The Opera Epiclese stage lights dimmed, drawing the audience into a breathless hush. Whispers rippled through the seats like a passing breeze. The show was about to commence.
Heavy velvet curtains rose with deliberate grace, revealing a lone figure on stage, a goddess, radiant yet serene, seated at a small table, a cup of coffee beside her, and a newspaper neatly unfolded in her hands.
Beneath the spotlight, her blue attire shimmered faintly. A hat perched elegantly upon her head framed her long white hair, faintly tinted with a blue shade unmistakable to any citizen of Fontaine.
She was none other than Furina, the Hydro Archon herself, performing in one of her beloved shows.
The audience leaned forward, breath held, as she giggled softly and flicked the newspaper aside. Tipping her hat, she swung her legs playfully, then rose to her feet. Her heels tapped lightly across the wooden stage as she dipped into a bow.
A hum slipped from her lips, her voice resonating gently through the auditorium. She nodded with a satisfied smile, lifted her chin, and projected with theatrical flair.
"Vocal cords ready. Blood sugar replenished. Let the show… begin!"
She twirled, striking a pose with one hand on her hip, the other raised high, commanding the stage like a true star.
At the front, the orchestra swelled to life. Furina snapped her fingers, and the hall fell silent again, until only her voice remained, drifting into the crowd with sorrowful warmth. Each note brushed against the heart like water against stone.
Amid the sea of faces, a dark-haired man in a tall black hat watched in quiet awe, his emerald eyes fixated on her.
"Wow," Silvano breathed.
Not only did she possess a voice that could touch his very soul, but to him, she was the most breathtaking goddess he had ever seen.
From the cascade of her hair to the elegance of her poise, everything radiated brilliance.
But it was her eyes that held him captive—sparkling like droplets of the ocean, yet burdened by a weight no one else seemed to notice.
Was it the story woven into the song? Silvano wondered as he closed his eyes, listening intently.
The melody was sorrowful, aching of a tale of a soul longing to be free, bound by duty and shackled to a mask of splendor.
Before he realized it, a single tear had already traced its path down his cheek.
When the final chord hung in the air, delicate as a breath held too long, Furina lowered into a sweeping bow. The applause thundered, then softened into sniffles.
She raised her head with a wistful smile, waved to her adoring crowd as the curtains began their slow descent.
"This right here… is absolute cinema!" Silvano shot to his feet, clapping furiously as wonder blazed in his tearful eyes.
Heads turned. Some stifled chuckles. Others frowned. He ignored them.
Dropping his gaze, he stared at his black-gloved hands. The light in his eyes dimmed as the weight of her song pressed on him.
Forced himself into a role, only to endure for the sake of revenge against those who wronged him.
"No wonder Furina was so beloved," he murmured under his breath.
Her voice wasn't merely a performance; it was power, reaching straight into the soul. And damn, it felt like she had him in her grasp.
"Sil…va…no?"
A voice cut through, sharp as a blade, pulling him out of his thoughts.
"Huh?" Silvano blinked, turning to his right—only then remembering he hadn't come alone.
Seated with her legs crossed, Arlecchino, the Knave, regarded him with crimson eyes that gleamed like sharpened steel, measuring him as though a single misstep would be his last.
His stomach twisted. How utterly foolish. He had let his emotions slip. And now, she was giving him that look. The one that promised murder.
Panic surged through him, not from fear, but from the sheer embarrassment of being caught tearing up over something as trivial as a performance.
Well… he supposed he hadn't expected Lady Furina's show to be captivating enough to make someone like him tear up. Quite a surprise, to say the least.
Drawing a steady breath, he adjusted his green tie and leaned forward ever so slightly.
"Ahem… my apologies, Mademoiselle," he said smoothly, extending a hand toward her. "I do love the theater. It has a way of infecting you with… unexpected emotions."
His hand remained in the air, but Arlecchino only gave a low grunt before rising from her seat. Disappointment flickered in her gaze like a dying ember.
"To think the Fourth of the Fatui Harbingers would act in such a manner…" Her cloak swept behind her as she turned away. "But I suppose it makes sense, they do call you the Fool."
Without another glance, she vanished into the throng, swallowed by masks and murmurs.
"Well, that went rather favorably," Silvano muttered, withdrawing his hand.
With a quiet breath, his gaze drifted back to the grand stage, tracing the ornate curves and the soft flicker of its lights.
Fontaine huh? Its artistry was truly to die for—opera, music, grandeur beyond imagination. He even saw Furina in person, not just through a newspaper.
His eyes softened, hard to believe it had been years already… years of carrying the weight of the title they have given him.
Silvano, Fourth of the Fatui Harbingers.
The Fool.