( Lan Zhan, bedecked as is his clan's due, and for a moment Wei Wuxian only blinks in the aftermath, the dust and splinters embracing him, and then: this. Duty, where anything else confuses, where he's not sure what to make of violence except to rise to it the way he always does, following after Lan Zhan, speaking by his ear, staring down at the remains of a woman who had died horribly, and the horrible truth, of how many die like this, senseless, helpless, lingering.
Shedding particles of the walls, of rot and dry and wood barely fit for kindling: )
Astergere?
( To retreat, but also, to free her of what fear lingers, of what poor death mars. For her to go, if she can, if the destroyed, devouring spirit he still cannot think of with a shape, with a form, aided by Lan Zhan's blade and his own violent thirsts, ah, if that remnant remains gone. Banished, like a child's fears in the light of a room's night. )
no subject
Shedding particles of the walls, of rot and dry and wood barely fit for kindling: )
Astergere?
( To retreat, but also, to free her of what fear lingers, of what poor death mars. For her to go, if she can, if the destroyed, devouring spirit he still cannot think of with a shape, with a form, aided by Lan Zhan's blade and his own violent thirsts, ah, if that remnant remains gone. Banished, like a child's fears in the light of a room's night. )