[ Unlike Wuxian, Tristan shrinks back from the gaze of his reflection. It wields a harp, that infernal creature—a black, skeletal thing that’s nothing like the bright, gaudy thing the real Tristan carries. ]
Hahaha! How impudent! Worry not, for there is only one fate for the unblessed. You will meet yours ere long—of that I am sure.
[ With that, the reflection runs his fingers across that black harp, and behind him agonized screams can be heard, growing still louder the more he plays. Blood spatter his cheek from some unseen wound, and still the reflection plays his graceful, lilting little tune, his body moving to the music as if dancing to his madcap melodies. ]
I’m sorry. [ the real Tristan murmurs, stumbling back out of the threshold of his too-empty house, unable to bear the screaming and the bloodbath he knows lies hidden behind his reflection. ]
no subject
Hahaha! How impudent! Worry not, for there is only one fate for the unblessed. You will meet yours ere long—of that I am sure.
[ With that, the reflection runs his fingers across that black harp, and behind him agonized screams can be heard, growing still louder the more he plays. Blood spatter his cheek from some unseen wound, and still the reflection plays his graceful, lilting little tune, his body moving to the music as if dancing to his madcap melodies. ]
I’m sorry. [ the real Tristan murmurs, stumbling back out of the threshold of his too-empty house, unable to bear the screaming and the bloodbath he knows lies hidden behind his reflection. ]