Songs I'll Never Sing (OOC welcome)

[Faye]

After the previous night's mission when the Void finally spat the small band of heroes and adventurers back into Eorzea, X'unmei immediately retired to the Warden's Office where she'd been staying for the past few suns. She cried and cried for bells, until at last all fell silent as she finally exhausted herself into sleep. Any knocks or calls through the door went answered. The tea Mimiru had left outside the door, along with any food or drink that might have been brought to her, went entirely untouched.

 

The Miqo'te girl hadn't left the room once since returning. In fact, she hadn't even left the bed or changed out of the clothes she had been sleeping in. Since she was dragged out of the Void kicking and screaming, she had spoke not a single word to anyone, not even Vallois as he struggled to do whatever he could to offer the poor Seeker some comfort. But his attempts were in vain. The tears would not leave her eyes for long, and even if she had the will to eat, with the way her stomach twisted and turned with all her feelings and memories, she'd have no hope of keeping anything down for more than a moment.

 

Sleep would not come easily, either. She would only slip into a restless and troubled slumber when she too tired to remain awake. It would only last for a short burst before some nightmare woke her with a scream or a sob or a gasp. At first, she had hoped for sleep to turn off her mind and take her from reality. However, after the constant plague of nightmares, she fought desperately against her exhaustion, dreading more of the night terrors that would surely come.

 

Everything had been taken from her. She had no real friends, no real family. All she'd had were Cyrus and Melfice. Cyrus, her lover, her fiance, sweet and pure, always so polite and kind. He'd taken her in when she had nothing and no one. He'd wanted to be a knight, he'd wanted to be a hero. He wanted to be strong and brave and help others. What future would he have had? A hero with no eyes? A knight with one arm?

 

His parents, Avelyn and Drystan, they were so kind and loving. It was no wonder where Cyrus had acquired the traits. They had taken Unmei in and loved her, despite only having met her once, despite their worry for the fate of their son, despite the chaos Mei and Vallois had accidentally led to their home. Telling them their son had died would be difficult enough, but what if they had questions. How could Unmei answer them? How could she tell them their son had been captured, held captive, tortured, mangled and maimed? How could she tell them that when she found him at last, he had begged for death, and after she was dragged away from him as the world closed in around him, she was certain someone had probably granted him the favor? How could she tell them that she didn't even know how or why any of this had happened to him, but that she was sure it was her own fault?

 

She remembered him pleading for someone to kill him when he could barely speak, his pallid skin tearing to give way to wings and limbs, body parts human and inhuman alike sprouting from places they simply should not be. She sat up on the bed, gripping at her gut and gagging as nausea washed over her with the gruesome memory, but she was left dry heaving, nothing in her stomach to vomit. With a pitiful whimper, she collapsed back onto the mattress.

 

And then there was Melfice... He was the only family she had. She'd never had any full-blooded siblings. Her mother had passed away when she was young, and the Nunh who had sired her had never been much of a father to begin with. Her entire tribe had kept their distance from her, looked upon her with scorn, treated her as burden. When she cut ties with them, happy as they were to see her go, they exiled her in response regardless.

 

When she left them, she wandered the Shroud and found they been right. She was weak, she was useless, she could not pull her own weight. She survived not even a full cycle before she had completely wasted away. Hungry, thirsty, tired, cold, scared, alone, aching, battered and bruised by the wilderness of the Twelveswood, she remembered dying. It was a fuzzy memory, the moments immediately before and after her death lost to a black abyss, but she knew with all clarity that she had died.

 

But then a blessing had come. So she thought, at least. He found her just in time, using all his intellect and talent in a lucky and surprisingly successful attempt to draw her back from the grasp of death. She was eternally grateful to the man. She owed him her life, literally. She did all she could to please him and repay the debt, though rarely did he ask anything of her. He was so kind, he'd stopped to help a total stranger in such a drastic situation where all hope already seemed lost. After he had revived her, he even took her in and nursed her back to health. He treated her like family, like a little sister, or even like a daughter.

 

That is what she'd thought, at least. The Void had shown her an entirely different image. She was still alive--or dying, to be more exact--when he'd found her. He didn't help her. He had crouched down next to her, watching with studious curiosity as she breathed her last breath and the light faded from her eyes. He hadn't saved her from death, he had let her die. She had no doubts that with all his intelligence and abilities, he could have easily saved her before she passed on to the afterlife, but he didn't even attempt it.

 

That is, if she was to believe what had seen in that other world was true. But how could it not be? Everything else it had shown them had been true enough. Why would whatever force was responsible for the place seek to turn her against Melfice? She didn't want to believe it... but it must have been true. However, that was only the beginning of his betrayal. Had he been the one to do this to Cyrus? Why? What had Cyrus ever done to him, or anyone, for that matter? What was there to gain from that sick cruelty? Why would he do this to her?

 

But then, there was Vallois... she was not entirely alone; she had him now. Or did she? She remembered what she had seen in the Void, a vision of him as some experiment by the very robed man responsible for the rest of her suffering. She was certain that Vallois cared for her and meant her no harm. But what if his will was not entirely his own? What if his creator held some influence over him? What if his entire caring for her had been purposely engineered in the first place? Was it real, or was it just some part of this grotesque scheme? With all the betrayal she had suffered, she couldn't bring herself to believe anything more than the worst case scenario. It was probably the correct assumption, and even if it wasn't, at least she wouldn't be let down anymore; she could only be happily surprised, if such a thing as happiness was even still possible.

 

Everything she thought she knew was a lie. Her entire the life--or at least her second 'life,' the one she'd been granted after resurrection--was all unwittingly played to the tune of some cruel machination of a madman. All the people she'd loved and thought cared for her in return had been ripped away from her, or she discovered they'd never really cared for in the first place.

 

Why? Why hadn't Melfice just let her die and stay dead? Why hadn't the Harbingers just let the monster her lover had become maul her if he would have attempted it, or let her perish to the other horrors they'd face there in the Void? Why hadn't Vallois just left her to be swallowed up by the Void as it closed in around them? She recalled what death was like, or at least, she thought she did. It was empty, and black, and vacant, and silent. No thoughts, no memories, no feelings, like one ceased to exist all together. For a while, after her first brush with death, she had greatly feared it. Now, she yearned for it as a welcome respite.

 

With a sniffle, she rolled over to face the nightstand, reaching toward it pluck a small item from it. It was a wooden carving of a chocobo, little red gems pressed into its head to serve as glistening eyes. She curled her fingers around the carving, clutching it closely to her chest. She'd have to visit Melfice for treatment, if she wanted to continue to stave off death's nagging attempts to pull her back into its embrace and decay her body. She didn't want his help. She didn't care if she wasted away.