[ He is listless, dry-mouthed, glance adrift as Xie Lian speaks, the cadence of his voice perpetually — calm, husked in the way of creatures for whom time is afforded a different, less pedestrian passage.
Haste is a mortal concept, defined by the constraints of a finite lifespan. Xie Lian has no business pretending the acrid urgency of they who live each day as Lan Wangji has the better of five now, closing. As Wei Ying will live, for the rest of his fraction of eternity.
His hands tighten over ground, pulverising globes of condensed dirt. He comes alive, awake. ]
The symbol. Speak its shape.
[ Between two, they might yet scavenge the scraps and tatters of memory required to weave together meaning. ]
no subject
Haste is a mortal concept, defined by the constraints of a finite lifespan. Xie Lian has no business pretending the acrid urgency of they who live each day as Lan Wangji has the better of five now, closing. As Wei Ying will live, for the rest of his fraction of eternity.
His hands tighten over ground, pulverising globes of condensed dirt. He comes alive, awake. ]
The symbol. Speak its shape.
[ Between two, they might yet scavenge the scraps and tatters of memory required to weave together meaning. ]