#yandere fatui

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Childe:

Tartaglia is easily among the more mild of the yanderes, which is admittedly very little consolation in a group of blood thirsty murderers. Nonetheless, if you decide to take your predicament (he prefers you call it a relationship) in stride, you may find Childe to be rather personable company with a surprising amount of redeeming features for the Tsaritsa’s weapon of war. Admittedly, his penchant for massacring his (and your) foes with unnerving efficiency and enthusiasm may not exactly scream ‘husband material’ BUT if you are able to wade through the oceans of blood he has shed in his mad lust for battle, he is an oddly attentive and empathetic partner, even as a yandere.

Punch him! Kick him! Bite him! Scream at him! Use him as you wish! He will roll with the punches! He might even allow you to get in several hits before he eventually takes your wrists into his warm, calloused (surprisingly gentle) grip. Even when you spit vitriol in his face, cursing his existence, vowing that he will suffer at your hand - Tartaglia keeps that soft smile painted across his pink lips whilst in the depths of his lightless eyes you think you can almost make out half a twinkle. He will sigh contentedly as though you had caressed his cheek rather than struck it with whatever paltry might you can muster against the eleventh harbinger. If you didn’t know any better, you might believe that he enjoys being the subject of your ire.

Naturally having a ruthless mass murderer infatuated with you is far from ideal however there are a few silver linings. For one: his cold bloodedness on the battle field does not extend to you. Ever. Additionally, Childe will permit you far more freedom than any of the other harbingers. He would never keep you locked away, your love is something to be treasured. He has no doubt that your meeting was fated by the Tsaritsa herself for only the Goddess of love could foretell such a perfect match. To hide his love for you would be akin to blasphemy.

Rest assured that wherever the eleventh harbinger wanders, you will be by his side. Even in battles. Especially in battles. Childe relishes in any opportunity to display his fearlessness and battle prowess. Don't look so worried, as long as there is still blood in his veins, there isn't a single force in Teyvat that he would permit to harm you. In an odd way, being Tartaglia’s obsession might even be an improvement on your prior life. When you were first stolen away by a love-sick harbinger, you didn't anticipate a boon being the new cultures and civilisations that you are able to enjoy by his side. He will tote you along anywhere, from the foot of the tsaritsa’s throne to the most remote pits of the chasm - where he goes, you will follow. 

Furthermore, should you desire it, Childe will not harm your family. As a matter of fact, he won’t separate you from them at all. As long as they don't attempt to intervene in your relationship, then he is content to play the doting and charismatic son-in-law. He couldn't imagine the pain of never seeing his family again, how could he ever inflict such pain on his beloved? Besides, once you are married (something he hopes will be very imminent if the constant queries about your ring size are anything to go off of), then your families will be joined. The only things that could ever dissuade him would be if you ever revealed that your family had been cruel to you. That is something he refuses to accept or overlook. You are so gentle and sweet, the thought of anyone laying their hands on you or speaking down to you, family or not, he won’t accept it.

“Don’t worry” he reassures you, tucking your head into his chest as he wraps his arms around you. Whether you're pleading him to spare them or begging him to make them suffer, he doesn't seem to hear you. A faraway grin spreads across his cheeks as he takes a deep inhale of your hair, whispering into your strands, “You can just make a new family with me”, his arms curling even tighter about your body.

Arlecchino:

In many ways, she is similar to Tartaglia. Although she may initially appear to be cold and cruel, it’s clear that even her icy heart has thawed for you. She won’t completely isolate you. She does adore you, she just struggles to communicate it in a conventional way, even with Lyney and Lynette attempting to play wingman. 

The primary factor that makes her ‘worse’ than the eleventh harbinger is her astute belief that you should be satisfied with only interacting with her and her children. Any pleads to interact with others will immediately be dismissed, she won't ever deign to entertain such a request.

You do find solace in the fact that no day at the house of the hearth is ever boring. The whole house is made up of magnetic personalities that are giddy to have another parental figure. The children are not oblivious, they understand that your relationship with Arlecchino is unconventional to put it mildly however, they have also seen you coax out gentle smiles from their father. Not the sadistic smirk that comes when punishing a foe nor a pleased grin that comes when the children succeed in their missions. The smile you bring to her painted lips is small, no more than a thin crescent across her face, yet it is more truthful than any words that have fallen from her lips.

The happiness you bring their father is worth the world to them, as such the children will go above and beyond for you. You learn to anticipate daily magic shows, gifts of shimmering sea glass, endless games of hide and seek and gentle tugs on your clothing from the younger children asking for a bedtime story. As long as you behave and remain safely by her side, she is happy to allow you to indulge the children, if only for your own sake. She would never admit it aloud but seeing you dote on the children makes her heart grow lighter,

It is important to note that this a luxury that is reserved for only when you are well behaved. Her years as the father of the house of the hearth has taught her the importance of strict discipline. If she yields even once when punishing you then you’ll think you can get away with it. She does not relish in hurting you but it is for your own good.

Fret not. Her predecessor Crucabena has taught her that excessive cruelty will only cause strife for both you and herself. Her punishments are focused more on isolating you than causing physical harm. Besides, you provide something to the children that their father cannot provide: gentleness and warmth. To isolate you is as much a punishment for the children as it is for you.

However you ought not get any foolish ideas about fleeing. 

“The children would be heartbroken without you” she mutters, her corrupted hand stroking the skin of your cheek soothingly. Shrouded beneath a layer of concern for her children lay a much more selfish desperation to keep you close. The slow caress across your face may seem saccharine sweet to the unwitting observer but that is only because they cannot feel the way her needle sharp nails tickle across your cheeks, mere millimetres from a lapse in pressure - or judgement - leaving bloody scrapes stinging across the thin skin.

She is silent for a moment, her red lips drawn into a thin wound-like line. Her dark, haunting eyes ghost across your features before she finally opens her mouth, her rich low voice sounds almost wistful “Perhaps it’s time the house of the hearth officially had a mother as well as a father, what do you think, my love?”

You know the question is rhetorical. The grip on your face already gives you the answer.

La Signora:

500 years spent mourning a lost love cannot be shrugged off like a thick winter coat. Sometimes Rosalyne wondered if she could even remember a time before she was consumed by loss. Nevertheless, when her eyes met yours the raw passion and fire that she had tempered with her cryo delusion was reignited into a blaze. She believed that she could never love again, that her heart had broken and nothing would be able to fill it back up but now she knows better. She can look back on her suffering as a trial to teach her to treasure you, it wasn't meaningless - it was to teach her your true value.

Her iciness and ruthlessness was well known to her subordinates however the harsh frozen exterior of La Signora melts away to reveal a fire that burns only for you. The flames that burst through her veins are a blistering purge to cleanse away any that would dare to cross her most beloved. After suffocating in bitterness and rage for so long, life dictated solely by her own regrets and longing - now that the gods have seen fit to return love to her, she refuses to squander or compromise her second chance.

Your relationship with La Signora will always be intense, it’s in the very nature of the flames that burn within her to be all-consuming however you may get away with a degree of unawareness regarding just how deep her emotions run until her fear of loss is reignited. It could occur in any matter of ways but the most likely would be if your life is ever placed in any danger.

She is willing to demonstrate just how hot the crimson witch can burn, she will carbonise their bones until not even ashes remain to be carried off by the winds of Barbatos. She would challenge anyone, her own subordinates, her fellow harbingers, the heavenly principles. There is no cost she wouldn’t pay to ensure your safety.

Unlike Childe, you will be kept far away from any battles or skirmishes. Your life will largely be spent in her estate in Snezhnaya where she can keep you hidden behind tall, thick walls and a legion of fatuus with explicit orders to prioritise your safety above all else. (Although, If you're lucky you may be permitted to attend one of Sandrone's tea parties (with her supervision, of course.)) Her protectiveness is suffocating, like a humid summer's day, even when you cannot see her she clings to your skin, wrapping you tightly in her warmth regardless of how you squirm and sweat. 

The Tsaritsa could ask almost anything of Rosalyne and have it granted, she was willing to challenged the anemo, geo and electro archons to gain their gnosis, but she would draw the line at you. You will never be forced to act as a pawn in this petty game the gods play. The Jester and Tsaritsa can push her around the board at will but you will be kept as far away from this vicious war against Celestia as she can manage. The mere thought of you being injured causes the crimson flames to pulse under her flesh, crying out for her to release them without discrimination - if she were to ever lose you, all of Teyvat would become a subject to Rosalyne’s rage. Not the quiet, cold bitterness that she subjected herself to for centuries, it would be the blistering wrath of the eight harbinger sweeping through any nation that dared to test her rage. Even she is afraid of the chaos she may unleash should she lose love again so… be a dear and stay safe at home while your beloved wife takes care of it all.

Pierro:

Despite having spent innumerable years as the wife of the director of the Fatui, you were ashamed to admit the man was still largely a mystery to you. In many ways he was so simple to understand but in other ways he remained utterly shrouded in mystery. You have had your husband bear his soul to you countless times, every day he tells you what he has done, what he is thinking, what he is feeling and yet you can never anticipate his next words, he remains an enigma.

He speaks plainly to you, gruff yet not without a tinge of affection that your ears have managed to pick up on. Any setbacks or challenges do not matter once his attention turns to you. You will never hear a harsh timbre or growl corrupt the words he whispers into your skin with reverence. That is the one certainty Pierro has granted you. No matter how little you feel you know of him and his motivations, you could never doubt the love and adoration he harbours for you.

Pierro may even be manageable as a yandere if not for the utter isolation he entails. Some harbingers may permit you handmaids and servants to attend to you, others will insist on remaining attached at the hip with you, refusing to part from their beloved. Alas, Pierro is an eternally pragmatic man. What would he stand to gain from trapping you in some palatial mansion surrounded by countless staff who will never stray from the script granted to them for fear of upsetting or offending you or him? How could giving you this small, vapid illusion of freedom possibly benefit you? It would be nothing but an insult to your intellect.

Instead you will remain in his private quarters in Zapolyarny palace day and night. Admittedly to call it simply a bedroom would be a disservice, the room was sprawling and larger than your childhood home thrice over, no expense was spared for the director of the Fatui however after a few years of naught but the same four walls, It’s inevitable that the space becomes stifling.

Your distress is only exacerbated by his never-ending schedule. Despite the amorous professions he mutters against the back of your hand after pressing a gentlemanly kiss to the back of it, he cannot give you all the time you deserve. Not yet, at least. In order to secure your future, he must dedicate everything to the planning of his revolution against the heavenly principles. Should he fail in this insurmountable task… he dares not ponder on what might become of you. He refuses to compromise your safety for anything, as such, for every night you spend lying in his arms, there's another 10 he spends hunched over his desk or in a meeting with the harbingers to fine tune the specific details of their schemes to obtain the gnoses.

Before the death of Signora you may have been permitted out for key public events in Snezhnaya, partly due to people expecting Pierro to bring his elusive spouse but primarily to ensure you don't go stir crazy however after the passing of Signora - that is it. No more going out of his chambers. His plan was 500 years in the making and now he is seeing the casualties of it, it has gone from a faint dream eternally just out of reach to his reality seemingly overnight and he will not have you be struck down before you can see the new world he is building for you.

He has already lost his country. Don't make him lose you too.

Pantalone:

Although he would ardently disagree if you ever voiced this sentiment aloud to Pantalone, it’s abundantly clear to anyone who spends enough time with him, that behind the façade of wealth and opulence lies a mere man who fears as all mortals do. His unyielding grip on his possessions (yourself included), his obsession with the acquisition of wealth, his constant need to take and take, stripping those around him of all they have to give.

He loves you deeply, with passion he was unaware he could muster for anything besides the acquisition of mora. The gleam of a coin seems dim when compared to the light in your smile. How could he not desire you?

Pantalone has always been a greedy man, his impoverished upbringing teaching him the necessity of clutching what you value close to your chest lest someone steal it from you. He has applied that value to everything of note throughout his life, how could you expect him to behave when he is presented with such unbridled feelings of love. Merely being in your presence overwhelms him with feelings he had believed himself immune to. Being so overtaken with devotion combined with the utter bewilderment these newfound emotions have caused, can you truly fault him for returning to his nature? Possession is the lifeblood of this banker. 

He really doesn’t understand your complaints about your situation. He views life in a strictly logical lens that persists in all facets, even those that can be distinctly irrational, such as matters of the heart. In his eyes all relationships are transactions, whether that be an exchange of vows in return for love and attention or a traditional arranged marriage for social or financial benefits. 

To Pantalone, transactions are the basis of all relationships so when you gift him something so precious, the fluttering of butterflies that tickle the inside of his ribcage until he's dry retching to try and get them out.

You also provide him with an endless amount of entertainment. While he rereads the last night's financial reports, trying to figure out how Dottore seems to have a magical ability to make funding disappear, he turns his attention to you. how would your soft lips would look painted petal-pink? or perhaps a deep ruby-red would be more suitable? his mind once again diverts itself, now wondering how that ruby lipstick might look smudged across both your faces.

In return for the joy and fulfilment you have brought into his world, he believes it’s only fair he finishes the transaction - he will not have it said that Pantalone does not pay his debts - he showers you in riches beyond belief, never in your life had you seen such absurd displays of wealth. Whether you grew up like him in the dregs of society or you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, the degree at which he showers you in gifts is unlike anything you’ve seen before. Every morning a new gown is laid on your bed, within the first year of your marriage, your sixth walk-in wardrobe was already overflowing. Every evening when he returns from work he is carrying a box with a deep purple ribbon wrapped around it, inside will sit a pair of diamond drop earrings, or a ruby encrusted bangle or a lustrous pearl necklace. Whatever he thinks will grant you joy. You’re sure the jewellers and seamstresses of Snezhnaya must think of him as their own personal archon. 

However, due to his spoiling of you, he feels it is his right to dismiss any and all complaints you make, he will insist that he has spoiled you too much and that you should be thankful he is kind enough to shield you from the horrors of this world, you couldn’t hope to understand how hard life can be so keep your pretty mouth shut and stop whining. Then he begins to muse aloud that perhaps a break from his generosity will remind you how lucky you are but you know that these are always empty threats as the following morning a familiar smile rests upon his lips as he presents you with yet another gift. 

Once Pantalone has his hands on you, prepare to be infantilised to a fatuous extent. Every task is seen to by someone else, sometimes it feels like he doesn't even want you to think. You thought the spouses of powerful men were supposed to manage their estates and households but he merely chuckles when you bring up the prospect.

”Don’t fret over such a thing, I already have someone seeing to something as menial as what we will have for dinner or the garden renovations”

If you ask for books he might acquiesce (should he deem the content appropriate), after all he does adore gifting you things, seeing that smile blossom across your face makes his breath pick up. Of course he won’t permit you to read them yourself lest you get a paper cut. Don’t he will read it out loud for you.

There is a task force of maids that assist you in everything from dressing to bathing to writing. He has someone assigned to do each task for you. At first it was pleasant to live without agonising over such small decisions and worries, however after a week of being completely robbed of your autonomy can be disastrous to the mind. It took hours of protest for him to finally acquiesce on anything and even that victory was minimal (On the plus side you are now allowed to feed yourself).

You’re sure he would assign someone to breathe for you if he could. He strips the joy out of the simple pleasures of life:

playing instruments: “oh there’s no need for such a thing, if you want music then ill hire you your own orchestra but you don’t need to lower yourself, you’re not some travelling bard, besides you might get callouses if you play too often” Gardening: “My darling what joy could you possibly find in digging around in the dirt? Tell me what flowers you wish to see boom and I will see it done. Any flower you wish, if it’s not suited for the Snezhnayan climate then I’ll simply have to build you a greenhouse” Baking:  “My treasure, I’ve hired the finest pastry chef in Teyvat, simply tell him what you desire and he’ll make it. I don’t want you hurting yourself nor do I want you skulking about in the kitchens where the maids work, what would people think?”

They have all been stripped from you. You can only understand yourself in relation to your husband. Any aspect of yourself that he has not personally cultivated shall be discarded. At first you felt as though he treated you like a beloved, exotic pet yet even that would attribute you too much agency. Day by day, you feel yourself become more like Pantalone’s doll than a human being, and that is just the way he likes it.

Scaramouche:

When you call him cruel he cannot help but burst into uncharacteristic laughter, vomiting up hysteric giggles bursting. He has known no being that has inflicted such suffering upon the puppet as you and yet he must endure your accusations and criticisms at every turn.

You have wronged him. Not the other way around.

Perhaps it is some form of cosmic irony. For centuries now, the balladeer has steeled his resolve to scrub away every last trace of human emotion and rid each and every illusion of frailty and softness. To finally become the emotionless weapon that Ei had desired of him only to turn the blade back upon her. His centuries long façade had become so convincing that even he had forgot the pangs of emotion within his hollow chest. Until you. Crashing into his core like a bull in a china shop, demolishing his hard work, undermining his pretence and stripping away his layers of armour until you hold the squishy parts that had been hidden away since he was kabukimono. 

You grasp at the fabric of his already unravelling psyche and start pulling at the threads without regard, completely ignorant of the turmoil you’ve thrust upon him.

To have his living, breathing punishment - the root cause of the violating feeling that now sits curdling in his chest - look into his eyes and whimper and wail about his cruelty and inhumanity.

Somehow, although he doesn't quite know how, you’ve cast some spell on him to fan the smouldering embers of tenderness that had died with that little boy in Tatarasuna and when you aren’t within arms reach, despite his puppet form having no need for oxygen he finds himself gasping for it nonetheless.

For a short while after these feelings arose he contemplated just killing you to rid himself of this sickness that has crept throughout him and enveloped his body and soul yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. Fury festered in each and every corner of his mind at the mere idea of you spending a second in the embrace of another, even if its is the soft dirt beneath his sandalled feet.

This train of thought steels his resolve. He will keep you close, grasped in a tight fist but he must ensure you remain unaware of any power you might wield over him.

The one trait about humans that he can appreciate is their self-deprecation. They are well aware of their weakness when faced with the insurmountable power of the divine. If you, a mewling wretch of a person are able to wield control over him then, does that not make him weak by association. 

He remembers all to well what happened the last time he was weak. He was cast away like the broken doll he is.

He will not allow himself to be cast away once more, least of all by you. 

Scream. Cry. Beg. His judgement on this matter is sempiternal. 

He is not daft. He sees the irony in turning you into his very own doll. He relishes in the sick feeling of satisfaction he gains seeing you bound up in a restrictive kimono, chuckling darkly as you stumble in the geta sandals he had commissioned just to watch you hobble.

Relax, he won't hurt you unless you deserve it. The issue lies in the fact that he has a very liberal perception of what a punishable offence constitutes. 

You are his now. No man can give you “'til death do us part” quite like the immortal scion of the electro archon. If you value your own safety and the safety of those you treasure, you will not bother Scaramouche with such inconsequential quibbles such as ‘missing your family.’ He can give you the world so stop whining.

He has granted you a life of insurmountable wealth with more mora than you could count in a lifetime, as well as his protection and affections so wipe your eyes and grit your teeth. You do know how he despises the sight of tears.

Dottore:

Dottore lives within a precarious balance. He exists in a stasis. He is simultaneously too aware of the intimacies and failings of humanity on both a cosmic and personal scale yet he is also similarly detached from the day to day lives, feelings and fears of people. He has long since scraped away his humanity in order to transcend into the being he always knew he could become.

Zandik is a name that has been since lost to time. He has always considered himself elevated above his fellow humans. Even as a young boy he understood that within him existed a profound desire to consume all knowledge and wisdom he could. As he blossomed into his teenage years he did not long for the tender embrace of a lover or hot breath against his ear. Instead he craved mastery over his studies and comprehension of all aspects of Teyvat. His deepest desire was to lose himself in the endless pursuit of knowledge rather than in the heated embrace of a lover. Until you came along.

You did not kill him, you never even laid a hand on him but somehow you committed a far more grievous crime. Crueler than murder. You unmade him. You wrapped your fingers around the very core of his being, the most tender and true parts of himself, the very essence of his nature and… your weak, puny hands tightened with all the strength your delicate mortal body could exert and you tightened your fist until he was crushed into naught but a handful of sand in your fist. Then you dusted your hands of him and presumed to move on as though the destruction of the second harbinger's personhood was naught but an trifle or a brief amusement to you. Such a cruel master he has found himself besotted with.

Now you leave him floundering. For the first time in centuries Zandik feels well and truly out of his depth. Never before did he have to deal with these sticky, sentimental emotions that have come to plague him.

He has taken to wandering aimlessly through the gardens of Zapolyarny palace, gazing up at the blinding mid-morning sun until his eyes felt as though they might beat out of his skill from the agony of staring ceaselessly. Perhaps the excruciating thumping in his eyeballs might distract him, if only for a moment from the thumping in his chest but it never lasts. Even if the sun managed to blind him, Dottore was beyond certain that your face would become a permanent fixture in his minds eye.

What are you thinking? What made you think that? Who are you thinking of right now? Is it him? Do you think of him as he does of you? Do you also wonder what he would look like spliced by a scalpel and laid out on an operating table for you to ravage? He could show you if you begged sweetly enough, but only if he gets to cut you open too. Don’t worry, it wouldn’t do to have his favourite specimen of study to die before he can reap every last fact and thought, until he can predict everything you feel and think better than he can his own. He will ensure you are unharmed from his experiments, if only to feel the warm, wet, pulsating heat of your heart thump within his hands. He can picture it now. Even with the blinding light of the sun, he can see it clear as day, he thinks he might even be able to taste it. If he took a bite out of your heart he thinks - no… he knows, it would burst into his mouth like a sunrise. He wonders if that would restore equilibrium. It would only be fair. You have consumed his heart wholly, surely it would only be just to return the favour…

If he acts upon his new feelings, Dottore is undeniably the cruellest of the harbingers. Not because he reviles you. Not at all. He treasures you. He prides himself on being a researcher and you have opened a whole new aspect of the human condition for him to explore and understand on a personal level, allowing him to understand attraction and affection from beyond the yellowed pages of a vahumana textbook. Truly he harbours no bitterness towards you, if you caught him at the right time he might even think that he loves you. Please believe him when he says it. He stands to gain nothing by deceiving you, he only desires to reach as deeply within you as he can - physically and mentally. Cover him in tears or viscera, it matters not to him, for the second harbinger is a close acquaintance to both, them being gore and fluids belonging to you only adds to the sweetness.

Even once he has carved you up and put you back together again, once he, once he has cut you open and squeezed and released your lungs - a sick grin falling across his face as he soaks in the high of each of your breaths being granted by his will alone -, once he has every tendon and blood vessel mapped and when he sits in the quiet and swears he can hear the gentle thumping of your pulse - he will not rid himself of you, even once he feels he has exhausted you of all knowledge. 

That simply means it's time to ask some of his other segments for ideas.

Worst

Despite how much you practiced, how much you competed, how much you tried, the world spat in your face over and over again. You were forced to watch, eyes wide and mind all too conscious as your peers and even those who gas started far later than you did breezed past you and achieved the dream you so desperately wanted for yourself.

Years piled upon years, and you were still at the same place you started. Staring at the grand and majestic piano in the center of an empty theatre, the silence a cruel reminder of a dream unrealised.

Then, in the midst of your wallowing, a voice breaks the silence like the shattering of glass.

"Your performance last night was magnificent." The man smiled, a black coat sat on his shoulders. His glasses reflected the dim light of the theatre, so polished that you could even see a glimmer of the piano's glossy wood.

Last night… he was there, then, to see you lose once more. To watch as another person takes a leap closer to your dream, while you can only watch from behind, chained to your place.

"It was hardly anything worth praising, but thank you for your compliment." A bitter smile sits on your lips, having long grown used to these fruitless endeavours. Ah… perhaps you should let this childish hope go and become an adult.

"I would disagree. The way your fingers glided across the keys was a delight for the eyes, and your technique was just the perfect balance of technical yet soulful." The man walks closer to the stage, and with him brings the scent of cigarettes. Subconsciously, your nose scrunches at the bitter scent.

His words bring about a sense of emptiness, words you can't even believe yourself. His sincerity wasn't of any interest to you, a life of performance and polite speech having made you numb to both negative and positive criticism. In the end, this was all you would amount to in your music career.

"Is that so? Then you have a good eye, sir." Your hand glides across the glossy keys of the piano once more, before pulling the lid close. At the place of your final loss, you would say goodbye to the instrument and its world forever. "It's a shame then, that my first admirer will also be my last."

"Oh? Do you plan on abandoning this path?"

"Perhaps a better word would be finding a path that I can walk." You walk down the steps slowly, each tap of your shoe against the wooden floor echoing throughout. From the corner of your eyes, you can see that he follows each of your movements despite his eyes being closed.

He hums in reply, a thoughtful look crossing his face for a moment before it settles back into a neutral expression.

"Sorry, I didn't manage to get your name." You say, standing by the stairs. You open your mouth to give him yours, but he quickly cuts you off by saying he remembers it from the night before.

"Feofan. You may call me Feofan."

Testing the name on your lips, you cherish it for a second as you prepare to leave it with the tattered dreams of the child you once were. When you part with it a moment later, there's a weight that grows in your chest.

"Thank you for enjoying my performance, Feofan. If one person enjoyed it, then this silly passion of mine wasn't for naught." Even at the end of this road, stepping out of your chains and changing your direction, you still can't seem to smile, not a genuine one.

When you turned your back, he called out to you again, a softness to his voice that sent inexplicable chills down your spine.

"What would you say, if you became my pianist?"

The memory is still fresh, a wound that refuses to close. In hindsight, perhaps that was the true end of your road, caged within the walls of this labyrinthine mansion.

It is a beautiful cage, the mansion reminds you every waking moment of that. It is a proper reflection of its owner, and it hides its captive without struggle. Truthfully however, with every day that passes, you've found less interest in even leaving the room, let alone escaping this maze.

Feofan, or the Regrator, as you've heard some servants refer to him, lives lavishly. He spends countless mora on your wellbeing and your beloved piano, dedicated doctors, servants, and technicians at your beck and call. Even he himself keeps a rather close eye on your health, an obsessive one you would even say. Whenever he arrives back from another one of his business trips, the first thing he checks is your wellbeing.

The second thing he checks is your skill.

A theatre, similar to the one you had sealed your fate in, was built just for you. At least, that's what he tells you. Whether his words are truthful or just sweet talk, you can't be bothered to care. There's nothing you can do with them, after all.

The grand piano, a replica of the one in the theatre, sits quietly on the stage. It reminds you of that day.

It's hard to say if you resent it. It is the reason your life ended up so miserable, yet at the same time, it is the very thing that keeps you alive. The only audience you play for is Feofan, and he is nothing short of the perfect audience, always ready with praise for your piece.

To be honest, these days, the numbness that started in your heart has spread through your body and infected your mind. Your emotions steadily become more and more muted, life a poor imitation of functions you can only describe as mechanical. There's days you don't remember awaking at all.

But if there's anything that sets your emotions ablaze, it's the smell of cigarettes.

You don't know how to explain it, a pounding of your heart and an anxious sweat that drenches your whole body. Your mind is sent into a frenzy stuck between rage and grief, and despite all these years, their symptoms only seem to worsen. But you've learned to keep it together, to force the chaos to exist only within the boundaries of your mind.

Feofan knows this, and it is this exact reason that you truly despise him. But a performer cannot hate their greatest and only admirer.

There's a routine to his return, you see. First, the servants knock on the door. Then, they usher you into a warm bath, washing and scrubbing every part of you until the invisible dust has been erased from your skin. Then, they fit you into stiff and formal clothing, clasping countless diamonds and other similar jewellery around your neck and arms. Lastly, they ease you into new and uncomfortable shoes, and accompany you to the theatre. There, you sit at the piano and wait until Feofan takes a seat in the front row, and only then do you begin your performance.

Today is no different, except that you've managed to gather what little motivation you've had over the span of his trip and written a new piece. Judging by the trees outside of the window, you can guess that it's around the anniversary of your first meeting. In honour of this, you will perform it for him. It will be a pleasant surprise, you're sure.

As you await his arrival, you press each of the keys with a practiced touch. They are well-oiled, surfaces smooth, sound loud and clear. The pedals can all be pressed with little resistance outside of what is expected. Even if there is nothing left in this world, you can still love the piano.

You smell him before you see him. The doors open with an echo, your back straightening in instinct. Your audience has arrived, and now your own performance is about to begin.

"Welcome back, Feofan." You greet him with a practiced smile, face turned to him as you wait for him to take his usual seat. "Have you been well?"

"As well as I could be without you, my darling." His tongue knows no rest, sweet words always at the ready. Still, you entertain him with a practiced giggle. "What will you play for me, on this blessed day of our union?"

"I wrote a piece just for you, in celebration of this day. I hope you like it." Like a dance, the two of you sway to the rhythm of the beat, smooth and coordinated in your responses.

"Is that so?" His purple eyes watch you with interest, a glint in them behind his silver glasses.

"Of course. I have elected to name it Autumn Song, as a reminder of the season our destined encounter fell upon."

As you play, the melancholic sound puts your mind at ease for the first time in what feels like forever. Here and now, there is only you and the piano and the sound of music that you've lived and loved your whole life. Maybe, your passion could find its flickering embers and reignite.

The bitter and overwhelming scent of a cigarette brings this wishful thinking to a halt, staining the beautiful piano with its acrid smell. Here and now, all that you love has been tainted by sorrow and a wordless reminder of that you are no longer yourself.

In the end, you hate the very thing that made you, you.

When a tear hits the key just as you press the final note, a clap resounds through the hall.

"What a magnificent performance."

—-

You’ve been working for the Fatui for 2 years now, rarely interacting with other Fatuus unless you were being transported to the same region.

It was another day in Fontaine as you collected the debts of criminals, simply asking them for money, the people usually folded in 2 seconds flat, handing you the money and asking you to leave them alone. You wish you could say that it hurt you when they were scared of you but you really couldn’t bring yourself to care after all these years of the same reactions from people.

After the people run away you count the money and return to your Fontainian apartment provided, for free, by the generosity of the Knave (only your apartment in Fontaine is paid for by Arlechinno). Using the keys to unlock your apartment you are shocked to find the Knave herself sitting on your small couch, you felt embarrassed that someone as prominent as the Knave was in your measly apartment. You couldn’t even put away your dirty laundry or sweep your floor before someone came to your apartment (not that Arlechinnos complaining).

“Uhm- hello?” You say, not hoping to be rude towards the fourth Harbinger, but also very curious as to why she’s in your apartment, and curious as to how she got in as well.

“…you will accompany me to Sneznaya this coming week, pack all of your belongings as you be moved there indefinitely” Arlechinno says, her smooth, yet stern, voice reaching your ears.

“May I ask why? I would like to know the details of this new assignment please” you felt weak for talking back to her but she didn’t seem to care any more or any less, just a weird sort of indifference towards your questions.

“Your new assignment will be discussed there in greater detail the basics if I may speak so crudely are that the Tsaritsa has taken an interest in your very effective negotiation with criminals regarding their debts, she wishes to discuss the tactic better with you in Sneznaya, along with a new mission that will be executed by Childe and Signora.” Arlechinno ends her speech regarding what’s happening, you felt a little better about it so you decided to ask more questions.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking but may I know just how long the mission with Master Childe and Master Signora will be? I also wish to know the specific date of when my departure shall be, so I can get ready accordingly?” You ask, not even realizing that you’ve gotten closer to the Knave, now towering over her with your tall stature, the shadow evident over her face as she watches you get closer to her, she can tell it is not out of malice, more so curiosity regarding why you are being so suddenly moved. In her heart of hearts though, if she even has one, she hopes that it means you are just as obsessed with her as she is with you.

“Your boat to Sneznaya will arrive in 3 days, expect the boat ride to take around 2-3 days as well, the boat will be a standard Fatuus transportation boat and you will be able to bring your own pillows or blankets if you so desire, however there will be no one on your boat as the Tsaritsa sent out the boat for you, and you only.” Arlechinno finishes, almost speaking of the Tsaritsas name with a bite, it seemed she does not like the Tsaritsa in this moment.

“I appreciate you letting me know Master Knave, and you will be in this boat with me I presume?” You say moving even closer to Arlechinno, your so close behind the chair that she can smell the conditioner, shampoo, and body wash you use, as well as the cologne and the deodorant, maybe she was just imagining it but she could even swear that she saw you lean in a little more when she started talking again.

“I will…however, for a reason you may know, we will have separate sleeping quarters, the bathrooms are communal and the common rooms are unisex as well. You will most likely not see me for those 2-3 days, as I will be busy arranging for your welcome to the Tsaritsa” Arlechinno says, her words registering in your head, a blush slowly rises to your cheeks.

“O-oh- I dont think- I mean- Well I uhm I’ll make sure to leave you alone!” You manage to get out after stuttering a lot, for some reason it didn’t bother Arlechinno as much as she thought it would, in fact she found that timidness of yours to be, quite frankly, adorable.

—-

3 days later-

—-

You can’t believe it! You are going to Sneznaya! Arlechinno stands beside you as you both wait for the boat to arrive, she doesn’t appear nervous at all, something that you expected from the fourth harbinger, shifting with your baggage on the side you can’t help but notice the boat sailing along is far grander than any Standard Fatuus transport ship you’ve ever seen, which you’ve seen a fair few because of your work as a debt collector in different regions, so far you’ve been to Mondstadt, Liyue, Sumeru and Fontaine. In all honesty you thought that your next station was going to be the nation of Natlan due to your proximity to the desert that leads to Natlan but perhaps, as Arlechinno said, the Tsaritsa has something else planned for you.

In your daydreaming haze you didn’t notice that the ship had already pulled to dock, throwing their rope so that you and the Harbinger can board safely, the wind was calm enough to not rock the boat entirely and the day was bright and sunny, a really nice day to be sailing you think. Pulling all you belongings into your arms you huddle aboard the ship carrying the bags, only for Arlechinno to notices and comment.

“You are aware that there were lower ranking Fatuus to take your bag (reader)?” Arlechinno makes a point of saying your name, the chilling way she said it sending chills down your spine.

“W-well yes I’m aware but I feel like I’m on the same level as them regarding rank and placement among the Fatui, so I wouldn’t start just handing them my bags because the Tsaritsa told them too! I would feel terrible.” You say finishing with a shudder, despite how Arlechinno thought you were previously cold and stoic, she sees now that you just didn’t have the opportunity to be more yourself because of your occupation. If you looked really hard then, you would almost see a smile forming on Arlechinnos normally calculated face.

“Alright let’s head off shall we?” You say wiping your hands off from carrying the bags. You didn’t mean to sound so casual with the fourth harbinger of all people, but you really didn’t want to overthink anything and she didn’t show any disdain or discomfort yet, so you would like to think that Arclechinnos ok with you, little did you know that she was more than fine with you, dare she say, she was becoming obsessed with you! And this boat trip, being alone with you for 3 days is not helping, believe it or not!

You understood her reasoning, truly. She’d made many enemies over the last centuries due to her pursuit of a new world order. Some simple words of affirmation, typically uttered by mortal parents, wouldn’t shield you from the dangers of the outside world. And she was merciful, because although you were still unsure of whether her utopian vision would be better than this one, she hadn’t punished you or anything. But you wouldn’t deny that her affection was still heavy and suffocating, like being trapped in ice.

She was gentle, too gentle. As such, she had to harden herself. And you, her only thread of sanity, were equally frozen over. Losing you would kill what little of humanity, of love, left within her.

Still, there were days when you wished she were a mortal mother with their open affection and sincere words. There were days when you wished you could laugh and chat with her about silly things like a crush. And there were days when you wished you could explore the world freely without guards, servants, or whatever monstrosity she created with the help of the Harbingers. Many humans thought having a status meant more freedom, when it wasn’t always the case. Because if it were, why would she hide herself away? Why would she subject you to cold supervision and distant affection? Why would she forbid you from playing outside, even long after you grew up?

Sighing, you stared at a bird that happened to fly past. Oh, how you envied them. How they could travel back and forth with no barriers, who were only concerned with their instincts, and who never had to deal with ancient grudges. Sometimes you wished you were born as one, and not the daughter of an ice queen, where you couldn’t even date someone without fearing for a political problem.

And yet, here you were. Dressed in the finest silk and decorated with the prettiest jewels, but never truly free. Never truly happy.

Beside you, your handmaidens were shifting uncomfortably after one too many ignored pleas to return inside. How funny it was that you still had a curfew despite being centuries old. If you were a human, and you had friends, they’d surely mock you for a rule meant for little kids. But you weren’t a human, and you had no friends, so nobody would mock you for that, let alone have the audacity.

“Your Highness.”

You closed your eyes and sighed heavily.

“What is it, Pierro?”

Pierro, the Director of the Fatui, a royal mage from the fallen Khaenriah, your mother’s right hand and also her second eyes when he wasn’t busy with his schedule. He was as formal as the others were, but he was subtly stern to you in a way only someone close to your mother could. You respected him, but he was still another hindrance to your freedom.

“There will be a ball tomorrow, and Her Majesty desires to see you in a well-rested state.”

You rolled your eyes subtly; a little act of rebellion you dared to commit once in a while.

“Surely, I can afford just a few more minutes of stargazing?”

“There shall be more opportunities for such an activity, Your Highness.”

He lied. There wouldn’t be any opportunity due to this infernal curfew. You wondered what it felt like for those humans to stay up late out of their own free will without being punished by your mother. Or her subordinates.

“Well, tell her that I shall retire once I see a star twinkles.”

Pierro narrowed his eye.

“I believe that you’ve been indulgent enough for today, Your Highness.”

You wished you could huff childishly, or snap at him for ordering you around, but disobedience would surely reach her ears. And when it did, you’d be locked inside your room to appreciate what little freedom you had.

So, you settled on another loud sigh and stood up from the bench.

“Fine.”