( ...there. The warmth, depth of sandalwood. The crisp notes of river, of cold, of stream. His brother's scent. Home. Clawing at him, stripping his skins. He shutters his eyes and his forehead collides with the graveyard of Xichen's collarbone, knocks into his shoulder. It aches to breathe, to be. To stay so close. To persevere.
Only now, feasting like a man two years starved, does he remember the debilitating hurts of deprivation. He was not intended to persist without his brother close, without his family, his sect near. Why did he linger, after Wei Ying's demise? To raise a son, yes. But also. )
I shall not release your sleeve. ( Like a child, shadowing a guardian. Like Sizhui must have, raised by brother and Uncle, never so much the product of Wangji's early care. He clings, fingers tight like the pressed metal arcs of a music box. )
no subject
( ...there. The warmth, depth of sandalwood. The crisp notes of river, of cold, of stream. His brother's scent. Home. Clawing at him, stripping his skins. He shutters his eyes and his forehead collides with the graveyard of Xichen's collarbone, knocks into his shoulder. It aches to breathe, to be. To stay so close. To persevere.
Only now, feasting like a man two years starved, does he remember the debilitating hurts of deprivation. He was not intended to persist without his brother close, without his family, his sect near. Why did he linger, after Wei Ying's demise? To raise a son, yes. But also. )
I shall not release your sleeve. ( Like a child, shadowing a guardian. Like Sizhui must have, raised by brother and Uncle, never so much the product of Wangji's early care. He clings, fingers tight like the pressed metal arcs of a music box. )
Sizhui, Wei Ying, sect leader Jiang are present. And... daozhang Xiao Xingchen. Mistress Wen Qing.
( Their living, troubled. And their dead, troubling. )