[It's not a bad theory. Yingxing's memory, particularly after his death, was not... reliable. Not in the slightest. What's important, he realizes, is how they handle all of this information. How they... choose to move on. Blade is always going on and on about how he doesn't need a past he doesn't remember, but he isn't sure how to move on either...
As Dan Heng answers his question, Blade regrets asking. Just the name of the prison is enough to send a chill down his spine. He remembers the darkness. The chains. The smell. He knows that is no place for someone as luminescent as Imbibitor Lunae.
And it's no place for a child. As Dan Heng unravels the missing piece of the tapestry, Blade looks more and more haunted. A part of him is... furious, even. Disconnected as he is from the emotions his past self might have felt, what happened to Dan Heng and Dan Feng is terrible.
His last thought was of drinking with his friends.
Blade covers his mouth and turns away. He feels like he's going to be sick. His memories may not be clear, but the emotions are very much present. He feels like the air has been knocked out of him.
Yingxing—Blade—has never been in love in this life. He doesn't remember it. He barely recalls the affection his parents held for him, something told more than felt. And yet, and yet, the love and sorrow and hatred and devotion that his past life felt seems more real than anything else. He feels it now, and he feels it when he looks at Dan Heng, and he feels it when he puts on that bracer.]
... No, [he manages, his voice thick with barely-restrained emotion,] Don't. I don't want to hear it.
[He gets up out of his chair.]
If anyone should be apologizing, it's... me.
[He needs some fresh air. The relatively spacious apartment he owns suddenly feels too small for two people. He strides over to the sliding glass door and out onto the deck, where he sinks against the iron railing.
He wants to weep. He didn't even know he was capable of it.]
no subject
[It's not a bad theory. Yingxing's memory, particularly after his death, was not... reliable. Not in the slightest. What's important, he realizes, is how they handle all of this information. How they... choose to move on. Blade is always going on and on about how he doesn't need a past he doesn't remember, but he isn't sure how to move on either...
As Dan Heng answers his question, Blade regrets asking. Just the name of the prison is enough to send a chill down his spine. He remembers the darkness. The chains. The smell. He knows that is no place for someone as luminescent as Imbibitor Lunae.
And it's no place for a child. As Dan Heng unravels the missing piece of the tapestry, Blade looks more and more haunted. A part of him is... furious, even. Disconnected as he is from the emotions his past self might have felt, what happened to Dan Heng and Dan Feng is terrible.
His last thought was of drinking with his friends.
Blade covers his mouth and turns away. He feels like he's going to be sick. His memories may not be clear, but the emotions are very much present. He feels like the air has been knocked out of him.
Yingxing—Blade—has never been in love in this life. He doesn't remember it. He barely recalls the affection his parents held for him, something told more than felt. And yet, and yet, the love and sorrow and hatred and devotion that his past life felt seems more real than anything else. He feels it now, and he feels it when he looks at Dan Heng, and he feels it when he puts on that bracer.]
... No, [he manages, his voice thick with barely-restrained emotion,] Don't. I don't want to hear it.
[He gets up out of his chair.]
If anyone should be apologizing, it's... me.
[He needs some fresh air. The relatively spacious apartment he owns suddenly feels too small for two people. He strides over to the sliding glass door and out onto the deck, where he sinks against the iron railing.
He wants to weep. He didn't even know he was capable of it.]