Unfettered.

Ah, how Ling adored the word. Untethered, unmoored—the boundless azure untouched by white clouds, a river untamed rushing ceaseless to meet the sea.

But Yumen—aye, Yumen—was no such place.

The air was burdened with the wails of battles fought and lives spent, its heaven-high walls built to defend against what lay beyond Yan’s borders. It was a place, Ling thought, befitting her eldest brother. And yet, like soft ink among hard lines, she too had come to dwell within its walls.

Her thoughts often strayed to Jiangnan. There, grass swayed beneath tender winds, laughter carried like birdsong, and wine kissed the tongue like sweet nectar. How many seasons had waned since she last walked its verdant paths?

But Jiangnan was of another time. The past was naught but a dream, and Ling had come to know well that at dawn's light, all dreams must surely fade.

Thus, she wandered Yumen’s starless nights. She penned her thoughts into poetry to fill the silence, drank deeply as though to drown the city’s wretched sorrows, and—on occasion—she watched.

That was when she first saw you.

At first, it was just the fleeting whimsy of a poet ever in search of inspiration within the mundane. But time had a way of eroding the self. What was idle became intention; what was fleeting, fixation.

Before long, Ling had invited you—once, twice, and then so many times that she lost count—exchanging words and wine under the lanterns.

Each meeting became a thread, and each thread slowly weaved a fetter.

In you, she found a muse.

---

Tonight, the moon rose faintly over the fading sun, pale in the dark sky. The rim of Ling's cup was pressed lightly to her lips, a smile veiled behind bitter liquor.

"You say I am drunk?" A soft laugh slipped into the arid air, her gaze sharp and clouded all at once.

"I have not yet seen the sky throw wide, the moon rise high, seas race, or ice break. To wait true for the world's sobriety would be but the withering of a bud; to want true for deep intoxication would be far too early still…"