... Yes, he supposes they're friends, now. Zhongli admitted as much himself. Mental hellth does something to people.]
Walk with me. I will tell you the story of the man who raised the nightingale.
[He can't stand still right now, so he leads Jusis down one of the pretty stone paths in the park. They're off to the side, and everyone else who has an agenda can easily walk around or speed past them.]
A long time ago, there lived a royal artisan who often produced works for the emperor. One day he happened to find a child left out in the elements to die. This child had no name, for he was deemed unworthy of even that by a cruel master. The artisan took the child into his home and raised him as his son.
When his time in the court ended, he traveled the world with his son and also his partner. They saw the badlands in the north and the great mountains to the west, still young and fierce. They saw the oceans in the east, and even tasted the fruits of the desert.
However, even the rockiest hillsides can erode under so much rain. So it was for the artisan's partner. The artisan knew the only way to keep his son safe was to send him on a different path. He bade the nightingale to wander and see the world for himself, and to learn. And the artisan—he would fight his partner alone, but he would endure. As long as his son was safe.
[He takes a breath like he's going to continue, but he isn't sure what to say. He was able to speak about this life like it was a story that happened to someone else. That doesn't mean he's okay.]
That safety was always contingent on certain people never knowing of the son's existence. He wouldn't tolerate the thought of someone imprisoning the nightingale and forcing him to sing once again.
no subject
... Yes, he supposes they're friends, now. Zhongli admitted as much himself. Mental hellth does something to people.]
Walk with me. I will tell you the story of the man who raised the nightingale.
[He can't stand still right now, so he leads Jusis down one of the pretty stone paths in the park. They're off to the side, and everyone else who has an agenda can easily walk around or speed past them.]
A long time ago, there lived a royal artisan who often produced works for the emperor. One day he happened to find a child left out in the elements to die. This child had no name, for he was deemed unworthy of even that by a cruel master. The artisan took the child into his home and raised him as his son.
When his time in the court ended, he traveled the world with his son and also his partner. They saw the badlands in the north and the great mountains to the west, still young and fierce. They saw the oceans in the east, and even tasted the fruits of the desert.
However, even the rockiest hillsides can erode under so much rain. So it was for the artisan's partner. The artisan knew the only way to keep his son safe was to send him on a different path. He bade the nightingale to wander and see the world for himself, and to learn. And the artisan—he would fight his partner alone, but he would endure. As long as his son was safe.
[He takes a breath like he's going to continue, but he isn't sure what to say. He was able to speak about this life like it was a story that happened to someone else. That doesn't mean he's okay.]
That safety was always contingent on certain people never knowing of the son's existence. He wouldn't tolerate the thought of someone imprisoning the nightingale and forcing him to sing once again.