Yes, congee. The kind that village grandmothers make.
[The kind that soothes the soul, and calls to memory times when family was together.
And in that bare instant that the bird brushed against his foot, Cao Pi would find a flash of an image-- one that seemed fairly recent. It was a procession of twelve royals and their closest retainers, each with hair of a deepest crimson except two-- a graceful and dignified woman who had chosen the battle field over a husband, and a heavily scarred young man who had barely made his first steps into adulthood. Four men, seven women-- five of which whispered nervously amongst themselves, and the last trailed behind with her head bowed and ponytail drooping in her anxiety.
A face that he would recognize was there-- Ren Kouha, busy making disrespectful faces and sarcastic commentary under his breath. And leading the entourage was a man with broad shoulders that were only surpassed by the strength of his personality. A fierce man, just under thirty, who seemed to be guiding the siblings with a stern hand and a strong heart comparable to that of a Shishi, an Imperial Guardian Lion.
It was the last time all twelve of them were together in accord, but the air about them was far from happy. They were all dressed in fine robes of white-- the color of death.
It was a funeral procession.
But, though it was a tumultous time, one thing was clear: none of them, not even the women, felt much affection for the person who had passed...
Or for the unnaturally young woman standing on the dais next to the body, too heavily wrapped in talismans and covered in blankets for anyone to properly see.
Not that they would want to. The few visible parts were too covered in boils and pustules to even be recognized as human any longer.
It was a bad omen, and the Empire would never be the same again.]
no subject
[The kind that soothes the soul, and calls to memory times when family was together.
And in that bare instant that the bird brushed against his foot, Cao Pi would find a flash of an image-- one that seemed fairly recent. It was a procession of twelve royals and their closest retainers, each with hair of a deepest crimson except two-- a graceful and dignified woman who had chosen the battle field over a husband, and a heavily scarred young man who had barely made his first steps into adulthood. Four men, seven women-- five of which whispered nervously amongst themselves, and the last trailed behind with her head bowed and ponytail drooping in her anxiety.
A face that he would recognize was there-- Ren Kouha, busy making disrespectful faces and sarcastic commentary under his breath. And leading the entourage was a man with broad shoulders that were only surpassed by the strength of his personality. A fierce man, just under thirty, who seemed to be guiding the siblings with a stern hand and a strong heart comparable to that of a Shishi, an Imperial Guardian Lion.
It was the last time all twelve of them were together in accord, but the air about them was far from happy. They were all dressed in fine robes of white-- the color of death.
It was a funeral procession.
But, though it was a tumultous time, one thing was clear: none of them, not even the women, felt much affection for the person who had passed...
Or for the unnaturally young woman standing on the dais next to the body, too heavily wrapped in talismans and covered in blankets for anyone to properly see.
Not that they would want to. The few visible parts were too covered in boils and pustules to even be recognized as human any longer.
It was a bad omen, and the Empire would never be the same again.]