( A boy, a stalk, mere roots. Was Lan Wangji taller than he, beneath the long-cast shadows of his first war banner? Had he counted more summers, fresher grass blade crunched beneath his feet?
Children are wishes parents whisper in the dark. There is a muted, hollow, bone-breaking expectation that they should fill out the negative space between the dreams, ideals and ambitions of their elders: slim and strong and distorted. Suffocated.
Better to leave them between dappled sunlight, the dough of their pale flesh to stretch and grow, their bright eyes to dull, their lips to crack, their mouths to cleave around words — and they will suffer, Sizhui has suffered. And they will be free.
Before, I do not relish touch.
Now, the sickly sweet drip of his hand, wavered, dropped on the tips of Anduin's sleeve, where folds crease. A tap, more than a touch. Butterfly's wings landing. )
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( A boy, a stalk, mere roots. Was Lan Wangji taller than he, beneath the long-cast shadows of his first war banner? Had he counted more summers, fresher grass blade crunched beneath his feet?
Children are wishes parents whisper in the dark. There is a muted, hollow, bone-breaking expectation that they should fill out the negative space between the dreams, ideals and ambitions of their elders: slim and strong and distorted. Suffocated.
Better to leave them between dappled sunlight, the dough of their pale flesh to stretch and grow, their bright eyes to dull, their lips to crack, their mouths to cleave around words — and they will suffer, Sizhui has suffered. And they will be free.
Before, I do not relish touch.
Now, the sickly sweet drip of his hand, wavered, dropped on the tips of Anduin's sleeve, where folds crease. A tap, more than a touch. Butterfly's wings landing. )
You never learned to be.