[BASILISK]

[guillotineroom]

[when you open your eyes, you find yourself in a pleasant greenhouse. the sweet scent of flowers surrounds you, and the sun shining through the glass ceiling invigorates you from within. there are stone benches on which you can sit, and if you're hungry, there's a garden table with some refreshing tea and scones available to you]

[the voice– the good voice– echoes in your head again]

YOUR DESIRES. . . CREATED THIS REALM. IT IS YOURS. . . IT IS NOT TYPHON'S! I CAN USE THOSE DESIRES TO GIVE YOU A SAFE PLACE. . . FROM WHICH TO FIGHT.

BUT I CANNOT DEFEAT HIM. . . ONLY YOU CAN. ONLY YOU– WITH YOUR OWN DESIRES!! YOU CAN. . . RESHAPE THIS WORLD. . . HOWEVER YOU'D LIKE!

Comments

[velluminous]

[ and yet, somehow, this is the most moe answer he could give, and Sprezzatura's throat works for a moment as she wills back a veritable flood of emotion. if her voice takes on a particularly throaty quality, just don't comment on it. ]

Everything is ending, now... [ this place and all its good and all its bad ] But you and I, all of us... We are never being far from one another again. I will find you... wherever you are. As many times as it takes.

[strikingchords]

...

[bows his head, a gesture that could be formal but mostly just lends his words weight...]

You will be welcome, Ms Vaux.

[velluminous]

No other choice. It will happen either way.

[ at last, now, she loosens her arms around him, to give him some breathing room. ]

This is your future, for knowing me.

[strikingchords]

[with a thread of dryness, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he straightens up, still looking at her]

It is a poor threat.

[velluminous]

[ something loosens in her chest. she can breathe again. ]

You will know when I make good one.

[ depositing herself next to him on the bench, close but not oppressive. it's warm and serene in here, even if beyond the greenhouse, Typhon's voice bellows. even if this world is ending. ]

Lan Wangji...

[strikingchords]

[tilts towards her, no less silent but not oppressive, either; listening...]

[velluminous]

[ this seems like so selfish an ask, so soon after his reappearance... ]

Do you remember when you push down oni? Keep her quiet?

[strikingchords]

Mm.

[turns his palm upward, offering his hand]

Is it necessary?

[velluminous]

[ gently, she will rest the tip of one blunted claw in the centre of the pad of one of his fingers. balancing it there. ]

Something different. Do you have power to dull pain? Smother memory...

[strikingchords]

...

[bows his head again, taking her hand properly instead]

Can share emotion.

Please, explain the need.

[velluminous]

[ there's a weight on her chest. too deep now to try wading back to safer waters. ]

Warden... Typhon... has been trying to kill us for five days. There was task. You know what kind. [ a pause, heavy with reluctance ] Someone I know tortured me. Inside my mind, mostly.

[ mostly. ]

When I am not occupied with other things, I am still feeling it—not in real sense, mind... but ghost-pain.

[strikingchords]

[...exhales...]

What brings more pain?

The memory, or the giver?

[velluminous]

[ welcome back!!!! ]

Does my answer change things?

[strikingchords]

Yes.

[absolutely no further elaboration]

[velluminous]

Ah.

[ she thinks.

and thinks.

and realizes. ]

I don't... know.

[strikingchords]

...

Mm.

[squeezes her hand, frowning in thought]

[velluminous]

He always said we were alike. I thought it made me immune.

[ the squeeze, even, feels almost raw now that she's thinking about the fire again. nothing's wrong, and his touch doesn't hurt, but her brain can't let go of the things that had so easily. ]

But... there is no way out but through. Perhaps.

[strikingchords]

[he does pause at one word there, no way out but through or not...]

Immune?

[velluminous]

To his anger.

[strikingchords]

You had angered him?

[velluminous]

[ that's half of their whole relationship, baby ]

Not... exactly. I was collateral damage.

[strikingchords]

[oh, ouch]




Do you forgive him this?

[velluminous]

Not yet.




One day.

[strikingchords]

[nods again, and squeezes her hand one more time in warning before she feels an unfamiliar emotion welling up through her, palpably not her own but free for her experience nonetheless.

it's immediately obvious why Lan Wangji asked the questions he did, because what she feels is a lack of forgiveness: a sensation of helpless anger and anger at the helplessness, of tearing grief for a vision of what could have been and wasn't, of regret as deep as a well to the bottom of the world. but there is also a sense that it is carried, and the carrying is something other feelings have grown around; that the weight has become an acknowledged if sometimes difficult companion. truly accepted, not a stranger, until perhaps someday the wheel turns and things will change.

that acceptance comes from self knowledge, in this case. the feelings Lan Wangji shared are for himself, and how he found the courage to live with himself after the unforgivable. but perhaps, directed outwards at someone else who shares some traits with her, the way it centers him might help give Sprezzatura perspective on living with them and herself too.]

[velluminous]

[ the feeling is not hers, but it is so like hers that it washes over like a tidal wave, all-consuming. she gasps very quietly, then again with more verve as the true depth of it makes itself known. her hand clenches his to a point nearing—but never quite reaching—pain.

it's so much. her own anger and her own helplessness are toxic bedfellows, returning night after night, and though she's never possessed the same self-loathing as some do, she still indulges a dose from time to time. anger is anger, directed in or directed out. if it's in, well... she can find a way to turn it. change the direction of its flow.

the unfamiliarity, then, is in his acceptance. it's so different, a bright spray of mist on the air, compared to what's otherwise an ocean of overwhelming and compounding unhappiness. she clings to it, and to Lan Wangji's hand, his wrist, his arm. ]

Oh, my god— [ strangled, her already-low voice even lower ] What—you feel this way—?