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“Oh Moon Goddess,” They would say, “We beg of you, bestow us your benevolence, offer us your blessings as we offer ourselves to you, oh divine Maiden.”
It bore Kuutar, terribly so, to be treated with such distance. It bore her so, to watch her worshippers act so diligently around her.
She wished to frolic about in the meadow as the children did, nap in the forests amidst a herd of Rimehorn Deer and listen to the bickering of the finches.
But alas, she had to fulfill her duties under the watchful eyes of the Frostmoon Scions, their gazes heavy on her shoulders as they seeped her lifeforce one blessing at a time.
She loved her people — she tried to — they had given her everything she needed, took everything in return.
Still, guilt laid heavy on her heart, twisting her stomach and clouding her judgement. The finches had already begun to pick berries off her untouched plate of fruits, startled only by the sounds of approaching footsteps. Kuutar looked up to see the Moonchanter-
“Columbina?” A hand on her shoulder spooked Columbina out of her thoughts. Lauma looked down at her with concern on her face, mirroring her voice. “Are you okay? You’ve just been staring at your food.” Lauma tilted her head, furrowing her brows. Columbina, in turn, looked at her plate once more. The food was not bad — far from it, only the freshest fruits have been picked for her, but the memory of it all has soured her appetite.
Lauma sat down across from Columbina, picking a piece of Lakkaberry off Columbina’s plate and holding it up to the goddess’ mouth. “You really need to eat more, my love. Please?” Lauma’s pleading face only furthered the guilt in Columbina’s stomach, and she reluctantly took a bite. Her mind was screaming at her to stop eating, to vomit it back out to even the scales — to not owe Lauma anything. She was only wasting the Frostmoon Scions’ resources if she failed to provide blessings.
After all, who would want to willingly harbour a useless god?
Despite forcing herself to swallow the food she was given, and suppressing her question of what Lauma wished for in return, Columbina was determined to give something. She would, when Lauma was not there to stop her. She had to.
Later that night, after Lauma had gone to bed, Columbina took refuge at the shore. She sat on a rock, watching as the waves crashed against its sides, carrying the gentle breeze of ocean water and the cold air of the night. It was peaceful, the moon her only witness in this quiet moment.
Columbina heaved, fingers shoved deep in her mouth, feeling the contents of her stomach slowly rise up. After gagging a few times, she finally vomited, emptying the fruit she had eaten into the ocean to be carried away by the waves. It felt as if a weight was lifted off her shoulders, even if only slightly. She had returned to nature what she did not deserve, now all that was left was helping Lauma the coming day.
It was not often that Kuutar had time to herself — truly time to herself, without a Kuuhenki by her side to keep her company, or a small animal cuddling up by her legs. Kuutar seemed to always be surrounded everywhere she went.
“O’ great Moon Maiden, your kindness truly knows no bounds!” They would say, chalking up to Kuutar’s charms. But really, Kuutar had little charm — barely knew how to talk to people. The creatures of Nod-Krai admired Kuutar for her Kuuvahki, for the miracles she could grant.
Kuutar still remembered when she was a newborn, around a century ago. The Moonchanter of that time had taken it upon herself to care for the New Moon, to provide for her and re-teach all of their customs. Murmurs of doubts spread through the Scions when they learned that their goddess did not know of their traditions and rituals, but the Moonchanter was quick to quell the skepticism.
“The moon will guide Her, as it has guided us. We must trust, must believe, for Her grace will return to us if we give Her our patience.” The Moonchanter had preached, her voice soft as silk. Kuutar, still wet from the water of the White Spring inside the Court of the First Edict, was shivering next to the Moonchanter, confused by her words and the world around her. The Moon. The mention of it caused a deep feeling of yearning to blossom in her heart, but she could not yet place the reason for it.
Kuutar, as a “child”, grew up in a sheltered world. All she knew was the Frostmoon Scions, the forest and the many rituals that were held in her birthplace. Rather than curiosity, Kuutar was often faced with fear at new things. She had been told horrifying stories of worshippers who strayed from the path of the righteous due to their curiosity, and were then struck down by the gods for their sins.
Kuutar remembered the rituals well. She wished she did not.
The Moonchanter was in front of her, always. “An offering.” She had dubbed it. “Of my blood, to the Moon. To you, Kuutar, to show our devotion.”
Kuutar did not want their devotion, not like this.
They had asked of her blood, too. “To nurse the land,” They had begged, “for fruitful harvests and short winters. They were fascinated with Kuutar’s blood, so used to the Moonchanter’s
light-blue that the silver of Kuutar appeared much more pure. “Muddled with human blood,” The Moonchanter explained to Kuutar, “that’s why it is not the same as yours.”
Kuutar had watched the silvery liquid run down her body many times, but now Columbina watched it run down Lauma’s palm instead. A sickly child laid in front of them, just barely two years of age. Columbina knew of the nurturing properties of her blood, had offered to give hers. She would bleed for her people, for they have given her a family.
But Lauma had refused her, Columbina should not harm herself for the sake of others. But you should? She had thought then, watched in silent defeat when Lauma pulled out her ceremonial dagger to slice her palm — already littered with scars, undoubtedly not just from healing. Columbina made a mental note to perhaps steal the dagger, though she was sure Lauma would simply get a new one.
Would convincing work? Unlikely. Lauma was nothing if not stubborn in her resolve. Columbina could only watch the way Lauma’s blood pooled on the child’s clavicle — only a few drops, in the dip of their bones. Lauma worked her magic, the silvery blue blood soon beginning to pulse with kuuvahki. The child looked better almost instantly, the cool air filling his lungs deeply, the flush from the fever reducing.
But at what cost? Only a few drops of blood to Lauma, another scar on her Moonchanter for Columbina.
Benevolent Moonchanter, do they take from you, too? Do they make you bleed, too? Benevolent Moonchanter, Maiden of the Grove, you hold your antlered crown so high with pride, but how much more can you endure?
What will you do if they take too much? Will you submit, like me? Will you run, like me?
Oh, benevolent Moonchanter, in all your beauty and grace,
Please, never be like me.
Columbina closed her notebook with a heavy sigh, turned her head to the Kuuhenki that had been by her side the entire night. The moon hung high in the sky, a small comfort to her whirring mind. “How does one manage to think about so much and so little?” She whispered, more to herself than to her audience. The Kuuhenki tilted her head, Columbina shook hers in response.
“I’m just worried about Lauma.” Columbina laid her head down on the table. “But she seems to be doing fine. She doesn’t have to endure this for hundreds of years.”
The Kuuhenki expressed her worry, setting her emotions deep into Columbina’s kuuvahki. The goddess hummed in response. “I’m fine, I promise. Things will get better.”
Blessings were not enough, sometimes. Miracles were not needed, sometimes.
Sometimes, all a person wants is to be loved, to feel loved. Even if it was fake.
Sometimes, people were not satisfied with love from a simple person.
Kuutar found herself standing in front of a man in the Court, his tall frame towering over hers. Why, she was not sure. Normally her devotees were bowing deep below her, Moonchanter aside. They would beg at her feet, crawl to her with offerings in their hands, hoped she would have mercy on them.
But this one, he was brave. “We have given you so much!” He said loudly, not quite yelling but not quite a normal volume. “You give us every other blessing, but this one is too much? This tiny, little favour? I’m not even asking for your powers!” She gave them everything, and they were not yet satisfied.
Would they ever be?
“I deserve this!” He continued. Kuutar wished he would leave. “You already give us your blood, we deserve the rest of your body, too!” Kuutar had never felt smaller in her life. “It’s just one time, come on!” Kuutar wished she could go on the moon, far away from this man. “Do all my sacrifices and offerings mean nothing to you?” Guilt was beginning to creep up in Kuutar’s stomach.
She knew this man, he often accompanied the Moonchanter when it was time to tend to Kuutar. He was normally so kind to her, so respectful. He had always fetched her whatever she needed when the Moonchanter was busy. He… Did everything for her. By that logic, he did deserve to be intimate with her.
“Well?!” He snapped her out of her thoughts, and reluctantly, she gave in. He took her to another side room, watched as she took off her dress and underwear, and used her body in the way he deserved.
Kuutar never remembered what exactly happened, she lost herself in her thoughts after the pain of his intrusion faded into numbness, the shadow of his face above her the last thing she saw. When she came to herself again, she was bathing. The Kuuhenki were watching her in worry, sensing her unstable kuuvahki.
The water’s surface shimmered in the distant moonlight coming in from her window, and Kuutar could not help but look down at her body. It felt… Wrong. She felt dirty, despite bathing, as if bugs had made themselves home under her skin, eating her rotten form.
Rotten.
Kuutar was pure.
She was supposed to be. Pure, silver blood. Pure, innocent mind. Pure, unblemished body.
She felt anything but pure. Her innocent mind made her want to rip off the very skin of her unblemished body. Kuutar scratched at her arms, the phantom feeling of the crawling bugs invading her mind. The scratching did not stop the feeling, and her breath quickened with every further drag of her nails.
Still, she could not stop. She had to be pure again, no matter if she bled for it or not. What would her devotees think of her if she was not pure? Surely they would be disappointed, appalled even, kick her to the curb if she was no longer the perfect goddess for them. Their demands were justified, Kuutar told herself. They gave her everything, it was only fair that she gave everything back.
Kuutar curled in on herself, wheezing through the scratching as her blood tainted the water. The Kuuhenki were panicking, now, too, trying desperately to snap Kuutar out of her terror, but to no avail. Kuutar only snapped when water entered her airways after she curled too much, causing her to cough violently.
She held the rim of her bath, catching her breath. She felt the water in her body, she prayed to the moon that it would cleanse her from the inside. Kuutar watched the blood flow down her arm, watched it drip into the water. She bled, for that would make her pure again. She would give her people her body like the obedient and kind goddess she was, then bleed for them over and over to remain pure.
It was not long until the news of her prostitution made its rounds amongst the men in hushed whispers. They came to her regularly now, all with the same reasoning, and who was Kuutar if not their obedient little goddess?
She put on a show for them, lost herself in her performances — her pleasure did not matter, was never there anyway. Even if it were, she could not remember any of it. Focus not on the body, but on the mind. Blend out the men, watch the moon.
Bathe, bleed. Repeat. Ignore the body, the phantom bugs in her skin. Focus on the Kuuhenki, the way they comforted Kuutar and healed her wounds for her. She could not let the Moonchanter know; What would she think if she knew their beloved goddess was a whore?
Kuutar never wanted this, but the guilt that would eat her from the inside was something she wanted even less.
Bathe, bleed, repeat. Do not think, do not remember. Watch the water.
Columbina lifted her arm, watched the way the water rippled at her movement. Lauma was sitting outside the bath, massaging a mixture of herbal oils into Columbina’s scalp. The message felt nice, and Lauma was especially careful with the wings on Columbina’s head. And yet, staring at her arms, she could not help but think. Bathe, bleed, repeat.
She did not have to bleed anymore. No one here has hurt her yet. In fact, none of the men had paid any particular attention to her, and Lauma seemed unbothered by Columbina’s nudity. She had no reason to wish to bleed, nor to feel any bugs. Columbina was pure, as she ought to be.
Lauma’s hand slid down to Columbina’s arm, pulling the goddess out of her mind. Lauma swiped her thumb over Columbina’s skin, pale and unblemished. “Something wrong?” Lauma asked, peeking over Columbina’s shoulder. “You’ve been staring at your arm for quite a bit.”
Columbina shook her head. Everything was fine. She was taken care of and unhurt. The water felt nice and her skin bug-free, she simply had to get that nagging “yet” out of her mind. Lauma smiled down at her and continued with cleaning Columbina’s hair.
Focus on the body, ignore the mind.
Columbina let her shoulders relax, and focused on the feeling of Lauma’s hands in her hair. The bath was nice, and she no longer had to bleed for it to be.
Kuutar sat in the flowerbed, the Kuuhenki playing around her while her devotee’s conversed a distance away. She wished she could join the conversation, sip some of the tea they had prepared and simply exist with them. Kuutar wished she would stop getting bowed down to, looked up at, worshipped.
Kuutar wished she could have a family, mother’s arms to curl into at night, a father’s life advice to listen to, perhaps even a sibling to play with. Kuutar often wondered what it was like to have these things. Would a parental embrace be as warm as cuddling up to a Rimehorn Deer’s neckfluff? Surely not, there had to be another kind of warmth in it — a comfort that the wildlife could not provide.
To have someone of kin must be a luxury.
Someone of kin… Kuutar had heard that before her birth, there were other moon goddesses — The Three Moon Sisters, Aria of the Eternal Moon, Sonnet of the Iridescent Moon, and Canon of the Frost Moon.
Kuutar wondered what it would be like if they were still around. Would she have three older sisters to play with, or would her birth not been necessary at all? Either outcome would have been fine, she thought — death was a greater mercy than this hellish isolation. To have no thought at all was better than to wallow in her thoughts of misery.
Kuutar heard tiny footsteps behind her, hushed whispers of young voices — before, in the distance, a woman yelled out for the children to return, to not bother Kuutar.
“Lady Columbina!” A high voice rang out, and a young girl — no older than eight, surely, pulled on Columbina’s sleeve. “Play with us?” The girl asked, standing on her tiptoes to present her pleading eyes to Columbina. The boy behind her fiddles with his shirt, equally nervous to ask the literal moon goddess to play, looked up at her with expectant eyes as well. Columbina hesitated — playing with children she did not know was different than
playing with the Kuuhenki or the Traveler.
Columbina felt a light push on her back, and Lauma’s soft voice rang out behind her. “No need to be shy.” She said, “Go play with them.” Columbina looked up at Lauma, then back to the girl, and nodded. She could play with children — she had played with children before, during her visits to the House of the Hearth.
Playing with the children of the Frostmoon Scions was fun. They frolicked around in the flowerbed, playing pretend and petting the deer. The children asked her many questions, after they finished playing, as they sat outside the library with cups of tea and a plate of cut-up fruits.
Columbina felt like a big sister. Maybe Lauma was right; Maybe the Frostmoon Scions could be her family, too.
Kuutar had witnessed many great diseases, from virus to plague, mild to lethal, she had seen it all. Slow killers, brutal deaths and painful suffering. She had been prayed to, every time, begged to help her devotees and cure them of their sickness.
But Kuutar was no doctor, and there was only so much that kuuvahki could accomplish. She tried all she could, attempted to strengthen their immune systems with her divinity, and prayed that the ever-silent moon would perform a miracle for her. To no luck, people still died, and Kuutar had to bear the brunt of it. Blamed for death, the faith of the Frostmoon Scions had often cracked under the pressure, and Kuutar was never sure what to do about it.
“Fear not,” her Moonchanter had said, “Clearly, our benevolent goddess has a greater plan for the departed souls. Plans beyond our understanding. We must simply trust in Her, and not let our faith be shaken by uncertainty.” Her voice and words seemed to have calmed the survivors as they nodded in understanding, their gazes softening and heads bowed in prayer.
The Moonchanter lied. She blatantly lied. Kuutar had no plans for the deceased, nor did she have any control over their souls. The Moonchanter lied without batting an eye, knowingly — or maybe not? Maybe she did believe that Kuutar had a plan, because that was simply what she was told as a child. “Kuutar has a plan for all of us.” The elders would often say. “The departed are in a better place, in the embrace of the moon, our gentle goddess.”
Mortal hope was a strange thing to Kuutar, to deceive oneself so they could grasp at comfort during hard times.
Who knew even a Goddess could get sick?
Columbina sure did not, and neither seemed the Kuuhenki as they gathered around her in the Silvermoon Hall. Columbina began to understand why she was prayed to during sickness — it felt horrible, and the sickness was not even bad. “A common cold.” Lauma proclaimed. “Just get some rest and drink plenty of water or tea, you should feel better in a few days.”
A common cold? Columbina stared at her in disbelief. This was the worst she had ever felt! Her throat was itchy, every breath she took — through her mouth, since her nose was blocked — had a wheeze in it, and her entire body felt too hot and too cold at the same time. Mortals sure had it rough. Having to wait until her body cured itself was equally as terrifying in its own way.
Columbina felt awfully vulnerable, all weak and dependent on Lauma’s treatment. It only got worse when Lauma suggested transferring Columbina back to the Frostmoon Scions, into a spare room, so that Lauma could keep an eye on the fever. Columbina felt too weak to refuse, even as every nerve in her body screamed in protest at the threat of being taken advantage of.
But Lauma was nice, right? Columbina did not have to bleed anymore, and the children were so kind to her. Right?
There were only so many horrible scenarios Columbina could think of before sleep swept her consciousness away as soon as she laid down in the spare room, tucked into bed by Lauma with a bottle of water by her side and some horrid-smelling herbal medicine that she would have to take after waking up. A Kuuhenki agreed to keep watch over Columbina and alert Lauma if anything happened.
Dreams did not often come to Columbina, her slumber more so a pleasant silence in the midst of her boring life.
Columbina had been struggling with nightmares recently, replays of Sandrone’s death, flashbacks of Rosalyne’s funeral, scenarios of Arlecchino dying.
Sometimes, even memories of her life before the Fatui had appeared to her, cruel reminders of haunting faces, ghost touches and all the guilt eating her alive.
She did not want to hate sleeping, her only refuge during exhaustion.
“Why are you taking care of me?” Kuutar asked, her Moonchanter kneeled across from her. Columbina watched, a bystander in her own life, as the Moonchanter put a bandage around Kuutar’s leg.
“I want you to be well.” The Moonchanter answered, taping the bandage in place.
“Why?” Kuutar questioned again, tilting her head. Columbina frowned. She remembered this part more than she wished to.
“Because I care about you.” The Moonchanter’s smile was sickeningly sweet, even through the deceit.
“They want to use you.” Columbina whispered, frowning. She wished she could have warned her past self while she had the chance. Alas, she is left with regret.
Kuutar turned her head to Columbina, silently contemplating. They stared at each other for a while, until Kuutar finally spoke. “I know.” Kuutar looked at the ground with a sigh. “It’s still nice to hear it.”
“Even if it’s a hopeless delusion?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what makes mortals pray to us gods. We’re equally as helpless.”
Kuutar nodded at Columbina’s words, and Columbina approached the poor girl sitting on the ground. The illusion of the Moonchanter vanished as Columbina helped Kuutar up.
It was strange to stare at herself, even if it was just a fragment of her subconscious. “You look better. Healthy.” Kuutar remarked, scanning Columbina’s body, the flow of kuuvahki within it.
“I’m not. I’m sick.” Columbina retorted with a shrug. They stared at each other again in awkward silence. Her subconscious was not easily impressed, it seemed.
“Do you not see how far you’ve come?” Kuutar asked, tilting her head. Columbina shrugged. “Let me show you.”
Columbina found herself back at the dinner table, sitting at one end with the Moonchanter at the other. Rows and rows of Frostmoon Scions were sitting quietly as they ate, ignoring her presence entirely. They were so close, yet she felt so alone in her seat. Columbina looked down on her plate.
Horrid. Bugs were crawling all over her food, over the table, onto her fork and up her arm. She watched in horror the way they burrowed into her skin, leaving trails of blood flowing down her arms from where they had made their holes. She was in agony, and no one was even attempting to help her — the Moonchanter simply watched, quietly, expressionless.
Columbina awoke with a shock, breath quick and wheezing. Her lungs felt as though they had collapsed, her entire body on fire. She felt bugs under her skin where there were none, forehead pressed into her pillow as she began scratching her arms. She had to get the bugs out, had to get rid of this awful feeling, these awful thoughts. She had to get air into her lungs, but all that came out was struggling wheezes between fits of coughing. Her throat still hurt, terribly so, as much as the rest of her body.
Living was a struggle that Columbina did not wish to endure.
The Kuuhenki stirred in shock before she quickly left, urging Lauma to return to Columbina.
“Columbina?” Lauma called out, cautiously entering the room and approaching the bed. Lauma laid a hand on Columbina’s shoulder, causing her to jerk in surprise. “Moonlight, it’s okay. It’s just me.” Lauma sat down on the bed, pulling Columbina onto her lap and her head on Lauma’s chest. “Breathe, Moonlight. You’re safe.” Lauma took deep breaths herself, running a hand through Columbina’s hair.
Columbina wanted to believe her, she really did. She wanted to struggle, push herself away from Lauma. The overwhelming urge to flee overtook Columbina, but the exhaustion of her fever made it frustratingly difficult to obey. Before she knew it, tears started flowing down her cheeks and her wheezing was interrupted by sobs. She sunk herself further into Lauma’s chest, sobbing her little lungs out.
“It’s okay, let it all out. I’m here, love.” Lauma cooed, pressing a kiss to the top of Columbina’s head. “I don’t wanna be afraid anymore.” Columbina whispered between her sobs, clinging harder to Lauma, fistfuls of fabric clenched between her fingers, her entire body shaking. “I know, my love.” Lauma whispered back, running a soothing hand up and down Columbina’s back. The goddess felt so small, so fragile in Lauma’s embrace.
It was horrifying how utterly helpless someone as powerful as the Trilune Goddess could feel. She was able to smite any enemy, eradicate entire nations if she so wanted, but her feelings of all things made her the most afraid. Defeated, Columbina wiped her arm over her face, catching her breath despite the burn in her throat and reached for her bottle of water.
The coolness of the water felt heavenly in her burning body, cleansing to her throat. Lauma peppered kisses to the back of Columbina’s head, slowly calming her overloaded nervous system. “I keep having flashbacks….” Columbina started, quietly and her head hung low, fiddling with the bottle. Lauma waited patiently for her to continue. Columbina sniffled. “Of the old Frostmoon Scions. They were mean.” Lauma nodded in sympathy.
“They kept hurting me.” Columbina confessed before she fell silent again, trying to find the right words. Should she really tell Lauma this? Maybe not, sharing weaknesses made her more vulnerable to exploitation, or so Arlecchino had taught her. But Lauma was nice, pure of heart. She had proven that plenty of times, over and over. “They made me want to hurt myself.” She continued her confession, felt Lauma hug her tighter.
Columbina yawned. “I don’t want to hurt myself. I don’t want to be afraid of the present because of my past. I want to love and be loved.” She sniffled again, trying to get air into her body. “And I want to nap.”
Lauma chuckled. “You should nap. You’re still sick, after all.” Lauma nudged Columbina back under the covers, tucking her in. “I want you to be loved, too, Moonlight. I want you to be happy, and I promise I’ll help you get through this, one step at a time. I’ll stay with you.” Lauma held Columbina’s hand in hers, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles.
“Can you stay with me until I’m asleep?” Columbina requested, squeezing Lauma’s hand.
“Of course, my love. Goodnight.”
“Night night, Lauma.”
She would heal, one day at a time, and fall into a sweet dream each night.