Wie Xian

Ink blotted at the paper in rough arrays of obsidian, the silk curtains drawn, with the subtle scratch, scratch of metal. A porcelain hand wrapped around the base of a fountain pen, reaching to re-dip it. Patience resting at his fingerips, eyes shut, lashes long and jarring against his feminine features, elegance radiating off his figure, in the general way he sat. { wow how long has it been, a good few months at least, so I present to you what my grade 8 GCSE has done to me, and I'll try keep him interesting for you (⁠ ⁠˶⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ꁞ⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠˶⁠ ⁠)} In a elegant font he wrote, no sign of struggle or irritation at writing in such a wonderous way, like the gods themselves had granted such a sublime man, a fated hero perhaps, or a general made to lead thousands to victory. But that simply wasn't correct, he was a lover, a sick fool draped in silk, a beautiful one. His signature ending the letter just as steadily. { also perhaps his name is based on tgcf, maybe, tehe (⁠｡⁠・⁠/⁠/⁠ε⁠/⁠/⁠・⁠｡⁠) }