[ ah, a small, spiteful voice within him speaks, hisses like some creature with a thousand tongues and a thousand eyes, and it sounds a little like his mother, like his father. ah, there, you see.
you see now what you are, to him.
it is sharp. it is like shards of ice, it is as though the winter wind that comes down from the mountains, whistling between the relentless razorcut edge of cliffs. ridiculous. he speaks just the one word. he speaks, and he is silent, and it is as if he does not deserve more.
ridiculous. truly a fool, to think that lan wangji would say otherwise. to think that he had hoped for more, had wanted something more. to think, how utterly pointless, useless, useless. he is useless. there is nothing he could possibly offer, to a man like he is. ridiculous. ]
Ridiculous.
[ he repeats once, dully, then again, almost smiling, a vicious streak that bleeds and splits his face as he lifts his head, straightening as if he is not at all affected, shoulders straight and chin tilted up.
in a way, this is expected. jiang cheng has, if anything, had practice, after all. of cutting loose and letting go. of having to patch up the gaping spaces. of moving on however he could manage. of walking away.
just like his mother, he thinks. the elders were right, he thinks. he is unworthy. he has tried to climb to heights that were impossible. had wanted things that were impossible. he had reached for things that were above his abilities, had wanted things that, he realises almost belatedly now, were not his to take. how selfish. how ridiculous. ]
no subject
you see now what you are, to him.
it is sharp. it is like shards of ice, it is as though the winter wind that comes down from the mountains, whistling between the relentless razorcut edge of cliffs. ridiculous. he speaks just the one word. he speaks, and he is silent, and it is as if he does not deserve more.
ridiculous. truly a fool, to think that lan wangji would say otherwise. to think that he had hoped for more, had wanted something more. to think, how utterly pointless, useless, useless. he is useless. there is nothing he could possibly offer, to a man like he is. ridiculous. ]
Ridiculous.
[ he repeats once, dully, then again, almost smiling, a vicious streak that bleeds and splits his face as he lifts his head, straightening as if he is not at all affected, shoulders straight and chin tilted up.
in a way, this is expected. jiang cheng has, if anything, had practice, after all. of cutting loose and letting go. of having to patch up the gaping spaces. of moving on however he could manage. of walking away.
just like his mother, he thinks. the elders were right, he thinks. he is unworthy. he has tried to climb to heights that were impossible. had wanted things that were impossible. he had reached for things that were above his abilities, had wanted things that, he realises almost belatedly now, were not his to take. how selfish. how ridiculous. ]
I see.