Hearing his initial answer, there's something like relief that floods through Klaudia's chest. His mother was nice... She sits with that answer, lets herself process it; and finds the tiniest that's good comes drifting up through her thoughts, buoyed by that relief. Of all the people and all the mothers in the world, Lan Wangji deserved to have one that was nice; and for what might be the first time, she realizes that she can feel glad about that, rather than estranged or awkward.
She doesn't expect more than that--doesn't even think to ask more, or that there could be more to ask. The feelings that she has, along with the words to express them, are still bottled up too tight to shuffle through... but for the moment, he seems to anticipate her needs better than she can herself. He continues, giving her a small glimpse into his mother's nature. She can't possibly know that it's the only treasured piece that he has. For her, it's like a spark of color streaked across a blank canvas.
Warmth.
She might not understand how other people felt about or interacted with their families, but she knew what warmth was. It was a kind smile in a sea of strange faces. A welcoming gesture, a secure embrace, the way the sun embraced the world each morning. It was feeling safe, and free to exist without questions or qualifications... The thought of having that when she was younger, even for the briefest moment, nearly winds her from the inside. How much of a difference that would have made, to have those empty halls warmed with that feeling, instead of the strange facsimile that she'd been given in its place... She wanted that. Why hadn't it been offered to her? Why was it absent for so long? She just couldn't understand...
The tears come again, and this time there's no strength to stop them. She tries to. But her breath hitches as she clutches onto that sleeve tighter, her shoulders hiking as the first sob gets past her throat... And the rest is lost to her. She just cries, sobbing out the bottled-up hurt and desperation--the unfairness of it all, accumulated from the past fifteen minutes to the past twenty years.
no subject
She doesn't expect more than that--doesn't even think to ask more, or that there could be more to ask. The feelings that she has, along with the words to express them, are still bottled up too tight to shuffle through... but for the moment, he seems to anticipate her needs better than she can herself. He continues, giving her a small glimpse into his mother's nature. She can't possibly know that it's the only treasured piece that he has. For her, it's like a spark of color streaked across a blank canvas.
Warmth.
She might not understand how other people felt about or interacted with their families, but she knew what warmth was. It was a kind smile in a sea of strange faces. A welcoming gesture, a secure embrace, the way the sun embraced the world each morning. It was feeling safe, and free to exist without questions or qualifications... The thought of having that when she was younger, even for the briefest moment, nearly winds her from the inside. How much of a difference that would have made, to have those empty halls warmed with that feeling, instead of the strange facsimile that she'd been given in its place... She wanted that. Why hadn't it been offered to her? Why was it absent for so long? She just couldn't understand...
The tears come again, and this time there's no strength to stop them. She tries to. But her breath hitches as she clutches onto that sleeve tighter, her shoulders hiking as the first sob gets past her throat... And the rest is lost to her. She just cries, sobbing out the bottled-up hurt and desperation--the unfairness of it all, accumulated from the past fifteen minutes to the past twenty years.