[ He watches. It is in the way of things, the learning of them, to behold power vast and electric and thrumming in faint resonance with your own, to know it simmers close, it waits — it persists, absent your intervention.
To know himself only a murderer of opportunities, to have never studied sorcery past the sect's own, where Wei Ying dallied, touched and teased and let power lick at his joints, kiss his knuckles. A dark guqin — and more than the dyes of the aesthetic lives in him the certainty that this is an instrument crafted of differences, filling the negative space between his understanding and his intuition. Wangji resembles this — creature in form. And yet the hunger the shift of breeze and the heft of displaced strength this new beast unleashes spells the difference.
...what are you? Musical spells, perhaps past Lan Wangji's ken. In a night of follies, the shivers that cascades over him, assaults his back and his spine is not born, for once heartbeat, from the weaknesses of his body. Strange, to fear that which is not the prominent threat.
Chu Wanning makes his ask. Woken from stupour, Lan Wangji's hand stills, stays. Taut, fingers barely bite air, never drum it. ]
To what end?
[ Enough of games, his voice coarse, gaze dispersed. They have played and lost enough tonight already. ]
no subject
To know himself only a murderer of opportunities, to have never studied sorcery past the sect's own, where Wei Ying dallied, touched and teased and let power lick at his joints, kiss his knuckles. A dark guqin — and more than the dyes of the aesthetic lives in him the certainty that this is an instrument crafted of differences, filling the negative space between his understanding and his intuition. Wangji resembles this — creature in form. And yet the hunger the shift of breeze and the heft of displaced strength this new beast unleashes spells the difference.
...what are you? Musical spells, perhaps past Lan Wangji's ken. In a night of follies, the shivers that cascades over him, assaults his back and his spine is not born, for once heartbeat, from the weaknesses of his body. Strange, to fear that which is not the prominent threat.
Chu Wanning makes his ask. Woken from stupour, Lan Wangji's hand stills, stays. Taut, fingers barely bite air, never drum it. ]
To what end?
[ Enough of games, his voice coarse, gaze dispersed. They have played and lost enough tonight already. ]