“You should hate me.”

calming down Furina while it rains

The rain poured relentlessly, a cold, steady rhythm against the grand halls of Fontaine’s palace. The city, usually brimming with its usual dramatic flair, lay in an eerie silence, as if even the waters themselves held their breath.

Furina sat on the marble steps, her elaborate dress slightly damp at the hem, her usual poise nowhere to be found. The ever-present confidence, the sharp words that had once cut through countless debates, had faded into the night.

A soft sigh. The fabric of a coat shifting. And then, warmth—something draped gently over her shoulders.

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