( No creature or pestilence to toy with, then, for all the look of it sleeps tame, and Lan Wangji is tempted in the way of children that never grow up to become men, to tease a finger over the porous, eroded span of the darkness.
It must be wet, he thinks, but drafts his sword to purpose and hovers her past the cloying, coiled mould. Wet and slick and decaying, like a false skin best gone. He does not hesitates, tip of the covered blade chasing the sketch of the... blight without yet landing.
Bichen is a silvered, beautiful thing contained in a sword, mother to a soul. She cannot be risked on whims and fleeting fancies. )
What does it do? ( No, there is a hollowness to the woman's voice that speaks of desiccation, or opportunities and lives lost, of menace. ) How does it kill?
no subject
It must be wet, he thinks, but drafts his sword to purpose and hovers her past the cloying, coiled mould. Wet and slick and decaying, like a false skin best gone. He does not hesitates, tip of the covered blade chasing the sketch of the... blight without yet landing.
Bichen is a silvered, beautiful thing contained in a sword, mother to a soul. She cannot be risked on whims and fleeting fancies. )
What does it do? ( No, there is a hollowness to the woman's voice that speaks of desiccation, or opportunities and lives lost, of menace. ) How does it kill?