[ In some ways, this is more terrifying than the discord that had overtaken Childe after Manon's revival. At least there, it had taken on the appearance of a separate entity - a creature to be fought and dispelled in order for a friend to be saved. There was an us and there was a them. Battles are so much easier when there is a physical enemy to fight. But this...
This.
Across the communion (made stronger by the blood they shared during the Blight), it feels like Childe is being unraveled one painful thread at a time. One thought, one memory, one emotion frayed and weak and lost before being swallowed up by the Meridian energy like a devouring sun. A gravity that the other seemed not to be able to escape. If this had been a choice, Zhongli would respect it (he would, wouldn't he? If Childe decided that their paths were to be separate once more). But this felt strange, this felt unnatural in a way that made his skin itch and crawl and not just because the energy of the two factions were in opposition to each other.
No, Childe's own conviction melting into confusion before strengthening again was not natural. It could not be. Zhongli would not accept that. He. would. not. ]
Childe.
We are going to fix this.
[ Zhongli places a hand on Childe's forearm as the Harbinger hugs himself, shaking even though it is not cold here underneath the roots of the dead tree. He places a hand with a grip a little too tight as uneasiness and panic roil within Zhongli like a boat being tossed carelessly across stormy seas. He licks dry lips as if to aid his parched throat so that his words sound clear and confident (moreso than he actually feels).
Old habits rise to the surface. As much as it can be done in this chaotic space, the communion closes - like hastily put wooden planks covering doors and windows in hasty preparation for a sudden storm. The feeling drains from Zhongli's expression as he speaks with an air of command and authority: ]
Give me your shard.
[ Oh how it is always one step forward and three steps back on the path of mending this frail bond between them. ]
no subject
This.
Across the communion (made stronger by the blood they shared during the Blight), it feels like Childe is being unraveled one painful thread at a time. One thought, one memory, one emotion frayed and weak and lost before being swallowed up by the Meridian energy like a devouring sun. A gravity that the other seemed not to be able to escape. If this had been a choice, Zhongli would respect it (he would, wouldn't he? If Childe decided that their paths were to be separate once more). But this felt strange, this felt unnatural in a way that made his skin itch and crawl and not just because the energy of the two factions were in opposition to each other.
No, Childe's own conviction melting into confusion before strengthening again was not natural. It could not be. Zhongli would not accept that. He. would. not. ]
Childe.
We are going to fix this.
[ Zhongli places a hand on Childe's forearm as the Harbinger hugs himself, shaking even though it is not cold here underneath the roots of the dead tree. He places a hand with a grip a little too tight as uneasiness and panic roil within Zhongli like a boat being tossed carelessly across stormy seas. He licks dry lips as if to aid his parched throat so that his words sound clear and confident (moreso than he actually feels).
Old habits rise to the surface. As much as it can be done in this chaotic space, the communion closes - like hastily put wooden planks covering doors and windows in hasty preparation for a sudden storm. The feeling drains from Zhongli's expression as he speaks with an air of command and authority: ]
Give me your shard.
[ Oh how it is always one step forward and three steps back on the path of mending this frail bond between them. ]