Our works in stone, in paint, in print, are spared, some of them, for a few decades or a millennium or two, but everything must finally fall in war, or wear away into the ultimate and universal ash - the triumphs, the frauds, the treasures and the fakes. A fact of life: we're going to die.
"Be of good heart," cry the dead artists out of the living past. "Our songs will all be silenced, but what of it? Go on singing." Maybe a man's name doesn't matter all that much.
-a wise old charlatan
The fake known as Lucina cen Adorno
Born as the daughter of an influential politician, Lucina had an easy start in life. Her father, Rufus fae Adorno was a career man through and through. He always shifted his politics to appeal which saw him quickly rise through the ranks. His only daughter was his favorite side project, as he pressured her into pursuing music and the arts from an early age. Something she had no real passion for until she enrolled in the academy. Studying the greats, mainly pursuing the path of a stage actress while picking up painting on the side, Lucina was often hailed as a protege. Being able to appeal to your peers is different from genuine expression.
Lucina always felt trapped. She was a meek, quiet person who often struggled to stick out. It was only when she painted what people liked to see, when she played roles they enjoyed and sang songs that conjured emotions, that she was seen. The person behind all of that? Not so much.
Living through the civil war, the fall of the Garlean Empire, and the Final Days have left her scatterbrained and confused. She used to have a place in the world, her father's little puppet that would perform at parties or paint delegates and guests. Now all of that is gone and she can't seem to find a purpose. The only thing left to her is the arts, but when confronted with her inability to express herself and be genuine, her escape often leaves her frustrated and heartbroken.
