He remembers her, oddity and exuberance and Kaneki's voice, crystalline-plain, Is all that which is haunted wrong?
Hope is no dear friend to survival. Wangji watches the bound bundle of cloth and string and the artistry of her pulled threads, her tatters. Watches her coalesce as a vision of — possibility, strength and sorcery absent, whatever curse she wears divorced of qi. Her agonies do not sing to him, lost in a wind that tempers with their silencing steps and the gravelly, placid murmurs of villagers in the scenery of dwarfed huts.
He says, with finality: )
You carry her. ( Spirit of the dead on the flesh of the living, and the doll afflicted with the boy's misplaced affections. You should not love her. But then, Kaneki already carries her as if she were a child. ) She has given you trouble? Spoiled luck? Ill health? Poor sleep?
no subject
He remembers her, oddity and exuberance and Kaneki's voice, crystalline-plain, Is all that which is haunted wrong?
Hope is no dear friend to survival. Wangji watches the bound bundle of cloth and string and the artistry of her pulled threads, her tatters. Watches her coalesce as a vision of — possibility, strength and sorcery absent, whatever curse she wears divorced of qi. Her agonies do not sing to him, lost in a wind that tempers with their silencing steps and the gravelly, placid murmurs of villagers in the scenery of dwarfed huts.
He says, with finality: )
You carry her. ( Spirit of the dead on the flesh of the living, and the doll afflicted with the boy's misplaced affections. You should not love her. But then, Kaneki already carries her as if she were a child. ) She has given you trouble? Spoiled luck? Ill health? Poor sleep?