( And this... overwhelms, overcomes. Drowns, tidally. Fills him from root to brim and drenches his bones and he envisions: the boy he knew, pale and funerary in borrowed whites, alive on rooftops. The king of a dead castle, singing the dregs and ruins of Yiling awake from sleep. The martyr, the memory, the hope, the dream, the passion.
The man, flesh and forlorn marrow and desire, somewhere, petty and paltry and ruinous, utterly... pedestrian. Pathetic, perhaps. But sweet.
Lan Wangji featured in the unmaking of this man, at once a fixture and a folly. A quiet, steadfast opportunity. It should flatter him.
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( And this... overwhelms, overcomes. Drowns, tidally. Fills him from root to brim and drenches his bones and he envisions: the boy he knew, pale and funerary in borrowed whites, alive on rooftops. The king of a dead castle, singing the dregs and ruins of Yiling awake from sleep. The martyr, the memory, the hope, the dream, the passion.
The man, flesh and forlorn marrow and desire, somewhere, petty and paltry and ruinous, utterly... pedestrian. Pathetic, perhaps. But sweet.
Lan Wangji featured in the unmaking of this man, at once a fixture and a folly. A quiet, steadfast opportunity. It should flatter him.
He wants to weep. )
Wei Ying.