( Of course it would be this, the beloved, tender shape of a child, irresistibly defenceless to Lan Wangji's eye. He aches to protect, to shelter, to heal — to wrestle her frailty in his arms, to flee with her.
Instead, he accepts the loathsome impossibility of his assignment. This spirit is wine-old, coy, teasing. It knows the shape of his hurt like ink stain, like burning. Knows he'll be cinders and smoke, residue under fingertips, by the time this exorcism is done.
He has asked shelter and kindness for one child. He cannot so shield another.
When his zither flinches into existence, startled alive in the wake of trembled power, his hand shivers. Teases, but misses the strings. Then, with the first taste of sorcery: )
Seed the wards. ( Better done quickly, if it must be done at all. )
no subject
( Of course it would be this, the beloved, tender shape of a child, irresistibly defenceless to Lan Wangji's eye. He aches to protect, to shelter, to heal — to wrestle her frailty in his arms, to flee with her.
Instead, he accepts the loathsome impossibility of his assignment. This spirit is wine-old, coy, teasing. It knows the shape of his hurt like ink stain, like burning. Knows he'll be cinders and smoke, residue under fingertips, by the time this exorcism is done.
He has asked shelter and kindness for one child. He cannot so shield another.
When his zither flinches into existence, startled alive in the wake of trembled power, his hand shivers. Teases, but misses the strings. Then, with the first taste of sorcery: )
Seed the wards. ( Better done quickly, if it must be done at all. )