Carmen. Geraldine Farrar's penultimate performance before retirement, April of '22. I had wanted to talk to the pit orchestra in the off chance you were there, but I had a prior engagement... [He sighs.] It sounds as if we really did just miss each other. How unfortunate.
[Zhongli has the look of a man with regrets. Not that he regrets telling Venti the truth, but more that... he has shouldered much of this alone, and he knows he's going to get screamed at for it, and he knows it's deserved, and that he should have told the truth earlier. And yet he still won't complain. He knows the question that Venti is going to ask before he even opens his mouth. That doesn't make the topic hurt any less.
He waits patiently, ever the silent witness, as Venti closes his eyes and remembers. When the bard comes back to the present, Zhongli's expression is... unreadable. Thinking too much? Oh, definitely. But for someone who's known him this long, the resignation is just as obvious.
He takes an eternity to answer, which is as damning as anything.]
... It came in bits and pieces. After we first met, I had a dream that was more like a memory. You visited me while I was working in a huge rush of wind, so urgent that I thought something terrible must have happened. But instead of asking for my help with some martial problem you simply invited me for a drink.
From then on I remembered more and more about you and our relationship, but I kept my peace. The wind has no reason to listen to the mountain, after all.
You ask how long I've known. Do you mean your truth, or mine? I knew who I was the moment my powers came to me. It was a true awakening in that sense. I felt the earth move as if it were a part of me, and I realized I couldn't live as a human anymore. I never really was.
[His gloved fingers settle on the base of the wineglass, but he doesn't bother trying to drink anything yet. It's more to just keep him from staring at his hands in his lap.]
You were unburdened by the memories of a long and bitter war. If you felt powerlessness, it was only in the context of someone who knows their own limits... not a fallen god who no longer had the strength. What right did I have to take that away from you?
[He closes his eyes.]
Perhaps one day you would call my name as you once had. Perhaps you would not. It wasn't my place to force you. As a witness to the history of Teyvat and this earth, I am resolved to carry these memories until the end of time. That is the duty of those who remember.
no subject
[Zhongli has the look of a man with regrets. Not that he regrets telling Venti the truth, but more that... he has shouldered much of this alone, and he knows he's going to get screamed at for it, and he knows it's deserved, and that he should have told the truth earlier. And yet he still won't complain. He knows the question that Venti is going to ask before he even opens his mouth. That doesn't make the topic hurt any less.
He waits patiently, ever the silent witness, as Venti closes his eyes and remembers. When the bard comes back to the present, Zhongli's expression is... unreadable. Thinking too much? Oh, definitely. But for someone who's known him this long, the resignation is just as obvious.
He takes an eternity to answer, which is as damning as anything.]
... It came in bits and pieces. After we first met, I had a dream that was more like a memory. You visited me while I was working in a huge rush of wind, so urgent that I thought something terrible must have happened. But instead of asking for my help with some martial problem you simply invited me for a drink.
From then on I remembered more and more about you and our relationship, but I kept my peace. The wind has no reason to listen to the mountain, after all.
You ask how long I've known. Do you mean your truth, or mine? I knew who I was the moment my powers came to me. It was a true awakening in that sense. I felt the earth move as if it were a part of me, and I realized I couldn't live as a human anymore. I never really was.
[His gloved fingers settle on the base of the wineglass, but he doesn't bother trying to drink anything yet. It's more to just keep him from staring at his hands in his lap.]
You were unburdened by the memories of a long and bitter war. If you felt powerlessness, it was only in the context of someone who knows their own limits... not a fallen god who no longer had the strength. What right did I have to take that away from you?
[He closes his eyes.]
Perhaps one day you would call my name as you once had. Perhaps you would not. It wasn't my place to force you. As a witness to the history of Teyvat and this earth, I am resolved to carry these memories until the end of time. That is the duty of those who remember.