( ...and what was it that the child Eleven performed, and the two women who escorted him, in the tower? What did Lan Wangji partake of, Alina a pale, withered shadow beside him? Empty, faint-handed euthanasia.
His grip upon Bichen stays fire-forged, sturdy. When he inclines her, tip rounding in a gentle pivot, the blade sweeps aside the curling, crumbling locks of the fox, who sheds her human hair. He watches her, snake losing her skins, intemperate and distracted by her quiet, timid licks of Winnie's retreating fingers. As if she were the dogs she feared, as if she could play tame.
The blade dips down to tease long lines, then ride up the bride's chin. She seems, finally, to see him — the lazy, golden beam of her eyes, snagged on the friendless geometries of his face. )
What do you know of love? ( To the bride, perhaps. Or the girl. Or their communal, woeful ignorance. )
no subject
His grip upon Bichen stays fire-forged, sturdy. When he inclines her, tip rounding in a gentle pivot, the blade sweeps aside the curling, crumbling locks of the fox, who sheds her human hair. He watches her, snake losing her skins, intemperate and distracted by her quiet, timid licks of Winnie's retreating fingers. As if she were the dogs she feared, as if she could play tame.
The blade dips down to tease long lines, then ride up the bride's chin. She seems, finally, to see him — the lazy, golden beam of her eyes, snagged on the friendless geometries of his face. )
What do you know of love? ( To the bride, perhaps. Or the girl. Or their communal, woeful ignorance. )