[ 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. ]
[ Her eyes fell to his hand as she watched the gentle glow from the energy passing from his fingers to her arm, mystified but touched.
Looking on in silent fascination she relaxed her arm, meeting his eye with a smile that was both warm and weary. ]
Will any of this leave any of us?
[ There's a haunted sort of sadness in her eyes when she spoke, one shoulder lifting in a weary shrug.
None of this was going to leave her. Not the thing at the bottom of the lake, or the farm burning down, or the blood rain, or any of it. Whatever any of them were walking back into when the Beacon was activated, they were by and large all walking into it with a handful more terrible memories than they started with. ]
[ In all things, his hand hovered above the guqin strings, ever short of tainting touch. He hesitates. ] It will awe you, what the mind forgets for preservation.
[ Wars, losses, disaster in the realm of the personal, the absolute. Wei Ying, dangling off cliff-side, hands broken, red at his mouth and the pour trickle-soft.
This is truth, unholy: a body survives, where thoughts disperse and wander. The vessel of Lily Evans need not concede the battle first. Need not even know it headed to war. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
Looking on in silent fascination she relaxed her arm, meeting his eye with a smile that was both warm and weary. ]
Will any of this leave any of us?
[ There's a haunted sort of sadness in her eyes when she spoke, one shoulder lifting in a weary shrug.
None of this was going to leave her. Not the thing at the bottom of the lake, or the farm burning down, or the blood rain, or any of it. Whatever any of them were walking back into when the Beacon was activated, they were by and large all walking into it with a handful more terrible memories than they started with. ]
no subject
[ Wars, losses, disaster in the realm of the personal, the absolute. Wei Ying, dangling off cliff-side, hands broken, red at his mouth and the pour trickle-soft.
This is truth, unholy: a body survives, where thoughts disperse and wander. The vessel of Lily Evans need not concede the battle first. Need not even know it headed to war. ]