The last thing Wei Wuxian remembers, if it could even be called remembering, is the end of an interminable grey. Black, then white, then oddly, awareness, a sense of being pulled somewhere, of settling into a space around him.
He feels numb, but numb means having a physical form. That can't be right. he thinks, and is surprised he can think. It takes him a moment to recognize that he draws breath, and that his senses have returned. The bombardment of noise and sensation is disorienting, overwhelming after nothingness for so long - he doesn't know how long, or how one can be aware of nothing.
He cracks opens his eyes and sees more white. The sun is directly in his face. He tries to roll away from it and feels his - his? - body cooperate, and when he tries to push himself up from the cold ground, his hand lands in something damp.
It's blood, and there's much more of it, the coppery stench hanging heavy in the air. There's also a receding hint of resentful energy, a mix of cloying sweetness and ash. Grunting and slightly unsteady, he lurches to his knees to further examine his surroundings, and it's then that he notices the array covering the middle of the floor. An array that he himself designed, he realizes with dawning understanding.
He follows the lines with his eyes. They're almost perfect, but clearly drawn in haste and with a slightly shaky hand. Understandable, considering the required blood loss. However, when he looks towards the end of the top-most curve, he notices he's not alone. The man sits slumped against the wall, his face painted white and red in the unsettling effect of a hanging ghost. The scent of resentful energy is strongest in his direction, and he has bloody gashes on his arm, oozing sluggishly. He is clearly the caster. But he's also still alive, in his body, and at least somewhat cognizant, judging from the look in his eyes.
"Oh," Wei Wuxian says, staring curiously and with no small amount of confusion. Clearly, many mistakes have been made here, but he doesn't even know where to begin figuring out where, or whose. "Well," he continues, putting a hand on his chin, a grin threatening the corners of his lips. "This is interesting, it looks as if you're still here! But, I think you've got the wrong person - I'm hardly a vicious ghost."
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He feels numb, but numb means having a physical form. That can't be right. he thinks, and is surprised he can think. It takes him a moment to recognize that he draws breath, and that his senses have returned. The bombardment of noise and sensation is disorienting, overwhelming after nothingness for so long - he doesn't know how long, or how one can be aware of nothing.
He cracks opens his eyes and sees more white. The sun is directly in his face. He tries to roll away from it and feels his - his? - body cooperate, and when he tries to push himself up from the cold ground, his hand lands in something damp.
It's blood, and there's much more of it, the coppery stench hanging heavy in the air. There's also a receding hint of resentful energy, a mix of cloying sweetness and ash. Grunting and slightly unsteady, he lurches to his knees to further examine his surroundings, and it's then that he notices the array covering the middle of the floor. An array that he himself designed, he realizes with dawning understanding.
He follows the lines with his eyes. They're almost perfect, but clearly drawn in haste and with a slightly shaky hand. Understandable, considering the required blood loss. However, when he looks towards the end of the top-most curve, he notices he's not alone. The man sits slumped against the wall, his face painted white and red in the unsettling effect of a hanging ghost. The scent of resentful energy is strongest in his direction, and he has bloody gashes on his arm, oozing sluggishly. He is clearly the caster. But he's also still alive, in his body, and at least somewhat cognizant, judging from the look in his eyes.
"Oh," Wei Wuxian says, staring curiously and with no small amount of confusion. Clearly, many mistakes have been made here, but he doesn't even know where to begin figuring out where, or whose. "Well," he continues, putting a hand on his chin, a grin threatening the corners of his lips. "This is interesting, it looks as if you're still here! But, I think you've got the wrong person - I'm hardly a vicious ghost."