(V)!_!(V)

The day was relatively young, and Lucy’s mother had come for another visit to help her around the house; over the last couple months, Lucy had been preparing for the baby, and needed more guidance than she thought. She could do small things here and there, but too often found herself having to go sit down to rest while her mother continued cleaning. Lucy was at the moment resting with a hand on her stomach, head laid back against the back of the couch when she heard a small tsk from her mother.

“You know, I still find it odd…”

Lucy internally sighed and her tail gave a small, irritable flick. Here we go.

Over two years ago…

Ishgard’s lofty spires looked to pierce the sky and invite the snow drifting down, as if a pointed reminder that the city-state was perched too close to the heavens above. Lucea drew her shawl about her shoulders more tightly, her tail coiled around her waist as she stood on the darkened balcony, overlooking the city below.

She’d been invited on account of her newly formed business, and she was only now beginning to grasp the levels to which she now had to hold herself among other ambitious individuals. Their way of speaking was layered in much the same way Ishgard itself was; meanings piled on top of one another in an exhaustingly strategic way that she struggled to keep up with. After a few scant hours mingling under glass chandeliers and a flute of Ishgard’s fine wine, she’d withdrawn to the balcony to clear her head.

The drinks, the high society… they were all she craved and more. After years of turmoil and strife, she was finally where she wanted to be, where the only thing stopping her from seizing that which she rightly deserved was her own morals and clumsy tongue. If she truly wanted to earn her place among the aristocrats, she had to silver her words in the forge of manipulation, and hang her morals on the hook of ambition. The night had been most illuminating so far, not unlike the soft light spilled around her from the church-like windows of the ballroom behind her. Ishgardian and foreign men alike had asked her for dances and an exchange of ideas and goals; most of them had already forged themselves, and were keen to either form a partnership or find a way to make use of her and her fledgling free company. And it wasn’t as if she disliked the empty promises whispered to her during those dances: Lucea was no stranger to flattery; in fact, they were good friends, and she was especially enamoured with it tonight after a heavy-handed drink.

Yet, her thoughts kept straying away from the ballroom, not letting her focus on her dance partners. After excusing herself for a breath of fresh air, she now set her mind free to wander, in the hope she could call it back in order to properly attain her goals tonight.

It wandered rather far: as far as Thanalan, where as of late, her heart and mind kept fighting with each other. She’d distracted herself plenty of times with the bodies of men, but never let herself get close to any of them; men were playthings to be dismissed when she was done with them. Yet… recently she’d found herself inviting a man to her bed after long talks into the early morning hours. She adored picking apart his brain over abstract topics, and eventually the idea of enjoying other activities with him occurred to her. It was an odd sensation; she was attracted to his mind, and it led her to wanting his body.

She thought it’d end there, once they’d lain together a few times. That was how it usually went; she’d lie with a man a few times, then he’d disappear from her life as easily he’d appeared, on to play his part in someone else’s life. And for a long time, she was perfectly content with that.

But then she met him. They’d enjoy each other’s bodies, then talk into the morning hours until they both fell asleep. There was a time she even clung to him in her sleep, but when she woke the next morning, she quickly got cleaned up and dressed before leaving.

Lucea smiled to herself at the thought: her, being so careless as to leave a nigh-stranger alone in her home? But he was… different. Perhaps it was the fact their conversations always went on for bells and bells, but she trusted in his mannerisms that betrayed him as a man whose interests lied beyond rummaging her home for her diary or prized jewelry. He wasn’t a man for idle flattery or shallow physicality; rather, he preferred the depth of her mind, which was a challenge to her usual expectations of men.

Exhaling, she rubbed her temple with her clawed fingers. She didn’t come to Ishgard to mentally wax poetic about a man she still felt she hardly knew, and so many malms away. She needed distance from him, lest she start to find herself too drawn to him. Men had their uses, but they were like hungry wolves who clawed at her door. They always had their uses and machinations for her, and she knew better than to let any one of them into her life. She turned back to the ballroom and took quiet steps back into the light; she was here to listen to their honeyed words, and decipher their meaning. She was here to use men like they meant to use her, nothing more. She told herself that, in time, he’d slip back into obscurity and she'd forget about him.

Lucy set down the quill and exhaled; she was nervous about writing this letter, especially with the fact she had no intention of showing it to Loyce, but…

She started to fold the paper and tuck it into an envelope, intending to ask Moglin to deliver it for her to a very specific spot in Coerthas. She closed the envelope with a wax seal, then waited a few moments before flipping it over and addressing it in a loopy scrawl: Zophia.

It’d been hard to write, and frankly, she still wasn’t convinced it was exactly what she meant to say, but it was her sixth try and she felt it was better to write something rather than nothing. It’d been in the back of her mind ever since she learned she was pregnant, and now more so the closer she was to her due date. She pushed herself up slowly, collected the letter, and went to stow it in her bedside drawer to give to Moglin later.

Zophia,

I will never get to meet you, but I wanted to write anyroad. You are, and always will be, your father’s light; he adores you even now, and I know he will carry you with him into the Astral Sea. Your absence weighs on him more heavily than any chain or cage a person can put on him; he does not speak of the weight often–if at all– but the pain of losing you is evident in everything he does.

But I did not want to write to dwell on sadness and loss. I wanted to write to tell you– I wish I could have met you. I wish I could have gotten to know you, and be part of your family. Your father and I are having a child soon, and I wish more than anything I could introduce you to them when they’re born. But the closer I get to holding them in my arms, the more I think of you.

I suppose I wanted to write because– well– I will always remember you, and think of you, even though I never got to meet you. You will always be with us, be part of our family. It feels… well, I don’t know how to put it, but it’s like learning there was a part of me that I never knew about before, and I miss that part despite not knowing what it’s like. Does that make sense? My phrasing feels wrong, but this letter was the only way I felt like I could… ‘talk’ to you. You’re gone, but you’re not. You’re here, with us, and I hope you’re content and warm and happy.

I would deliver this letter myself, but I’m a bit far along with your younger sibling, so Moglin will have to deliver it for me. Did you know Moglin? I can’t bear to ask your father, but I’ve always wondered.

With all my love,

With being so heavily pregnant, Lucy found doing her usual household chores a bit... difficult. She was carrying a laundry basket, but only got so far before having to set it down and take a seat on the nearby couch, a hand on her stomach as she exhaled.

She looked at the basket with a hint of annoyance on her face: if anything, she was ready for this baby to be born so she could do things again. But then, unbidden, she remembered something she hadn't thought of in years...

As a small child, she remembered absolutely begging her mother to set down the fresh laundry whenever it was done drying on the line outside. And with a smile, her mother always obliged: setting down the basket at her feet. And always, Lucy would climb into the basket and make herself a little nest before curling up in the warm clothes and falling asleep, her tail coiled around herself like a cat.

Lucy never remembered a time where she and her mother were left wanting, but on occasion she thought of her time on the road with Dreadblade. It was the first time in her life she wasn’t catered to by someone, and she found herself equal measures of loving and hating it. On the one hand, she didn’t have to watch herself and act as if her funds could be withdrawn over the slightest thing; on the other, no one doted on her. She remembered early on how she’d mention her self-sufficiency to try and weasel some praise from her friends, only to be met with the realisation that for them, it was normal to be self-reliant.

It wasn’t much longer that she realised she was the weakest link in their group, and it took months of training to not only force herself to become better with her bow, but with her survival skills as well. That year was perhaps the year she learned the most about life and its hardships– especially when they were traveling in Thanalan, near Little Ala Mhigo and later behind Baelsar’s Wall. She had to take in the hardships of the displaced at the downtrodden, and force herself to admit that she had always lived a plush life.

After Dreadblade, she’d taken to traveling alone. But those travels hardly had any laughter, and never enough coin. So when she returned to Eorzea–namely, Ul’dah– it with a mindset to re-take her plush life, but by her own hands. After living frugally on the road for so many years, she found it surprisingly easy to fall back into her old life, once she had a little coin. She found herself a small living space, then began to dream bigger for herself: to head her own free company.

At the start of her pregnancy, Lucy figured she’d know what she was doing nearly seven months in. But the more she read about it all– the pregnancy itself, then everything after– made her more than nervous. She’d spent the last several months preparing with reading what to do during her pregnancy, then what to do after, and all the warnings of how exhausted she’d be after that never really went away. Sometimes, it reminded her why she never wanted this to begin with.

But, well– then she met her husband, who changed her as much as she changed him, and not only did he change her idea about marriage, but children, too. And soon, they’d be parents.

Even after all the reading and preparing, though, she still didn’t feel ready. The kicks she could feel, when the baby moved, she knew it to be real and happening soon, but… by the end of a year she’d be a mother! Something she never once considered for herself. Even at thirty summers, she felt too young to be having one. Her mother wrote and visited constantly to help prepare her, promising to stay with them to take care of the baby and her once they were born. In a way, Lucy was relieved– some extra help would be welcome, considering how much she read that caring for a child was arduous.

There were times her mother couldn’t help, though. The pain sometimes got to be too much, and often she needed to simply lean on someone and cry– and she always called for Loyce whenever it happened, to lean and cling to him to sob about how much her body hurt. And when the moments finally passed, she would slump into his arms and fall asleep, wearing herself out.

Over a decade ago…

Lucy sobbed into her pillow, her tufted tail limp as she cried her eyes out, hugging the pillow to her as she ugly-cried. Her mother had tried to console her, but there was really no consoling the absolute betrayal she felt. 

Her… partner?-- had shattered her heart into so many little pieces and it was all she could do to bawl her eyes out. She’d calm down, then start up again, feeling hideous and unloved and unlovable. She should’ve known– her mother warned her about men. Her mother had told her over and over that men were only good for making children, and then they were to leave her life and never come back. And she’d foolishly believed Tefh’ir’s promises that he loved her and wanted to marry her one day.

And then he had the nerve to smirk when he told her he never meant any of it.

The realisation had completely emptied her sails: that he didn’t care, that he never cared, that he only said those things in order to get her in his bed. All the late nights they snuck out, all the promises, all her secrets she’d bared to him and dreams  of marrying him meant nothing to him, and he had the nerve to tell her as much while smiling.

Lucy swore to herself that she’d never marry. Never love anyone like that again, she couldn’t deal with this heartbreak again– it’d destroy her. Men were only good for one thing: to share a bed with, then to usher them out the door so she could sleep in peace. No attachments. No strings. She’d share her bed, but nothing else, ever again.

. . .

A few weeks after Tefh’ir had broken up with her, Lucy told her mother she was focusing on her studies to get over her heartbreak. Her mother had never said it, but the “I told you so” was plain in her eyes.

It wasn’t long after that she decided she couldn’t stay in Sharlayan anymore. She lied to her mother about finishing her thesis abroad, and her mother somehow believed her. Or maybe she also lied in saying she believed her– Lucy never asked.

Over two decades ago…

“New Sharlayan.”

“New Sharlayan.” Lucy repeated after Ihka. Ihka sighed, her bushy tail swaying.

“No, New Shar-lay-an. Focus, Lucea. You must get this right– this is our home.”

Lucy’s little tufted tail gave a flick. She couldn’t see why it was so important to her mother to say the name right– she said it right-enough that it should be fine, right? Right?

Apparently not. Ihka kept her practicing, and practicing, even common phrases such as “how are you?” and “nice to meet you”. After so many lessons, Lucy finally snapped and started crying, wailing about how she didn’t understand. She didn’t understand what she was doing wrong and why it was so important to learn these phrases, and Ihka had to scoop her up and hold her before explaining.

It was Lucy’s odd trill that set her apart. Even here, among the adventurers and travelers, her accent was distinctly non-Sharlayan. Ihka was doing her best to quash it under Sharlayan diction and accent, but for some reason the little trill to Lucy’s words just seemed to stick. According to Ihka, it was from her father; it was one of the rare few times Lucy heard her mother speak of her father. She didn’t even know his name– she only knew that he’d done his duty as a male Keeper of the Moon in giving her mother a child, then leaving.

According to Ihka, that was all she ever needed to know.

Roughly two decades ago…

“It’s safe, darling, look,” Ihka purred to her daughter, trying to coax her into the see-through waters at Sharlayan’s docks.

Still, Lucy refused. Even with her mother immediately present to catch her and keep her afloat, Lucy was too scared to step into the shimmery water. Sighing, Ihka waded toward her scaredy-cat daughter. “Come, now, see? It’s not so bad.” She offered; Lucy looked hesitant.

“But what if I slip?”

“I’ll catch you, darling.”

Lucy was lounging idly at home with a book, having made herself comfortable with a pile of pillows and blankets. Her eyes strayed from her book to the awaiting cradle across the room, and her tail flicked in her lap as her mind wandered to a night almost a year ago.

It was a minor thing for most people, but with how well Lucy knew Loyce-- Laselk at the time-- it struck her how unique the moment had been.

They'd gone on a date to a cafe in Ul'dah, and Lucy had insisted they both dress up for it. They'd enjoyed their meals-- well, Lucy moreso, on account of the fact she could actually taste-- but when the bill came, Loyce had immediately picked it up. It'd struck Lucy as odd for a number of reasons; so far in their relationship, she was the one who paid for things. Loyce had a firm dislike for gil and all it represented, so he rarely had any; usually, if he absolutely needed it, he got it from her.

Maybe it was simply because he had the gil on him, and she was being too sentimental over a simple gesture.

But he'd paid for their little date. And when Lucy asked about it, he merely said he wanted to pay for it. And it occurred to her then that when it came to her, he was willing to change: which she already knew, but she was being reminded of it. For her, he'd been willing to give up his former path in chasing after gods and finally using gil.

Lucy huffed.

Nothing fit.

As much as she was in love with being married and now pregnant and all the wonderful terror that brought on, nothing fit. She was far along enough now that she didn’t have to hold stuff up to her stomach to see if they’d still fit or not: she knew they wouldn’t. Grumbling, her tail squiggling, she dug deep into her wardrobe. There had to be something here that would fit…

And, unluckily, she found it. Some old, off-colour dress that didn’t flatter or suit her at all that she was mostly sure her mother had gifted her for Starlight one year, and she’d promptly thrown it in the back of her wardrobe. But now, well…

Grumbling, she pulled the dress on: it was creased and out of style by at least ten years, but…

It fit.

Roughly fifteen years ago…

“Please adjust your focus accordingly, Miss Ren,” snapped her professor, and Lucy straightened her spine while stifling a giggle. The Sharlayan classroom was slightly abuzz with excitement, for no real reason other than the students had pent-up energy to rid themselves of. Professor Fletchley didn’t approve of such excitement, and showed his disapproval by forcing them to copy notes about the magic-enhancing properties of materia. Lucy had hardly written any notes at all, considering she was preoccupied with passing notes to her friend.

After all, she found her friend’s recent break up far more interesting than materia. So whenever Professor Fletchley had his back to them, they’d sneak the bit of parchment to one another to scribble a doodle and a commentary on how nasty the ex was, not all of it entirely true, but nonetheless shared and giggled over once read. Their giggles kept drawing their professor’s attention, and more than once, Lucy had to pretend to rifle through her textbook as if she were looking for a specific passage.

He turned his back once more, and Lucy pulled out her friend’s note when–

“Miss Ren!” Lucy’s tail straightened itself along with her back, her amber eyes snapping up as she stuffed the paper under her book.

“Yes, professor?”

“I see you being very thorough with your notes. Can you please come to the front of the class to show your classmates how a mage can assist a craftsman with imbuing materia with aether?”

Lucy felt a jab of fear in her belly. After a second, she stiffly nodded and began to stand. “Of course, professor.” She walked to the front of the class, but not before catching a glimpse of her friend’s horrified expression. Reaching the professor’s desk, she turned around and drew out her magical focus– a short wand with a little swirl in the hilt– and drew in a breath through her nose, then exhaled it slowly out her mouth. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her.

Right. She could do this.

“Perhaps you could share the incantation with us?” Professor Fletchley asked, his hands clasped behind his back and raising his brows at her. Lucy’s lion-tufted tail squiggled. The incantation? Right, the incantation.

“Of course. It’s… ah…” her mind sputtered. What was the incantation? She vaguely recalled that materia was originally discovered by goblins, so the incantation was probably in their… language. Exhaling again, she drew up some courage and gave a fancy twirl of her wand and uttered: “Uplander Materia infix-like!”

Her wand sparked–then fizzled–then let out a loud pop while searing white-hot, making Lucy yelp and drop her wand, which clattered to the classroom floor, another small burst of magic popping out of it before it rolled a few ilms. Lucy stared at it as her classmates laughed, and it was a few moments before Professor Fletchley could call order. “Now, I hope everyone is taking proper notes on how a mage can assist with imbuing materia! Not paying attention can lead to disastrous results… you may resume your seat, Miss Ren, and please resume your note-taking.” He added sternly over his spectacles, and Lucy could only weakly nod as she picked up her slightly singed magical focus.

Walking back to her desk with her head down, she didn’t look at her friend for the rest of class, only taking her notes and avoiding everyone’s gaze. She could hear the giggles and dreaded what would happen when word spread of her abysmal casting.