[PRP] C'est La Mort [Mengfen]

[kuropeco]

The tent was somehow smaller than he remembered, but still with the same simple arrangement of furniture and belongings as he had left it. There was a rather crudely erected wooden bed with slats and a straw mattress on top, a thin blanket, and a few pillows. Beside the bed was a small end table where his fan usually rested, and beside this a small, nearly empty dresser. His closets back on the Isle of Conquest had been filled to the brim with a wide assortment of clothing, brightly colored fabrics in shades of blues and greens and reds and golds, hundreds of accessories, hair pins, jewelry, rings and necklaces. A near endless supply of things to wear, things he prized.

Now all he had left was a few spare outfits donated by the last remaining members of Conquest.

Mengyao had not seen Lifen since he had returned from the Haunted House, and this had been purposeful on his part. He did not quite know if he could bear to see her, not when he remembered everything that he had done, when he had attacked her so viciously and without remorse. Her and Lan both, and that other Conquest member whose name escaped him.

The weight of his guilt pressed down upon him like a crushing blow. He stood in his tent with his hands tucked into the sleeves of his robes, but every so often his fingers twitched, itching to grasp something he no longer had.

He had lost the fan - his precious fan, given to him by the one person he would always be desperate to see but never would. Mengyao could not quite believe that he had lost it, but he had, and now that added to the guilt already seeping into his heart.

He wished for peace and had gotten war instead.

Stepping towards the bed, he took a seat on the edge of it, staring down at his hands. They were as grey as ever, the marks of insanity spreading up towards his wrist, but he was not stone, he was no longer the statue, or the one lost to the insanity.

But it was still there, ingrained into his mind. The whispers were never truly gone, and it had been foolish to believe otherwise.

Nerpin

 

[kuropeco]

At first he didn't hear her voice, lost within his own thoughts. It was just another of the whispers creeping at the corners of his mind, just another voice to add to the many that were already inside of his head that he would never be rid of.

But then she spoke again, and this time Mengyao heard her clearly, and he glanced up, clearly startled. He could see the slight form of Lifen outlined just outside of his tent, and an anxiety began to form in his chest, a sense of almost panic but not quite. He stood up abruptly, intending to move, to hide, anything to get away, but he knocked into the bedside table in his haste, and the pitcher of water that he kept there fell to the ground and shattered, spreading water across the floor.

There was a moment of silence following this.

Slowly Mengyao exhaled a breath he had not known he had been holding. There could be no avoiding her now; he had already (stupidly) made his presence known, but perhaps if he told her he was ill - no, but then she would want to make sure that he was all right. It was in her nature to be concerned, but he did not deserve that concern right now.

He wished the whispers would desist.

Absently twisting his hands together, Mengyao made no move towards the door, but instead sat back down on the bed, looking down at the grey on his skin.

"...not now, Lifen," he said quietly, and even just her name made his heart ache, his chest constricting painfully. He wanted to say I will always have you, but he did not know if that were true and he could not bring himself to form the words.  

[kuropeco]

He hated the sound that she made, the small noise of flat understanding that he did not want to see her. He hated doing this to her, hated not seeing her because it was hurting inside, but it hurt to see her as well. There seemed to be no way out of this tunnel he was in, no way to make things easier, or better, or less awful than they currently were.

Mengyao hated himself for being the way he was.

He sighed with both relief and disappointment when there was a long pause, thinking that she had left, but then her voice came back through the thin walls of the tent, and before he could say anything, or make himself scarce (not that he could, as there was only one way in and out of his current living space - a ghastly irritation), Lifen had pushed aside the flap and stepped in, a look of determination on her pale face.

He had not seen her in some time, longer than he liked, longer than he was used to. Her face was as light as always, but perhaps a bit thinner, with darker circles beneath her eyes and what seemed to be a bandage wrapped around her upper arm. Mengyao's eyes flickered towards it, a stricken look in his gaze, but he quickly moved them away and looked back at her.

"Lifen," he said. He had stood up hastily when she had entered, and now he backed away steadily until his back had pressed against the little dresser. He stood stiffly, his heart hammering in his chest, and wondered if he could get her to leave.

But he was too tired and in too much pain to be his usual arrogant self.

"...Lifen, not now," he said quietly, closing his eyes briefly and shaking his head. His hair, usually pinned up so immaculately, was free around his shoulders, the dark locks swinging. "I do not wish to see you right now."

The words hurt, and he couldn't look at her.  

[kuropeco]

The expression on her face pained him, but he couldn't break, couldn't let her in. He had spent his entire life keeping most at bay with his carefully constructed, cavalier attitude and his disdain for those lower than him, to the point where he had spent so much time on it that it had become ingrained into him, into his beliefs, into his sense of self.

But Lifen was different. Lifen had always been different, and he had always known it. He had not done anything about it, but he had let her stay by his side, had let her get under his walls, had let her become the one person in his life that he truly could not live without.

And look at what he had done to her, to Lan, to everyone. He could not bear it if he hurt her again.

Mengyao did not notice Lifen pull the fan out, as his eyes were resting on the floor, but he heard her voice, slightly muffled, and it took every ounce of self control not to look at what she had. He did not deserve gifts, he did not deserve anything at all.

"...when you dropped it from your person."

...what?

It did not sound like she was talking about something new, but in fact, something...old...something lost, that she had found, that she had restored...Mengyao's head snapped up, his eyes wide -

- and there it was, right in front of him. His precious fan, the one given to him by his little sister, the only thing left of what had once been his home. He stared at it for a long moment, hardly daring to believe that he had not lost it, but then his expression turned stricken, and he dropped his gaze again, teeth clenched together.

"I don't deserve that. I can't - I don't - "  

[kuropeco]

She wasn't leaving. He should have known that she wouldn't. Lifen was the one person in his life who had stayed with him throughout his entire life, had never faltered, had defended him when he did not deserve it, had chastised him when he did, had always been an ever present figure in his otherwise meaningless life.

Mengyao's eyes flickered once to Lifen's as she stepped closer, close enough that there was hardly space between them anymore. His breath quickened, his heart clambering in his chest, hating himself, but Lifen took his hands and in it she placed the fan, curling his hands forcefully around the handle. It felt familiar in his palm, like an old friend that he had missed, and Mengyao closed his eyes, the pain of Lifen's quiet voice washing over him.

He could not lose her. Not after everything he had already lost. Seeing his little sister in the fog had not helped - in fact, it had made it worse, had made his heart seize inside of his chest, had made him feel more hollow than it was possible. In the space of only such a short time he had broken more than he could ever attempt to fix.

So why was he here now, and not consumed by the Insanity that had done so before? Lifen was here, she was real, she was not a figment of his imagination. She would always be here.

He could not see her consumed as he was.

The fan dropped from Mengyao's hands as he slid them around Lifen's waist, pulling her towards him, and his lips had found hers, pressing against them in a kiss, curling the horsewoman against his chest.

He did not know how long they stayed like that, but after a moment he pulled back, and his expression was pained, one hand rising to cup Lifen's cheek, stroking trembling fingers down her pale face.

"I can't do this without you," he whispered, and kissed her again, feeling as though he were breaking apart. "Please don't ever leave me."

Nerpin

 

[kuropeco]

It was pathetic, really, how dependent he was on another, even if that person was Lifen. Mengyao had spent most of his life learning to be self-sufficient, teaching himself that there were those below him and those above him and that it was both necessary and proper to act in ways according to that hierarchy.

But Lifen was not a part of that hierarchy, and never had been. She was, simply put, just Lifen, and she had always been an integral part of his life that he could not do without. He had never fully understood the depths of his feelings towards her until this moment, remembering everything that he had done to her, to Lan, to everyone.

He could not bear to think of what it would be if she hated him.

But to Mengyao's eternal relief, she did not push him away when he kissed her, but rather kissed him back, and the warmth spread across his face, his fingers brushing over her cheekbones.

"I will always want you by my side," he said quietly, and took her hand, kissing her fingertips. "You are the one person who I cannot bear to lose, even if I myself am lost."

He hoped one day it would never come to that. Mengyao dropped his head and kissed Lifen's closed eyes, first the red, then the insanity-inflicted gold, his thumb rubbing her cheek. His other arm was around Lifen's waist, holding her close, as though to let go would be a mistake.

"Thank you," he whispered, and to his eternal shame and horror, his voice broke. "You are precious to me."

Nerpin

 

[kuropeco]

He could not help but love seeing the color in Lifen's otherwise pale cheeks; the stain of red against her near translucent skin, and his thumb brushed affectionately against her cheek, feeling the warmth against his hand. And when she stood on her tiptoes, tugging on his collar, Mengyao obliged her, leaning in and closing his eyes, her lips soft and reassuring against his.

He could not say for certain how it was that he felt about her, other than the truth that he had spoken aloud - "you are precious to me" - and even if could put his feelings into words, he was not sure that he would have said them. It felt as though saying it would break the spell, would cause something to happen that he did not want to. He was, perhaps, afraid; wary of losing the one thing that he could not bear to, that he would be unable to bear. These gestures of affection, these words of affirmation; they were all new and foreign to him, which was why they were not often said or done. For someone who had little trouble in expressing how he felt to those who were beneath him in status, Mengyao Miao had a surprising amount of difficulty in communicating properly with those he held most dear.

He felt her fingers tighten on his arms, and he closed his eyes, feeling the sickening swoop of shame and frustration welling in the pit of his stomach. What had happened in the fog was a haze, a blurry, messy, angry, nausea-inducing haze that made him ashamed of his own self, of what he had done. And to think that she had been frightened for him, not of him, though he had done little to deserve it.

"Lifen, I..." Mengyao started to say, but the words would not come, and he made a frustrated sound like an angry cat. Silently he linked his fingers through Lifen's, moving towards the bed where he sat down on the edge and drew her near him to stand in front of him. This way they were rather eye-level and he did not have to look down to see into her eyes. His hands held both of hers, as though he were afraid to let go.

"I am...sorry...for what I did...to you," he said, the words coming out jerky and uncertain, blotches of red appearing on Mengyao's face. "I was - that is to say - "

He hated himself for succumbing to it.

Nerpin

I love ur feels have some 4 u 2