in your bag which contained a tornado of wrinkled clothes laid a tiny piece of fabric in there somewhere.