( It is... a kindly thing, this moment, dissolving before Lan Wangji's own eyes like snow under fire-warmed touch. The spirit speaks, bidden without compulsion, and it is Lan Wangji who teeters on the cusp of making a nuisance of himself — he had pledged to search the room.
Instead, he watches and waits and stewards the exchange, grip tight but knowing on his sword's hilt, prepared for the draw that's never required. Fury does not poison the well of this spirit's plain confession.
He pulls away, at last sinking to a knee, then a feeble crouch, to hunt sight of tiles and scratches deep and lines of wood tattered. )
She lacks... the passion that so often sustains the dead. That binds them. ( A pause, then: ) If not that, places. Memories.
( Spirits drift, aimless and lost to the swarming confusion that so readily embroils. They require an — anchor. )
no subject
( It is... a kindly thing, this moment, dissolving before Lan Wangji's own eyes like snow under fire-warmed touch. The spirit speaks, bidden without compulsion, and it is Lan Wangji who teeters on the cusp of making a nuisance of himself — he had pledged to search the room.
Instead, he watches and waits and stewards the exchange, grip tight but knowing on his sword's hilt, prepared for the draw that's never required. Fury does not poison the well of this spirit's plain confession.
He pulls away, at last sinking to a knee, then a feeble crouch, to hunt sight of tiles and scratches deep and lines of wood tattered. )
She lacks... the passion that so often sustains the dead. That binds them. ( A pause, then: ) If not that, places. Memories.
( Spirits drift, aimless and lost to the swarming confusion that so readily embroils. They require an — anchor. )