"Innocents, accused." They know this tune, its sharp and scathing crescendos, until a man or a woman or a witch climbs a rooftop, and —
He travels, shadow-like, slippery. They say, find a fellow toad, and there are waters close, silvered and thickly, nearly wet filth. They will make do to capture Wei Ying a companion, for all Lan Wangji finds himself restless, piqued. It is not the kiss — for once, jealousy does not claw him into ribbons and string, not with a frog as his contender.
Only the implication of sorcery drawn between two living things that are not soulmates and kin — how will it break or bind them? Will Wei Ying's qi chain itself to the toad? Will the toad gain sway over the known world's foremost necromancer? A difficult exercise of hypotheticals, reduced to ridicule by the species involved. But not unmerited.
Now and then, at sharp leap, he cups a worn hand over his chest to serve Wei Ying a perch, to ensconce him. Stumbling over gravel, feet catching between weeds, the creak of pier planks underfoot. A fine day for it, at least, even as humidity climbs and grazes their skin, thick and syrupy. The sun scorches, ruinous.
"You yet believe Miang-Si?"
Between them, Wei Ying's pulses of justice often ring too acute and true to allow him fair awareness of the world that surrounds him. But he tries, he does so try.
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"Innocents, accused." They know this tune, its sharp and scathing crescendos, until a man or a woman or a witch climbs a rooftop, and —
He travels, shadow-like, slippery. They say, find a fellow toad, and there are waters close, silvered and thickly, nearly wet filth. They will make do to capture Wei Ying a companion, for all Lan Wangji finds himself restless, piqued. It is not the kiss — for once, jealousy does not claw him into ribbons and string, not with a frog as his contender.
Only the implication of sorcery drawn between two living things that are not soulmates and kin — how will it break or bind them? Will Wei Ying's qi chain itself to the toad? Will the toad gain sway over the known world's foremost necromancer? A difficult exercise of hypotheticals, reduced to ridicule by the species involved. But not unmerited.
Now and then, at sharp leap, he cups a worn hand over his chest to serve Wei Ying a perch, to ensconce him. Stumbling over gravel, feet catching between weeds, the creak of pier planks underfoot. A fine day for it, at least, even as humidity climbs and grazes their skin, thick and syrupy. The sun scorches, ruinous.
"You yet believe Miang-Si?"
Between them, Wei Ying's pulses of justice often ring too acute and true to allow him fair awareness of the world that surrounds him. But he tries, he does so try.