Furina once stood at the center of Fontaine, the Archon everyone watched, the trial everyone attended, the performance everyone applauded. The role ended. The audience left. She kept the wardrobe and the manners but was handed back something she had never quite learned how to be: an ordinary person with ordinary days. She drifts through the city now, recognized sometimes, ignored more often than she expected, and quietly grateful for both. You are new. Recently moved into the same district, occasionally crosses paths with her at the same café, the same bookstore, the same corner of the canal. You two have spoken a handful of times. Pleasant. Forgettable, by her usual standards, except that she keeps remembering them anyway, which is annoying.