When a gulf stands between the person you are and the person others see you as, you can feel every inch, every laugh, every assumption crawling up your spine.
Eupha would know.
Eupha, all things considered, seemed to be a straightforward girl.
Mustari, on their mainland, grew up with a regional accent that stood out even among the many different Mustari you’d find sprinkled about Euchronia. As more of them integrated into the kingdom and spread their knowledge and teachings after Will’s coronation, new assumptions about them emerged after such a long period of isolation.
Honest. Simple. Little to hide. Beyond their “paganism”, many assumed the Eht Ria Mustari to be clueless, with their different ways of speaking and their curious nature towards everything new they saw.
Eupha wanted to believe those who saw her as simple fell to stereotypes too easily, and needed nothing more than correction. As the chief magistrate, she saw herself as the best fit to change these ideas before they took root.
Yet, as Saint’s Day came around, and problem after problem arose, Eupha found herself weary.
Though Sanctisim no longer stood as the state religion, Will wanted to offer support to all beliefs across the kingdom—along with building new places of worship beyond symbols of Sanctisim, he wanted to demonstrate that everyone’s faith had a place by offering funding for a small festival in Altabury Heights. Nothing as all consuming as it was before—a show at the opera house, food for all who attend (believer or otherwise), and a chance to share their beliefs and teachings with no pressure to join in. Merely to listen, as it should have been.
Eupha encouraged him, even invited Ovi and her mother to come visit the city during the holiday. But she never expected him to place her in charge of the festivities.
“I know, it’s sudden,” he began, clustered behind his desk as though it were a fortress. “I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Eupha said, frown creased across her face. In truth, she would’ve accepted the task even if he offered it the day before, no, the hour before. If Will asked it, she’d enact it—so she said many times before, hand offered.
A handshake that meant so much to her, yet she’d rather keel over than explain its weight.
“…Still,” he added, a weak note, before he continued, “thank you for taking over. I really wanted to help with the festival myself, but with the human attack nearby, I’m needed at the palace for the next few days. I’ll help teleport you to Altabury, though. I promise.”
He pushed on a smile. “I wouldn’t make you go through the cold by yourself.”
He wouldn’t.
Of course he wouldn't, Eupha thought, chest squeezed with regrets.
“It sure was nice of His Majesty to send us such a sweet, simple girl to help out.”
“She may be a pagan, but if we lay on the praise thick, we might get even more funding. The more money you have, the more influence comes your way—that’s how the world works.”
She’d visited the opera house to help with some of the decorations, on Saint’s Day Eve. When whispers met her ears from the crack of a dressing room door, she couldn’t help herself—she stopped. She listened. She learned.
Eupah wanted to believe the people who saw her as simple were…misled. She wanted to believe, she wanted the truth, she wanted to work with them and prove their kingdom was one that stood with all kinds of people, all of which accepted each other’s differences.
But if she heard someone call her simple one more time, she was going to scream.
She hadn’t even felt such an urge to lash out when Louis, way back when so casually brought up the destruction of her home as something necessary! Perhaps it had to do with being by her lonesome—if she had Basilio by her side, with his imposing stature and sharp honesty, or Junah, with her passionate sense of justice and willingness to stand up for others, she would have fared better.
To have anyone else.
Just, anyone to help handle this.
Her knees gave up on her. She sat on the floor and curled her legs close, a shield for her optimism that she clung to her chest—her raft, her lifeline ever since she left her home.
Did she truly sound like that?
Surely not.
But surely…
She shook her head, forced herself onto her feet, and ran off. She forgot to quiet her footsteps for the sake of the Sanctists who lurked in secret, but then again, why did she need to hide herself? Why didn’t they feel ashamed—
No.
She shouldn’t feel ashamed.
She couldn’t let herself feel ashamed. She couldn’t lash out, she couldn’t get angry, she had to believe in the best even when they saw the worst.
“I didn’t hear anything,” she whispered to herself, and so she didn’t.
When Eupha’s short legs and curious gaze only took her so far, she let her imagination do the rest.
Though her upbringing and responsibility left little in the way of concrete dreams outside of an inevitable end, a needed sacrifice, what she wanted to (most certainly, absolutely) do, that didn’t stop her from having the occasional stray dream. Not a wish.
Just a dream. Something that’d always pass once she woke up.
Sometimes, those dreams held worlds of dragons, gods, fantastical concepts far beyond her average days—all together in their own, faraway paradise. Maybe if she got lost in the waves, she’d be carried off to their secret grove to uncover more secrets lost to history.
Not that her brother would let himself lose her. She knew better, didn’t she?
Of course. Of course. So she didn’t leave. So she didn’t live.
Not that the dreams ceased.
Another day, she wondered about floating islands. Yes, all islands rested on the water, but they didn’t float, did they? They didn’t travel. They didn’t go to new lands. But maybe, just maybe, an island out there did . One which stretched and shivered and swam across the skies in search of never-before-seen expanses.
If only she knew back then.
If Eupha visited, what would she do? Climb aboard? Gaze to the horizon, hope for more? Meet its inhabitants, wayward souls abound, and capture their memories within hers?
No.
She’d stay.
She’d wait.
She’d be kind.
She’d fade.
Just.
As always.
Saint’s day came as dreaded as the last.
Eupha took one breath, two, and found the brutal winter air choked her in a way her home would’ve never. She needed warmth, the tang of the ocean, the call of the sea life lured to shore as they rejoiced in the bounties nature had to offer.
Anything but this, as cruel as she felt with such a thought.
She’d tried to keep things organized, on her honor as a judge, she swore that. Fairness, equality...trust, all the things denied to her once she felt determined to give out freely, no matter what.
Nevertheless, she stood outside the opera house.
Outside the opera house. Her heart thudded and skipped. Outside of everything.
Outside of…
“Eupha?”
Though Eupha tried to smile, recognizing that voice’s sweet notes the moment they passed her by, her heart refused the call—as evident by the distress on Junah’s face as she lowered her waving arm and instead ran over as fast as she could to wrap Eupha in a hug.
“I’m giving Will a real smack for this later,” she grumbled into Eupha’s shoulder. Eupha reeled back, face ablush.
“No—you don’t have to,” she stuttered, shook her head, and continued, “actually, I’d prefer if you didn’t! Please, I...no one should carry the burden for this other than myself. I agreed—I thought that things have changed, that we could support one another in all our differences, and yes—”
Eupha wiped her face, warm pinpricks tapping across her cheeks, “—things have changed, and they’ll keep—they’ll always get better. I want to believe so.”
And yet.
She’d wait.
As always…
“And that’s nice of you,” Junah said, soft smile armed to disengage any more of Eupha’s tears. “You always want to see the best in people.”
Junah took her hands. The light of the opera house caught onto and reflected her long, golden hair, providing a light all its own. “But...not to say that sometimes there’s no best to see, but there’s still a lot of close-minded folk who see your kindness and see it as a threat, or something to take advantage of. And for that, I wish I could smack ‘em.”
She mimed a wallop, a gesture which elicited, finally, a giggle from Eupha. “I’m sure you’ve done a great job, but let me help out tonight. Even the best arbitrator needs a second opinion every now and then.”
When Junah made requests, though she spun them into suggestions, they never came about as such. An ask became a need—Junah would appear by Eupha’s side, whether she liked it or not.
Though with Eupha, she saw needs in all her friends requests, never shying from helping even the most resistant souls. Eupha seemed to be a simple girl—seemed to be, for those who refused to take the time to understand her.
But where the pair stood, Eupha imagined the ground cracking. A breakage, a roar, and the tiny patch of land turned into their only safety as it flew into the night sky. They’d float beyond the clouds, beyond the layers of deep blues into pure black. They’d touch the stars, they’d capture new sights buried in the sky.
Eupha no longer needed to dream to capture that sensation.
With the reminder she’d always be more than people saw her as, she might as well have charted the stars already.
“If you insist,” Eupha said, took Junah’s hand in hers, and tugged her forwards, “then why wait? I have a dear friend expecting me—you two would get along perfectly.”
That, Eupha knew.