Luo Binghe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
protagonisthalo) wrote2024-06-03 09:49 am
protagonisthalo) wrote2024-06-03 09:49 am
[open post] revivification research
((cw: discussion of death))
Luo Binghe has not slept in two weeks. This period of loss is temporary, it must be—he will not let it be otherwise—but living through it is as arduous a thing as he has ever done. If he is able to be with Shen Yuan again, it will be a trial equal to his value.
More than anything it is the desperate, searing loneliness that might end him. He spends as much time as possible with Nina, terrified that his neediness will drive her away, but wildly, irrationally resentful of anything that takes her from his side. If he could, he would sleep curled up on her floor like a dog, but he must spend all night sharing his qi with Shen Yuan so his body will not be damaged.
Even with Nina, the loneliness is brutal, a physical pain like he's swallowed a knife carved from ice. It's a present, unrelenting hurt that screams itself into his awareness at all times, impossible to quiet or ignore. He misses Shen Yuan. No one else in the world matters enough.
Luo Binghe spent five years in the Endless Abyss, and it has only been three years since he escaped. Though he is no longer there physically, his mind often returns him to the Abyss: danger everywhere, and no respite from fear, because relaxing means death. In that cursed place he learned to wake ready for danger, expecting an attack at any moment. It is like that again now, but what he fears most is not the Mansion, or the person—if there is one—who took Shen Yuan from him. It is the absence at his side where Shen Yuan is not, the unnatural emptiness that he cannot escape. This is a monster cannot defeat, and it is slowly bleeding the life from him.
He is currently in the library, agonizingly separated from Nina for the moment, frantically reading anything he can find about communicating with a disembodied soul. Luo Binghe is usually fastidious, but the books in front of him are sprawled all over the table, and halfway onto the next table as well. Exhaustion makes the words swim and pulse in front of him; he forces his eyes to stay open, reading each sentence several times as he tries to hammer each word into his aching head.
Luo Binghe has not slept in two weeks. This period of loss is temporary, it must be—he will not let it be otherwise—but living through it is as arduous a thing as he has ever done. If he is able to be with Shen Yuan again, it will be a trial equal to his value.
More than anything it is the desperate, searing loneliness that might end him. He spends as much time as possible with Nina, terrified that his neediness will drive her away, but wildly, irrationally resentful of anything that takes her from his side. If he could, he would sleep curled up on her floor like a dog, but he must spend all night sharing his qi with Shen Yuan so his body will not be damaged.
Even with Nina, the loneliness is brutal, a physical pain like he's swallowed a knife carved from ice. It's a present, unrelenting hurt that screams itself into his awareness at all times, impossible to quiet or ignore. He misses Shen Yuan. No one else in the world matters enough.
Luo Binghe spent five years in the Endless Abyss, and it has only been three years since he escaped. Though he is no longer there physically, his mind often returns him to the Abyss: danger everywhere, and no respite from fear, because relaxing means death. In that cursed place he learned to wake ready for danger, expecting an attack at any moment. It is like that again now, but what he fears most is not the Mansion, or the person—if there is one—who took Shen Yuan from him. It is the absence at his side where Shen Yuan is not, the unnatural emptiness that he cannot escape. This is a monster cannot defeat, and it is slowly bleeding the life from him.
He is currently in the library, agonizingly separated from Nina for the moment, frantically reading anything he can find about communicating with a disembodied soul. Luo Binghe is usually fastidious, but the books in front of him are sprawled all over the table, and halfway onto the next table as well. Exhaustion makes the words swim and pulse in front of him; he forces his eyes to stay open, reading each sentence several times as he tries to hammer each word into his aching head.