Date: 2020-09-19 06:03 pm (UTC)
we_bring_hell: (One for the Emperor)
O corse of the Locked Tomb, the cold death to anyone who looks at me in pity
the heat death to anyone who looks at me in amusement


His easy humor always dazzles her; it reminds her of Gideon. They are like mirror-images, she thinks; he combining Gideon's irreverence and ebullience and her own deep wounds, Lan Wangji combining her bloody-minded composure with Gideon's inner light and longing to protect and to serve.

She hesitates, picking a new song to accompany her, and goes back to the first song on the disc. There are parts of it she doesn't understand; but there are parts of it she certainly does.

Cold cream. She peels off the smeared make-up, regards the face her mother gave her once again, then covers it over again to reveal the one she had first. This face she recognizes better than the other.

Alabaster first, then ebony, then the details.

Crawl 'til dawn
On my hands and knees
God damn these vampires
For what they've done to me


The difference between a victim and a monster is that a monster does not forgive, she thinks. A monster works with what she is given, makes her pain into weapons, when the world would be happier to see her simply crawl into the darkness and sob her life away.

She intends to walk upright. Let them fear her. The skull in the mirror nods approval.

The quick death to anyone who looks at me in fear.

And peace to anyone who looks at me in love. Exactly as I am.
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Harrowhark the Ninth

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