Chapter Text
Feofan had gotten used to the grueling nature of his work. After 4 centuries of this, he had taught himself how to maintain a diplomatic smile, never letting it drop until late into the night, only once he was in the comfort of his own space.
The exhaustion seeped into his violet eyes as he removed his glasses and cleaned them with a satin cloth. He folded the arms, setting the pair down on his mahogany bedside table. The silver chain on the right side of them had come undone today, causing quite a hassle for Feofan.
He opened the carved drawer, searching for his wine-colored case to place his glasses until he found a way to repair them when his hand stopped.
A small stack of yellowed papers peeked out from underneath an assortment of other expensive commodities, decorated with a font Feofan had not seen in quite some time.
Pantalone carefully retrieved the contract, filtering through until he found the final page. There, Zandik’s signature lay on the bottom of the page in beautiful cursive letters, an artifact Pantalone had to preserve. He ran the pad of his finger over Zandik’s name when a cold, wet droplet landed on the back of his hand.
Was he… crying?
Feofan quickly placed the papers back on this table. He couldn’t bear to let his traitorous tears stain the paper and ruin the contract, damaging the last piece of Zandik he had left.
Oh, Zandik. What have you done to me?
A humorless laugh escaped from Feofan’s wet lips as he rose from his silken bedsheets, the soft clink of his metal boots on the marble floor reverberating off of the walls in his bed chamber. Reaching the balcony, he lifted his crystal ashtray, already littered with cinders, and rested it on the railing. His lighter, golden and engraved with the Fatui insignia, was a gift from the late Knave, Crucabena, before she passed.
The flame illuminated the small area where he stood, the flickering deepening the wrinkles and eye bags that had been etched into his face after many centuries in Snezhnaya. Pantalone let the smoke, albeit ineffective after years of use, enter his mind.
“Another cigarette, Feofan? How many is that today?” Zandik’s voice rang in his mind, merely an illusion born from Feofan’s grief. “Your lungs are the most expensive to replace, you know.”
Feofan closed his eyes, letting himself indulge in this fantasy for a little while longer. “Still nagging me after your death? Money was never your concern anyways, as it was I who funded your experiments.”
“Hm, I suppose you’re right, Feofan, but who will care for your health now that I’m gone?” He imagined Zandik walking closer, accompanying him as they spoke. “The Tsaritsa can’t have another one of her Harbingers die so soon.”
Feofan exhaled another puff of smoke. “You left too soon, Zandik.”
“Perhaps I did, but my death truly never mattered anyways. I was able to conduct my grand experiment and I died a successful man.”
“Yet, you did not leave this world satisfied.”
“My curiosity is insatiable. I would have never been satisfied no matter how many experiments I completed. However… my death was not the worst outcome. That at least I can be content with.”
“Are you leaving me again?”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to. Take good care of yourself, Feofan. Although I will miss…our conversations, I hope not to see you down here with me anytime soon.” And with that, Zandik vanished.
“I will miss you, Zandik,” Feofan whispered, hoping fervently that this time, Zandik would hear those words and echo the sentiment.
He opened his eyes and turned his head towards the stars once more as he lit another cigarette, watching as the smoke disappeared into the dark abyss above.
Feofan swore he saw a new star up in the sky, twinkling back at him with one final goodbye.