#also yeah the title's just a pun on it being abt ganyu's tail

[sincerelyandyourstruly]

tales told in morning light

insp.

—

Keqing wakes up one morning to find her beloved sitting at the window sill, nibbling a fruit pastry they made together the night before as she watches the pale, grey dawn.

"Good morning," Keqing says as she plods over to join Ganyu by the window. "What are you…"

Keqing doesn't mean to trail off. There is very little in Teyvat that can distract her attentive gaze, but a new and unexpected detail about her lover certainly falls under that very short list.

"Tail," she says aloud, a little dumbly.

Ganyu tilts her head at Keqing.

"You have a tail."

Ganyu pauses mid-nibble as her eyes widen slightly. "Oh!" she says, and the fluffy tip quivers slightly as she curls it closer to her chest. Her expression turning a bit sheepish, she says, "I guess I just thought that since you found out about my horns so long ago, you'd eventually conclude that I must have other non-human traits tucked under my skin."

(Keqing resists the urge to reach out and touch Ganyu's tail out of pure awe and wonder right then and there.)

Ganyu's brow furrows. "Does… does it bother you?"

Keqing blinks rapidly, her momentary reverie evaporating. "No, not at all!" she assures Ganyu. (She soon flushes, embarrassed that it had never even occurred to her that Ganyu's qilin heritage gave her more than just her horns. Every day, this woman finds a new way to challenge her assumptions.) "I think it's nice."

The faint tension in Ganyu's brow smooths out. Her tail first uncoils at its fleecy tip, then gradually unfurls like the first bold glaze lily bud in the spring: beautiful and soft, pale blue color threaded with bright, opalescent gossamer in the morning light.

Ganyu laughs, the familiar sound warm and comforting like wool, then swishes her tail away. She pats the free space next to her— just wide enough for Keqing to squeeze in next to her.

"It's silly," she admits as Keqing settles next to her. "For a moment, I was worried you were mad."

Keqing reaches out to take Ganyu's hand, taking care to lace their fingers together tightly. "What is there for me to be mad about?" she asks. They've known each other long enough that Ganyu knows her most every quirk and tell, so for her to worry like this— surely, it must be something serious.

Ganyu meets her gaze from the corner of her eye for a moment, then returns her attention to the brightening blues of the sky. "That's why it's silly," she says. "I know you'd never really be mad at me for letting my Adeptal blood show."

Keqing strokes the back of her partner's hand as the latter leans against her. "Well, I was" —kind of still am— "surprised," she says.

"But the Yuheng is as quick to adapt as ever to her situation," Ganyu lightly replies. The corners of her lips curl into a small smile, and she gently knocks her head against Keqing, who laughs.

"I suppose I was worried you'd think I was lying to you," Ganyu elaborates with a sigh.

"That's silly," Keqing immediately interjects.

"So it is!" Ganyu agrees, then quiets again as her amethyst gaze turns faraway. "Old habits, however burdensome they become to maintain, are always rooted in something, though. There still remains so much of me you do not yet know."

Keqing studies the glint of golden sunlight caught in Ganyu's eyelashes as they sit together in the stillness, in the silence before the lark greets the skies and the doves mourn the night.

For a long time, she had hated such moments of quietude. Lying idle was far from her idea of idyllic, but the ancient grace of Ganyu has since caught her by the hand and taught her how to smell the flowers: from the heady weight of glaze lilies filling up the air, to the fragile caress of qingxin dancing thinly on the breeze.

Ganyu's tail wraps itself around Keqing's waist after a moment, sturdy muscles holding Keqing gently like a hug. With the fluff now sitting so invitingly upon her lap, Keqing reaches out a hand to give it a pat.

"It's soft," she marvels, delighted.

Ganyu smiles again and curls her tail more strongly, more affectionately, around Keqing. "It's the love," she says.

They fall into comfortable silence again. Each second slips by with the grace of a pure mountain stream, which cuts through the ages into the steadfast, winding river.

Keqing takes the moment to listen to the ancient echoes which sing beneath their heartbeats. Indeed, there are parts of Ganyu she knows she cannot yet hope to fathom.

((But always, always, always, she is going to try.))