❝ 夏の光 ❞
summer's light
—
KUNIKUZUSHI IS A puppet created and molded by the hands of the Electro Archon, meant to serve as the vessel for the heavenly authority of a god, their gnosis.
Kunikuzushi is the prototype, the progenitor of all of Beelzebul's puppets.
Kunikuzushi is the first of all her puppets, thus he was created with flaws— too gentle, too weak for the taste of divinity that should've been bestowed onto him.
Abandoned, he was granted life to wander and decide for himself what he wanted to be. Yet there was nothing he wanted. He was designed, molded, and shaped for one sole purpose— to be the vessel of true celestial divinity.
He was forsaken by his own creator.
In every way, he is perfect yet it was his own emotional vulnerability that caused him to be defective. He could never live in the era of eternity that his creator wanted; never possess that authority of power for he was too weak. From birth, he was denied his heritage— what came with primogeniture, what solely belonged to him. All because he was deemed to be too imperfect, for a single flaw he could not control.
Marionettes are manipulated through strings; that was his only understanding upon his creation. He, himself is a marionette to be manipulated— to be used by his creator for a purpose that was grander than anything else. He could accept that; to simply live as the vessel of the gnosis. But that was denied to him; thus he turned to catastrophe. He was created without a heart in spite of his emotional vulnerability and in seeing that, the Electro Archon realized that he could not withstand the power that came with it.
She took his heart from him.
He wandered the lands in search of a new purpose; trekking across the lands of Inazuma, carried by wood across seas, finding nothing to muse upon in the realm of mortality. He was casted from society, deemed too inhuman. Ironically, he was also deemed too human for divinity; such flaws that never allowed him to be accepted by anyone.
Eventually, he met the Fatui who tinkered with him until he was able to unlock the potential within him. He earned a rank, a title, money, power, status; seemingly everything someone would ever want. Yet, even still— he lacked something fundamental, a heart.
Hollowed out like an abyssal void of emptiness; the thrumming median where one's metaphorical emotions were controlled. The heart he was supposed to possess was never presented to him and thus he could never comprehend the emotions he felt.
When he had met you, the mere thought of marriage crossed him as a sort of obligation. Briefly, he would feel this eluding skim of concern whenever your life had been endangered as he understood the fragilities of mortal beings. He knew how easily humans can break, how easily they can be marred and harmed. He also knew that humans were sentimental creatures, often expressing various feelings of emotions. This thought of course, made the doll resent humans as he himself could never comprehend how he felt those same emotions.
He was mortally-flawed yet deific in union, sculpted in creation to be a doll of the gods.
As time went forth, he grew a sort of attachment to you. From what little the two of you had in common, he found haven in your orphaned parentage. As children born and grew without affection, neither of you could perceive concepts of love. When he had told you once before, that he thought of you as his better half, he had meant those very words. You were indeed his better half; capable of expressing love, hatred, disgust, sadness, and fear. He knew that the two of you would share these commonalities of childhood and parentage but he also knew you were human to the extent of mortal emotions.
Before, when he had told you that he loved you, it wasn't necessarily a lie by any means. Yet still, back then, he was scared of driving you further away from him and from that place of fear, he said it in hopes of you staying. He understands that now, it was truly manipulation to say such a thing yet not mean or understand it. He was afraid of losing you, utterly terrified to see you leave him. Like his own creator once did.
When the two of you had fought that one time, causing you to subsequently leave, he was angry and frustrated at your own ignorance. He had believed then that his actions are not wrong, that he had a right to withhold the information from you.
There were faults, at both ends. It was pride that blinded the two of you, neither ever wavering in the slightest in fear of demonstrating weakness. When you had finally cracked, the puppet got to see the lowest a mortal could be. And he feared for you— the apprehension of dreaded loss, that you would fall deeper into the abyss of darkness. And you would cease to climb from it.
And yet, you stood again. Going as far as to denounce the puppet's manipulation and leave.
It was then when the puppet learned the concept of loss and fear.
Slowly, over the time spent with one another, you taught him that vulnerability was not an expression of weakness. You taught him how divinity, no matter how hard you attempted to feign it, could not be reached by mortal hands. You taught him that loving and trusting one another was not an easy task. Such simplistic ideas, so fundamentally universal to understand had the two of you not possessed the destiny you two did now.
And yet, through it all, you suffered the most.
Even after it all, the puppet watched as you rose from your defeated state over and over again.
Yes, you are afraid.
Yes, you are weak.
Yes, you are powerless.
The puppet learned the concepts of admiration and strength.
But even after adversity had knocked you down, you rose again— confidence wavering yet you stood. The puppet couldn't comprehend why nor how you possessed this strength to stand against the world when you held no favors of Celestia; when you possessed nothing but your own fragile, mortal life.
It was truly baffling, thought the puppet, the existence of transient humanity in the face of utter chaos.
Then, thought the puppet, that perhaps the reason why he admired you was because of this courage. Perhaps, it was jealousy in your ability to resist that drew him in— seeing as how he already possessed omnipotence beyond mortal comprehension but he himself could never fit into human society.
A puppet that pretends to be someone with dominion when in reality, he possesses nothing.
He harbored this thought for a great many years. He who has been casted out by the gods and ostracized by humanity— what could he do? How could he be accepted? Who could accept him for who he truly was? How could he learn to love without a heart to guide him? What does it mean to love another?
The Cryo Archon granted him an opportunity and a home with the Fatui. With her previous regency being love, she presented the puppet with what he needed to retrace the steps of mankind, to learn what it means to be mortal and accepted by marrying him to you. She wished for her children to seek happiness, to find purpose.
The Cryo Archon was right, you were indeed his better half.
The puppet did not understand at first, thinking marriage as folly. Yet, with time, he grew to love. Or, at the very least— perceive the abstractions of devotion and raptures of love. With time spent with you, he started to fathom the logistics of love for another. It was foreign, yet desperately desired by the puppet who knew nothing of it.
The puppet was learning the concepts of love.
And though he lacked a heart, he learned to perceive love and all of its accompanying flaws. Even when casted out by his own maker and of the gods he was meant to walk along with, the puppet found himself and what he desired more than anything in the whole of Teyvat.
An identity; an opportunity to learn and be accepted— to be loved by someone. For that, he is forever grateful to the stars and fates above to have met you.
A SHAKY EXHALE escaped past your lips, causing Scaramouche to become paralyzed in his movements; hands stilled at your pained sigh. His worried violet eyes flickered to you, watching for your reaction before he dared to utter a word aloud.
"Does it hurt...?" He asked gently, he pulled his hands away slowly, one holding onto your calf and the other holding a swab of burn ointment. He searched your hues for an answer; he only saw a demoralized glimmer in your eyes.
"It stings, but I'll be fine." You answered him with a strained smile, taking in his worried tone and expression.
Scaramouche nodded quietly, continuing to swab at the burns around your joints. Occasionally, he would cease his action if your hisses or pained signs became too loud, allowing you to take a moment and steady yourself until all of the ointment had been applied. His frown continued to tug at the corners of his lips even after finishing. The pools of liquid amethyst reflected an unspoken distress as he watched you slowly rise from your bed, taking slow steps to test your own strength.
It had been a day since he had rescued you, allowing you time to rest and recover from shock. By the time the two of you had teleported back to the manor, your energy was spent entirely. The moment you materialized, you passed out. Scaramouche had brought you to your quarters where, for the better part of the night, he spent looking after you— consoling you through night terrors and holding your hand to let your subconscious mind know that he was there.
When morning came, a doctor came to assess if you needed further treatment but said that aside from your rope burns and psychological trauma from the incident, you didn't sustain any other physical injuries. Though the doctor cautioned that you take it easy and refrain from any heavy duties that require too much effort.
And yet, even with that assurance, Scaramouche felt uneasy.
"Why do you look so sullen?" You turned to ask, observing your fiancé's body language and frown.
Scaramouche's frown grew deeper as you walked unevenly towards him, your arms outstretched to touch him. He took you into his arms, pulling you close as the words from the day before echoed in his mind— 'please don't go'. His chest felt tight, as if pressed against by an unseen force. He hated the sensation, utterly loathed the way it strained his ability to breath.
"You shouldn't be walking around like that. You could potentially injury yourself further." Scaramouche warned, bring you close as he allowed your arms to embrace him by the neck. "The doctors have yet to grant you permission to move about."
A small smile of contentment pulled at the corners of your lips at his concern, prompting a soft laughter as a reaction. "No one has the right to grant me permission. And you are too worried. It's just some burns."
Yet Scaramouche knew of how fragile mortals can be.
"At least sit still until I've finished applying the ointment." He watched as you pulled from him, nodding quietly as you sat back down on the bed so that he could continue to apply the balm onto your marred skin.
Quietude fell over the two of you as Scaramouche finished applying the rest of the ointment onto you. Following that, he wrapped bandages onto you; ensuring that your ankles and wrists were properly bandaged so that no further damage would be sustained. You watched him carefully, taking note of his fixed stare upon you and the concern etched into his features.
"Did something happen while I was... away?" You asked hesitantly, pulling your arms back from him and gently rubbed your wrists to ease the strain upon them.
Scaramouche avoided your eyes and by extension, he ignored your question entirely. He opted for silence, unsure of what exactly he should say to you. Nothing developmental had caused him to act this way but he felt it.
Something was... different.
Tentatively, you attempted to reach out to him, hoping that he would respond. "Scaramouche—"
"Don't... call me by that... name..." Your fiancé reeled away from your touch— feeling as though he wasn't worthy of it. His words settled heavily in your mind, yet there was no malicious intent in his words.
"What's wrong...?" You watched the complexity in his eyes shift, from fear to self-loathing; emotions that you were all too familiar with.
Looking at him reminded you too much of yourself, it was like looking into a mirror with a carbon copy of yourself staring back with those same resentful eyes. Standing at the ends of the lakes of misery, the mirrored puppet looked back at you with dreary hues void of any felicity. To what extent had he held these emotions against himself? For how long?
"I'm... not who you think I am." Scaramouche admitted, selecting his words with careful thought.
For the first time, Scaramouche cracked.
Was he afraid of what I'd think of him? You kept the question to yourself, tentatively listening to him like he had once done for you.
"Do you recall when you had once asked me about my past?" Many moons ago, you had once asked him. Though, at the time, it was from a place of distrust in your fiancé. Never had you thought anything of it, nor was he intentionally hiding something from you. At that point, neither one of you was willing to share anything.
"Do you still wish to know?"
You nodded, giving him your undivided attention.
Scaramouche cleared his throat, eyes flickering up to meet yours. "I am a creation by the gods. A puppet whose purpose was to serve as a vessel for an Archon's gnosis. Of course..." He laughs dryly. "That didn't happen as it turns out I was made with flaws... Upon shedding a single tear, my creator deemed me too gentle to possess the gnosis. She abandoned me, instructing me to find my purpose in life... I wandered this world for a great many years, witnessed death and life— the changing of the world, until I was taken in by the Fatui. From there, you know the story."
He continued, fear laced his words with subtlety. "In other words, I am not human." He watched for your reaction, awaiting disgust, betrayal— something of the sort. "I'm certain... you likely carry some aversion towards me now. Considering... how you wanted honesty from me and yet I withheld this from you."
He believed he would see disgust, or perhaps anger and yet you displayed a look of disbelief and... sympathy.
"Was that why..." Hesitation caught your tongue.
His lack of heartbeat, your memories from the other day reminded you. When laying upon his chest in hopes of hearing the rhythm of his body's percussion, you heard nothing.
Evidently, he was removed from his past entirely and acted as though it did not matter to him. But still, you could almost see it— the artificial boy who sought validation that was never presented to him. A puppet whose purpose was stripped from him because of his mortal flaws. It was all too familiar to your own circumstances; seeking approval from your adoptive father so that he would, in turn, love you for being the child he desperately wanted. Of how you weren't permitted to demonstrate weakness in the face of society. Like him, both the crowns of false divinity and mortality laid upon your heads.
"Why... you wanted me? When Her Majesty asked you to marry...?"
The words slipped past your lips and you waited, breathing lightly in fear of provocation.
"My previous discontentment towards you was from a place of jealousy. Jealous of your own capability and humanity whilst I possessed nothing. Now do I realize what meaning you hold in my... heart." Scaramouche whispered the last word, finding the sensation on the tongue odd. He looked away from you, his chin fell. The crown slipped from his own head, the final act had fallen like the silencing of a guillotine.
It was silent for a moment; allowing you time to comprehend his words. Whether it be jealousy or not, there was some fault in his actions. Love doesn't come easily to people who have been raised to be feared. For him, you'd imagine, it was harder to sympathize with humans without the possession of a human heart.
You pressed your lips tight, taking a sharp inhale before the question left your lips.
"Would you have gone to such a length for me...?"
Scaramouche lifted his gaze from the bed, staring blankly. "Pardon?"
Heat flushed your skin as you attempted the question again.
"Would you have gone such a length... to find me, to seek me out...?"
You heaved a breath, chest tightening with fear as you asked. "What I'm asking is... when I had been captured and in the case that I was sent to the ends of this world, would you have gone out of your way to find me?"
For the first time ever, your fiancé cracked a smile. A genuine, honest smile at your words as he laughed airily. As gentle as a summer's light, his laughter was soothing and nearly empyreal-like. Clear waters, summer nights, the scent of orange blossoms and earthy petrichor; Scaramouche granted you the sensitivity of home that you've sought after for so long, it was gratifyingly hospitable.
"You ask the oddest questions, do you know that?" He teased you, maintaining the smile on his lips. "But to answer you," he took your hand into his, holding it to his lips as he kissed each knuckle slowly.
Amaranthine hues spawned from deep sea lagoons bore into your eyes. Scarlet eyeliner accentuated the sundry facets of the color of his irises, modeling his features perfectly. You couldn't help but admire his every peculiarity and distinct characteristics with bated breaths.
He answered you with a smile.
"I would've gone to the ends of the world to find you, from hell and back— from the left of Elysian to the far side of Celestia."
His words rang true. Without lies, without falsehoods— it was the undeniable, unequivocal truth.
He has no intentions of loving you. What utter foolishness those words mean to you now.
Through what meanings, Scaramouche was concerned enough for your well-being to be willing to put his life on the line for you. And though you also understood that he was still learning what it means to love another, as were you learning to love him even after all the hardships.
Pride guarded the two of yours' insecurities until it came crumbling down. In the face of life-or-death, it was evident that neither of you were capable of keeping up the act. Faced with raw emotions, you finally grew to understand him— and him, you.
"Scara—" You stopped yourself, looking to him for assurance. "... Do you mind me continuing to use that name?"
"If it's you, I don't mind... I acted in a momentary instance of doubt. Disregard everything if it makes it difficult for you to think of me as... less of a human." He felt inclined to add the latter words in, to remind himself of who he was.
You shook your head at him, frowning as you grabbed his hand to express authenticity. "I don't think of you as 'less of a human'. If anything, I think..."
Pausing, you thought through your words carefully. It was a sentimental moment for the two of you, one where humility was spilled. You feared tampering with the fickleness present.
"If anything, I believe you've proven yourself to be capable of being more than just a puppet. More than what your maker ever intended—"
Scaramouche leaned in, capturing your lips and silencing you with a fleeting kiss. He pulled his hand from your grasp, gently cupped your face. He held you as he slowly pulled back, his touch brought heat to your skin. He stared lovingly at you, his thumb gently brushing over your warm cheeks.
"I adore you," he admits, his voice just barely above a whisper. "I've adored you ever since I laid eyes upon you. I love you, beyond everything."
A light gasp escaped your lips as he suddenly kissed you again. Your heart rapidly pounded in your chest, so loudly— it drowned out all other sounds with the exception of his voice.
"And I..." You paused, apprehensive with your confession. Never had you confessed to anyone that you've loved them, hell— you barely knew what love felt like. And yet, only he made you feel the way you did. Every aspect of him; the sweet scents of flowers and earthly rain, to the way his electrifying touch felt against your skin, to the way his words make your heart flutter.
"I love you."
Amaranthine hues sparkled at your words, brightly glimmering like crystal jewels. Gods— how blind were you before to have allowed your own pride blind you to your fiancé's ethereal beauty.
"I forgive you." You whispered aloud, gently brushing aside his bangs to press a kiss to his forehead— and for the first time, you got to see his face flush with crimson at your own boldness.
"You... forgive me...?" He asked quietly, his hand pressed firmly against yours— he savored every bit of contact.
"I forgive you for lying to me before... I'm sorry that I acted abrasively before. My impulse was to believe that you had done so intentionally to harm..." You answered him, leaning in to touch his warm forehead against your own. "And I... I want to apologize for my own actions."
"Why so...?" His breath caused you to shiver; his voice summoned butterflies to flutter in your stomach.
"I had been so convinced that you were against me... I had hired someone to spy on your every move. I'm sorry... for the lack of faith on my part."
"... I see..." Scaramouche answered, his voice barely above a whisper before he leaned in to kiss you again, his lips pressed against yours. His touch left you yearning, wanting for more as he slowly slipped away from you. "Then you're not entirely at fault either. I had made it seem as though I was conspiring against you..."
You nodded quietly, going along with his words. You moved away from his face, opting to ease your head against the crook of his neck. With eyes pressed closed, you allowed a fragment of your anxieties go with an admittance of thought.
"Yesterday... I had truly thought... that I would die there alone." You whispered, feeling his muscles tense at your words. "I truly thought that whoever was coming down that staircase... was there to kill me. But I saw you, I've never felt such relief in my life... Thank you, so much... truly."
Scaramouche brought a hand to your head, gently running his slender fingers through your hair. "I would never allow that to happen to you..." He assured quietly, relaxing his tense body so that you can rest easy against him.
You chuckled softly, nuzzling against the warmth of his body. "I know... and that's why I love you."
He tensed, turning his head aside to cough into his fist awkwardly as his face flushed. The sensation in his chest was foreign, too excessively exhilarating for him to comprehend. He needed time to process— to learn.
"I hate to break our moment here... but there are more pressing matters to attend to. It regards the plot against you... and your safety is my first and utmost priority." You flushed a bit, nodding along in silence at your own boldness that prompted him to quickly change the topic. You sat up, allowing him to push off the bed to further explain the current underlying problem.
"I had your maid arrange a meeting between us and your board. I suspect someone there has been pulling strings." Scaramouche explained wandering over to your bedside to retrieve your adoptive father's journal and the tax reports you were sorting through.
"There's a string of missing reports and missing money. I had also taken a look at your adoptive father's journal." He handed them to you, watching as you flipped to the entries that Scaramouche had read when he was looking for clues to who was behind your abduction.
He gave you some time to skim over the entries prior to your adoption, concentrated eyes flickering from line to line.
"My adoptive father must've forbidden any mentions of Hualing. I've never heard of her... but the implications..." You set the journal down, taking another hard look at the reports documenting all of the transactions over the course of your adoptive father's reign of the company. "You suspect that someone from my board is backing that illegitimate child?"
Scaramouche leaned against your bedpost, arms folded across his chest. "Most likely, since they've been opposed to your ascension, they could've sought this child out to replace you as this child possesses half (l/n) blood. But, even that would not be enough."
"A dowry... my... mother's dowry..." You whispered aloud, breathing shakily as realization settled in. "Of course... How could I have been so stupid...?! Those who were in opposition of me had captured me with the belief I knew where Ying Yue's dowry would be. That would fully seat the illegitimate heir against me with perfect backing of two parents. No doubt they would've..."
The thought crossed your mind faster than you would have spoken it aloud. That they would've killed or imprisoned you there at Lingju Pass until they had succeeded. Scaramouche quickly caught onto your thinking, staring at you with equivocation. He changed the trajectory of the conversation.
"Let's not think of the alternative. Of what we know, at least three members of your board are conspiring against you. Li Wei, the head of Public Relations. Huang Shen, head of financial advice. And Jinhai, your father's closest friend and Chief of Security. He is also uncle to your father's first choice as fiancé to you." Scaramouche avoided Yi-Eun's name entirely but it made you wonder if Yi-Eun was involved with this plot in any manner.
"Hypothetically speaking, do you think ... if they had gone through with my engagement with Yi-Eun, I would've also been... disposed of?" You raised the suspicion, curious as to how history would've played out should the alternative occur.
Scaramouche scowled at the thought, his jealousy was evident. "My belief is that if you had married that scum, you would've played right into their hands and they would not be threatened in any manner. But of course, that is not the case and I will assure you that there is no way I'd allow them to take you from me again."
You smiled at his words, feeling the heaviness from your chest lighten just a bit before Scaramouche spoke up once more.
"I doubt that this meeting will earn us any closer to the truth. If anything, they may admit to orchestrating the death of your adoptive father and the backing of this illegitimate heir but I doubt that they'd reveal too much. If anything, I suspect there's another party involved with them as well."
You raised an eyebrow at his words. "Another party?"
Scaramouche nodded, explaining, "I believe there's a traitor among my ranks. Someone who is watching us to report to the board and hire. Someone who is keenly aware of my presence, observing for the right moment of when we were separated."
A name came to mind immediately. You quickly drew air, feeling your own body go numb at the epiphany yet said nothing. It can't be—
Rapid knocking upon your door broke your train of thought. The attention quickly shifted to the door of your bedroom where the sound originated from.
"Young Master? May I come in?" Wenling's familiar voice rang from behind the wood, prompting you to answer immediately.
"Come in!" You slipped on a silk robe, concealing your bandages from your head maid as she stepped into the master bedroom, bowing in respect to you and Scaramouche.
"I have arranged the meeting between the three members of the Board that Lord Scaramouche suspects to have conspired against you... I..." her voice broke a bit at the end, to which you noticed. You nodded to Scaramouche who bid you a farewell with a swift kiss to your head before leaving just the two of you in the room.
Wenling slowly approached you, her eyes wavering with concern as she knelt down before you— her eyes tearful and blurred.
"Young Master... I have failed to protect you time and time again... I am unworthy to be called your head maid." Wenling despaired, her head bowed down to the carpeted floor of your bedroom. "Please forgive me."
In all of the decade that Wenling has served you, not once has she ever expressed her own belief that she was far too incompetent to perform her duties. She carried out her duties without protest, aided you with her utmost ability; served, cared, and looked after you for the better part of a decade.
"You have nothing to apologize for, Wenling." You reached out to her, hand gently placed against her cheek. "If anything... I should be the one apologizing for worrying you."
Her head lifted, eyes blown wide open with shock at your words. Her jaw fell slack as she scrambled to answer you. "No, no, no...! Young Master, I... am a maid of the house. Someone with as esteem of a position as you should never have to apologize for such a thing."
You sighed, shaking your head at her. "And you, are my closest confidant and friend. You are to be treated as equals, as friends. I implore you to look past my title and position."
Wenling pressed her eyes closed, failing to trap the tears from her reddening face as she graciously took your hand to touch against her forehead.
"If that is my master's wish, I shall uphold your every aspiration and desire."
—
END OF CHAPTER NINETEEN
author's note.
wooohooo! writing this chapter was quite an emotional rollercoaster for me,, i struggled with portraying an accurate sort of internal conflict for scaramouche but im pleasantly happy with the end result!
hopefully this chapter has cleared up a lot of the decisions and thinking behind scaramouche's actions along with the whole mystery bit of this story!
next chapter,, the traitor will be revealed. though, im sure many of you have already figured it out :)
but of course, we shall see then. until next time my friends <3