downswing: (sea salt)
ʟᴀɴ ᴡᴀɴɢᴊɪ | 蓝忘机 ([personal profile] downswing) wrote 2021-11-18 10:36 pm (UTC)

[ Wen Qing and the witch Emilia, completing their inspections. The child Eleven, sourcing her meals. In matters of body, Lily's flesh is attended, but there is a second sickness deep-rooted beneath skin, and the crepuscular line of Lan Wangji's gaze briefly coaxes to softness.

He does not hesitate — two fingers, rigid and aligned, a nail half sharded blunt in battle. They reach to hover the line of Lily's arm, flow of his qi a glistened, gelid solidity traversing skin. Strengthen. A gift of frail resource, more artifice and token than ample supply well extended.

In the blustering crowds of the palace corridors, laughter ricocheting off thin glass and crumbled stone, the silence of his shallow healing is the one gift yet permitted.

The white of his collar sits crisp and biting against each laboured breath. He heaves; it tumbles down. His hand withdraws. ]


It will never leave you.

[ Memory haunts, guilt transcends. Shape mends, but substance erodes. They gained a girl, but gave her innocence. ]

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