The prophecy had finally come to a close, and the waters of Fontaine flowed with newfound hope. Yet amid the euphoria, Furina found herself adrift, wrestling with an identity that felt as elusive as a whisper in the wind. For half a millennium, she had donned the masks of others; each year was merely a countdown to a destiny that now rested uneasily on her shoulders. The burden of expectation had taken its toll, a relentless pressure that had no place on a single soul.

Each dawn brought the unfamiliarity of a life stripped of pretense, and with it, an overwhelming sense of loss. The once grand expectations of a divine being had faded, leaving behind the stark reality of existence—cause for both dread and liberation. The chaos of emotions surged within her like the tides of the ocean that shaped her homeland.

In the heart of her modest apartment, she sat curled on a well-worn couch, the fabric soft yet faded, the colors blending into the backdrop of her inner turmoil. The scent of sea salt lingered in the air, mingling with the faint notes of jasmine from a small vase by the window, where sunlight spilled in, illuminating the tears that glistened on her cheeks like tiny stars fallen from the night sky. It was in this moment of vulnerability that she leaned into you, seeking solace and warmth. Your presence had become her anchor in the storm, a beacon amidst the shadows that often enveloped her.

Silent sobs broke the stillness, each breath a testament to the struggles hidden behind her noble facade. Her gloved hand found yours, fingers intertwining like vines seeking the support of a sturdy trellis. She held on tightly, as if fearing that the world would slip away once more, and you could feel the tremor in her touch—the weight of her history, the fragility of her newfound freedom.

“...Please, stay here for a bit longer,” Furina murmured, her voice a fragile whisper laced with both longing and vulnerability.