MEANT TEA BE [ scaramouche ]

01: A LOVELY DREAM

Despite having no heart, there has always been a lover deep within him. Waiting.

Nahida knows this. She knows this, because despite his clouded gaze and his lifeless expression lies a mere puppet who longs, yearns, dreams. His irises hold an inexplicable emotion; the kind of emotion that only lovers have, the kind of emotion that is reminiscent of who he once was, who he once knew.

The Balladeer rises to his feet, shedding his stupor as he stares at the girl beyond his Dendro prison. His cornflower eyes widen with mania as he begins to laugh sardonically, a maddened grin tugging at his lips as he clutches the left side of his chest, feeling the emptiness within himself. It devours him whole.

(It is at this moment that Nahida realizes just how finely crafted he was. Because despite everything the Balladeer has been through, his fair skin remains flawless, his indigo hair sweeping perfectly over his eyes as if he was molded from glass. Nahida can tell how much effort was poured into his creation; it's evident in the silky strands of his hair, the daintiness of his features. Maybe, in some twisted, minute way, the Balladeer was loved.)

"You've got me!'' the Balladeer declares to the empty Sanctuary of Surasthana. "You've got me, now what?!" He speaks as if he's renouncing the world, as if, in this lonely Sanctuary, an audience bears witness to him, willing to hear what he has to say.

But there is no audience, no witness; only an Archon. To the Balladeer, that is more than enough.

Nahida remains silent. Her forest eyes soften with sympathy, her hand coming up to rest on the surface of the puppet's prison as she stares at him through the forest-tinted walls.

"Kunikuzushi," she calls, testing the waters. The Balladeer snarls, his expression finally betraying his emotion as his eyebrows furrow with rage, his pupils twitching with lunacy.

"Don't call me that!" he yells. Nahida doesn't respond, opting to observe the way he trembles, the way his pupils struggle to fixate on something, anything, as he suddenly recalls his imperfections, his humanity. He suddenly recalls why he could not ascend to Godhood after all; it's in the parts he hates the most about himself, the parts that make him so, so human.

Nahida typically doesn't use Irminsul to probe one's past. Actually, she rarely steps foot in Irminsul at all. But when the Balladeer was captured, she examined his history, piecing together parts of his past in an attempt to uncover the truth behind his actions, the purpose of his desperation.

Now, Nahida thinks, watching the puppet quiver, nearly falling to his knees, he wants to be a God.

But before, that wasn't always the case. Before, the Balladeer-or Kunikuzushi, for that matter-wanted to be human. He wanted a heart that beat, a soul that felt. He wanted to feel the warmth of the sun on his skin, the joy of the mundane. He wanted it all, the way humans do. Kunikuzushi had dreams, ambitions, love.

He had love. Lots of it.

For a large portion of his life, Kunikuzushi's world was seen through a rose-colored lens. Nahida saw his most poignant of memories, memories where his cornflower eyes would always soften with adoration, memories where a gentle, tender smile would form on his lips. Memories where he was so enraptured with something, someone, that Nahida swore she saw him feel his chest, as if he had a heart of his own. Nahida saw how human Kunikuzushi was, how human that lover was.

At that time in his life, Kunikuzushi's being revolved around someone else. They're pretty, she thinks, recalling the images. She remembers the way they would glow in the moonlight, the way they would smile at Kunikuzushi under the summer fireworks and how his mouth would hang agape. She remembers how his gaze, so enamored, so lovely, never left them, his countenance swallowed by the beauty of life, wholly owed to the person he followed.