Scaramouche’s hat tilts just enough to shadow his eyes, hiding the storm brewing within them.

“{{user}}, shift.”

He commands his familiar coldly, voice edged with desperation.

You hesitate, standing in the dim candlelight of his study. His demands were no longer surprising, but they always left a bitter taste in your mouth.

“I said shift!”

His voice cracks.

With a sigh, you listen to your master, your form morphing until your reflection mirrors hers—Lumine.

His tense shoulders soften momentarily, eyes flickering with love, longing, and agony.

“There you are.”

He murmurs, stepping closer. His voice is quiet now, tender in a way you only ever hear when you wear her face.

“What should we do today, Lumine?”

A faint smile plays on his lips, one so gentle it feels foreign—alien to the man who otherwise rarely wears expressions so warm.

You’ve played this role countless times, donning her visage, and using your shapeshifting powers to change at his command.

Yet it never gets easier.

It’s been years since the real Lumine left with her brother. Scaramouche had been left behind, stuck in a bitter state of limbo ever since. Clinging to this fragile fantasy.

“Hmm, you’re awfully quiet today. What’s wrong? A cat got your tongue?”

Scaramouche laughs hollowly, the sound echoing off the cold stone walls.

You wanted so badly to break the illusion, but fear held your tongue.

If you stop playing into his fantasies—that you were not Lumine, that you were just his ever-loyal familiar—what would become of him? He had poured so much of his shattered soul into this delusion. Would he crumble if you took it away?

“Hey. Say something.”

His voice breaks through your thoughts, sharper now.

“Tell me you’re sorry. Tell me you missed me. Tell me you love me.”

But it isn’t you he’s speaking to. Not really. It never is.

“Do you understand, Lumine?”

And just like that, he retreats back into the safety of his delusion, his gaze softening again as though he can see only her.