( Tough Wangji, tight-lipped Wangji, he who excels at endurance and disappoints at every other turn. Familiar criticism. Candid. Whip tears on his back, long bleeding. He grits his teeth against the sting, keeps walking, climbing, cutting his path. Up. Onwards. Constantly in motion. )
The roof. ( And they accuse him of frail or threadbare wit, of aridity. Ha. Keep walking, keep walking, keep crawling on. No matter.
He cannot say where he seeks to deliver himself, what waits at the end. Light, blinding. The beginning and end of dreams. Fear and discomfort. They start to itch his hands like a rash, to dampen his bones.
He feels the room like distant summons, the crass but careful construction of its appeal. When he pushes the door open with the back of his hand, he nearly topples into the grandiose, mould-saddled quiet of the greenhouse. He says nothing at all. Not yet. )
Here. ( His mouth is slack, still. ) Isn't it? Here.
no subject
( Tough Wangji, tight-lipped Wangji, he who excels at endurance and disappoints at every other turn. Familiar criticism. Candid. Whip tears on his back, long bleeding. He grits his teeth against the sting, keeps walking, climbing, cutting his path. Up. Onwards. Constantly in motion. )
The roof. ( And they accuse him of frail or threadbare wit, of aridity. Ha. Keep walking, keep walking, keep crawling on. No matter.
He cannot say where he seeks to deliver himself, what waits at the end. Light, blinding. The beginning and end of dreams. Fear and discomfort. They start to itch his hands like a rash, to dampen his bones.
He feels the room like distant summons, the crass but careful construction of its appeal. When he pushes the door open with the back of his hand, he nearly topples into the grandiose, mould-saddled quiet of the greenhouse. He says nothing at all. Not yet. )
Here. ( His mouth is slack, still. ) Isn't it? Here.