#remembering it

jiang cheng, waking up and being hit with a strange, awful daze and momentary confusion- staring at a sect leader’s room, laying on a bed unmarred by childish scratches and finger weighted down by a ring that belongs to a fierce woman, not a failure son.

jiang cheng stepping out on the pier and feeling disconcerted and fazed and lost, surrounded by a home that isn’t his home, not quite, not exactly. like all the furniture moved just a pinch to the left; a lotus carving that’s supposed to be a bit higher than that, a banner missing from the wall, a dock made of strong, shining wood that looks too new, barely touched by dripping robes and muddy boots.

jiang cheng looking around and feeling off balanced by the weight of the guan on his head, by the still unfamiliar faces in too familiar robes, by the cold responsibilities wrapping around his chest- 

of leading his (not-quite) childhood home and a sea of disciples (strangers) he fought and bled with but doesn’t know; not as much as he used to know the ones before them, the ones whose bloodstained and empty places have been taken up by desperate rogues and feral soldiers.

jiang cheng, dizzy with grief and dazed, locking gazes with his sister’s eyes in gold jin robes and a crimson red ribbon- like one he associates with laughter and troublemaking and the stench of death. how many ghosts does he see in each person, each clarity bell and practice sword and fluttering ribbon?