[ No elder, yet a creature of wisdom, drenched in knowledge that by right should be enshrouded. It speaks Lan Wangji's own name, and the shudder that consumes him, rocks his shoulders and his arms, as he drifts down to gather more waters in cupped hands, is a tepidly foregone conclusion.
A celestial creature is entitled to him, to his being, his identity. In times long gone and raked by the hands of the heavens, dragons descended the skies to walk the world in wisdom, and theirs was the glory, the offering, the war. They are owed the paltry offering of Wangji's courtesy name, read on his face, in his heart, in the minds of passers-by.
If Lan Wangji must be dissected, flesh from flaw, then let it be by a creature so beautiful in its animal cruelty. ]
Apologies. [ Stiffened, sour. How do you know my name? Once more, no matter. Let the elder have its secrets. ] The wound. May I attend?
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A celestial creature is entitled to him, to his being, his identity. In times long gone and raked by the hands of the heavens, dragons descended the skies to walk the world in wisdom, and theirs was the glory, the offering, the war. They are owed the paltry offering of Wangji's courtesy name, read on his face, in his heart, in the minds of passers-by.
If Lan Wangji must be dissected, flesh from flaw, then let it be by a creature so beautiful in its animal cruelty. ]
Apologies. [ Stiffened, sour. How do you know my name? Once more, no matter. Let the elder have its secrets. ] The wound. May I attend?