[ Xie Lian's negligence, to leave letters unsigned. What mind, what fool will yet entrust his fate to them? Anonymity recommends nothing, unto no one.
At the last moment, red wells sour and bright on Lan Wangji's fingertips, and he lets the recurring insolence of its sting flare thrive. A petty inconvenience. He will remember, when he gifts Bichen the last lick, before his fingers turn away.
For now, he signs his own name to Xie Lian's, a contrast of calligraphy but a persuasive addition. In Cloud Recesses, the groaning magnificence of their ancestral library would be besmirched by the negligent scattering of an heir's good name. What has reputation purchased Hanguang-Jun?
Only warmth behind his ribs where his scars knotted fresh tissue in wake of flaying, looks askance. Mercy, to cast the breaths of agony. A pretty, artless trick, to bind the ritual characters of flight and transport, to imbue his sorcery to parchment, until the noisy void of inanimate things floods with his will. The missives dash, unrolled and painfully indiscreet, but for the distraction of dimmed light and glaring sound beside them.
To Vannozza's tables. To Wei Ying, Sizhui. To whoever may yet capture them. ]
In the way of Wei Ying.
[ A cautious sigh, as if he might be exasperated with the concession. He will not hear the end of this and of yielding to the decadence of consuming the white sweets of his table earlier, he knows. ]
no subject
At the last moment, red wells sour and bright on Lan Wangji's fingertips, and he lets the recurring insolence of its sting flare thrive. A petty inconvenience. He will remember, when he gifts Bichen the last lick, before his fingers turn away.
For now, he signs his own name to Xie Lian's, a contrast of calligraphy but a persuasive addition. In Cloud Recesses, the groaning magnificence of their ancestral library would be besmirched by the negligent scattering of an heir's good name. What has reputation purchased Hanguang-Jun?
Only warmth behind his ribs where his scars knotted fresh tissue in wake of flaying, looks askance. Mercy, to cast the breaths of agony. A pretty, artless trick, to bind the ritual characters of flight and transport, to imbue his sorcery to parchment, until the noisy void of inanimate things floods with his will. The missives dash, unrolled and painfully indiscreet, but for the distraction of dimmed light and glaring sound beside them.
To Vannozza's tables. To Wei Ying, Sizhui. To whoever may yet capture them. ]
In the way of Wei Ying.
[ A cautious sigh, as if he might be exasperated with the concession. He will not hear the end of this and of yielding to the decadence of consuming the white sweets of his table earlier, he knows. ]