( A part of him, battered by violation, flinches. Remembers, all too late, that he gave the permission — that Bichen hisses silvered and cold and allow foreign touch at his bidding. That he cannot withdraw what he offered freely, and so he divorces himself from the moment, pulled back enough to pass his hand over air thickened by sorcery and pull as he will, moments later, at string.
The shape of his guqin materialises, tender and coiling, pale but swift to coalesce. A learned, grateful, cunning instrument, for all it will not play today to beauty.
He waits until the guqin is balanced, until he sweeps a hand over her spine and ribs and feels her readied, brimming to sing with the notes tickled by his hand. )
We speak. ( The first notes, traditional: Who are you? The bride convulses, trashes, squirms — trembles her answer. Lan Wangji's back a straight rod and his mouth pursed, the fall of his fingers on the play, even. ) ...she wishes you to know her dissatisfaction at your treatment.
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The shape of his guqin materialises, tender and coiling, pale but swift to coalesce. A learned, grateful, cunning instrument, for all it will not play today to beauty.
He waits until the guqin is balanced, until he sweeps a hand over her spine and ribs and feels her readied, brimming to sing with the notes tickled by his hand. )
We speak. ( The first notes, traditional: Who are you? The bride convulses, trashes, squirms — trembles her answer. Lan Wangji's back a straight rod and his mouth pursed, the fall of his fingers on the play, even. ) ...she wishes you to know her dissatisfaction at your treatment.
( In case... Beitang Moran were wondering. )