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reverieparacosm · 2 months ago

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Art's Silent Language (Lukai Hwei x GN!Reader)

Warnings: violence, blood, slight torture, kidnapping

Chapter 4: Through the Artist's Eyes

(part 1 here)

Summary: Captured by Jhin, you face a final performance of pain and beauty. Will this be Jhin's last act, or just the beginning of something more?

(Note is at the end of the chapter)

A searing pain lanced through your skull, each beat of your heart a hammer blow against it. You fight to open your eyes, the world a swirling vortex of darkness and pain. You blink, the world snapping into focus, revealing a figure bathed in the dim, ethereal glow of a single lantern.

Jhin.

His lips curl into a smile that holds no warmth, only a chilling, unsettling amusement. He moves with a grace that belies the terror he instills, his fingers, slender and elegant, tracing the outline of a wound on your head.

The cloth he holds, pristine white against the darkness, is a stark contrast to the crimson blossoming on it. He presses it gently against your wound, the pressure a searing agony. But there is a strange, almost hypnotic quality to his touch, a calculated precision that feels more like a surgical procedure than a simple act of tending to a wound. Each stroke of the cloth is deliberate, methodical, as if he were an artist meticulously applying paint to a canvas. The blood, once a vibrant red, is absorbed into the fabric, leaving a dark, ominous stain that mirrors the chilling dread that grips your heart.

You try to speak, to scream, but your throat is parched, your voice a mere croak.

"Shh, do not struggle," he coos, dabbing at your face. You flinch at his touch, feeling scrapes where your skin meets ropes. Jhin examines you with a twisted smile, his eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and malice, as if savoring discomfort. "You’ll make this worse for yourself," he warns softly, leaning very close.

"Release me," you say sharply.

Jhin throws back his head and laughs, a grating cacophony that sets your nerves on edge. Slowly, he circles you, trailing a gloved finger along your tense shoulders.

"My dear captive, you presume to threaten me?" he croons softly. "It is I who hold power in this dance, not some chirping fledgling gasping in my claws."

Halting before you, Jhin grips your chin in a punishing grip. His veneer of control cracks, exposing raving lunacy beneath.

"No artist lets his muse flee until the opus is complete! I have divined such exquisite torments for our finale. Through your anguished song will I craft my crowning masterwork!"

His long-fingered hand traces your cheekbone, leaving a trail of cold in its wake. You tremble under his gaze, uncertain of what horrors lay in store.

You struggle against your bonds, to no avail. Jhin observes your movements with interest, like a painter studying his subject. Outside, the sunset paints the decaying walls in hues of orange and gold.

"Through art, all things can be transformed," Jhin continues rapturously. "Your mortal flesh will become something everlasting. I will alchemize your essence until only brilliance remains."

He lifts a glinting tool, and you see it is a sculpting knife, its edge honed to deadly precision. Panic rises in your throat as Jhin studies the play of fading sunlight on the blade.

"Diamonds, like humanity, are born of turmoil. Extreme heat and pressure fuse the chaotic cloud into clarity. So too shall you be remade." His voice rings with messianic fervor. "Soon, you will shine eternally as my greatest creation. The transformation begins...let the ceremony commence!"

As your eyes adjust to the dim lighting, more details of your surrounds emerge. Crumbling brick walls are papered with faded posters advertising long-forgotten shows. A thick layer of dust covers the worn floorboards; your chair stands center-stage in a decrepit house.

Overhead, tattered curtains sway in the breeze drifting through broken windows. Beams of dying sunlight pierce the gloom, illuminating spinning dust motes like flecks of gold. It is a place suspended between creation and ruin - the perfect setting for Jhin's dark vision.

The artist himself paces before you, muttering excitedly to himself.

"The lighting is perfect, the composition sublime," he muses. "All that remains is to complete my masterwork."

Jhin's hands flit restlessly over his assortment of strange artifacts: gleaming surgical tools, arcane tomes bound in human skin, vials containing viscous liquids and mysterious powders. His meticulous artist’s mind sorts rapidly through options.

Finally, he selects an instrument resembling a paintbrush, but its bristles end in thin blades. He tests the edge delicately against his finger, nodding in approval at the bead of blood welling forth.

"First, we strip away your outer shells," Jhin declares, tracing the blade lightly over your cheek. "Only then can your truest essence shine through, polished to dazzling radiance.”

Jhin steps close, looming over you with the metallic bristles poised at your throat. You thrash against the ropes binding you, heart pounding, to no avail.

"Peace, my subject," Jhin soothes. "Struggle will only prolong your suffering. Remain still, and I can elevate you to glory."

His gaze bores into you. With a surgeon's precision, he drags the blade slowly down your neck. You cry out as beads of blood rise in its wake, crimson against your skin.

Slowly, oh so slowly, the blade presses deeper. You inhale sharply but do not cry out - you will not give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

A bead of blood wells and Jhin leans in, tongue darting out to sample your essence on his lips.

"Sweet," he groans, eyes fluttering closed. When they open once more, wild hunger blazes within. Jhin looms closer still, trapping you with his gaze as the knife dances over your hammering pulse.

Jhin makes a small noise of pleasure, tilting his head to observe his handiwork. "Exquisite. The raw material reveals its luster."

"Transformation is seldom pleasant," Jhin comments clinically. "But pain birth beauty, as fire shapes the jewel."

"I knew from the start what lurked beneath your silken words and gifts," you say coldly. "The way you twisted Hwei's heart to suit your depraved games, used his passion as just one more sick puppet in your shows."

Jhin's gloved fingers suddenly wrap tight around your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. His touch is cold yet burns your skin all the same.

Jhin cocks his head, regarding you with a curled smile. "The petal thought he understood my art. In time, he too would have become a masterpiece."

His patronizing tone only fuels your fury. "I saw how you fed on his love like some parasite, how you twisted his mind until he was but a shadow, living only to feed the void within you."

Chuckling softly, Jhin runs his thumb along your swollen bottom lip. "And what of you, my feisty little songbird? Do you also fly willingly into the fox's waiting jaws?"

You meet his eyes steadily. "Your acts of violence and violation do not move me. I understand you better than you understand yourself - you who knows only how to feed chaos and feel nothing."

Jhin's smiling mask shatters, giving way to something ravenous and raw. "Feel nothing?" he snarls, seizing your face in a crushing grip. "I feel it all, each exquisite moment - the passion, the rapture, the divine perfection of destruction! Through my art alone do I truly live!"

Releasing you, he draws back, composure sliding neatly back into place. But his eyes hold a new calculation.

"And what makes you think you know my intentions, my dear?" he whispers, voice low and deadly. Bloodlust swirls in his eyes yet something else flickers there - intrigue, admiration for your spirit.

You swallow yet hold his stare, defiant to the last. "I see the emptiness within you. Your 'art' is but a shallow mimicry of passion, meaningless destruction performed for an audience of one."

Jhin laughs softly, a mirthless sound. His flawless mask cracks, revealing the gaping void beneath, the ache that drives him to create through carnage alone.

Leaning impossibly close, he breathes against your trembling lips. "Perhaps you know me better than I thought, my clever sparrow. If shallowness is what you perceive...then let me show you the inferno that consumes."

With that, his mouth slants hard over yours, ravaging with a desperate hunger to feel - to feel anything amid the numbness. You gasp into the kiss, your heartbeat answering his like clashing symbols in a dark symphony.

For a stolen moment, passion transcends intention as you drown in sensation. But when Jhin pulls away, craving and madness have resurfaced in his eyes once more. The tender illusion shatters, and you know - this was but one more manipulating performance in his grisly design.

He rises and paces, gesticulating wildly.

"That kiss was but another brushstroke on the canvas of our drama together. Through it, I sought merely to elicit emotion - yours, and of the audience that surely hangs on our every moment."

Pausing, Jhin gazes down at you. His perfect features twist into a ghastly mockery of affection.

"Did you feel, little songbird, as I tore open your heart? Did you tremble with anguished rapture, swept along in the ecstatic tide of annihilation?"

His mocking laughter rings through the dusty room.

Jhin grips your hair forcefully, pulling your head back as he breathes against your neck, his warm breath sends shivers racing down your spine. You feel your back arch involuntarily.

He leans in closer, his lips grazing your skin as he slightly bites down on your neck, the sensation both pleasurable and painful.

His hand glides down your arms, fingers trailing lightly as if savoring every inch of your skin.

The touch feels possessive, yet there’s a strange tenderness in his movements. You can’t help but feel the tension building between you, a dance of power and vulnerability. He then shifts his attention to the bindings on your wrists, circling your wrist with his thumb in a deliberate manner, as if testing the strength of your restraints. For a fleeting moment, it feels as if he’s loosening them just enough to let hope flicker to life.

But the moment is fleeting. You turn your head away, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze and the feelings swirling inside you. Just as you think you’ve escaped his grasp, he takes your face in both of his hands, forcing you to meet his eyes. His thumb brushes softly against your lips.

"That, my dear, is the only 'passion' I know—the opus of agonies I craft through my works," he whispers, his voice smooth and chilling. "All else is but pale imitation. Remember that… should any wisp of feeling dare cloud your judgment."

With a savage grin and swish of his cloak, Jhin is once more lost to his dark imaginings, leaving you questioning all you thought you knew of this depraved artist.

As Jhin turns away to arrange his infernal stagecraft, you gather every ounce of strength and begin to struggle anew against your bonds. The ropes bite cruelly into your wrists, yet you twist and strain with wild desperation.

Jhin pays you no mind, lost in his own deranged mutterings as he lays out gleaming utensils.

Seeing your chance, you redouble your efforts with a frenzied yell. The ropes fray and tear—and with one final wrench, your hands rip free!

Jhin whirls at the sound, anger flaring in his eyes at being denied his dark muse. But you waste no time gawking at the monster—you launch from the chair at him.

Off-balance, Jhin crashes to the dust-caked floorboards. His blade skitters away into the shadows.

Not sparing a glance at him, you sprint for the splintered exit with renewed vigor. Black night swallows your retreating form as you pour every ounce of will into escape.

Laughter and rage and the sound of pounding footsteps chase on your heels.

Your lungs burn as you push your exhausted body further into the desert night. Jhin's maniacal laughter still echoes behind you, though the sound is fading with each step. You dare not look back, knowing his twisted grin will be etched in your mind if you do. All that matters is putting as much distance between him and yourself as possible.

Up ahead, a faint glow peeks through the sparse trees - an oasis. New adrenaline surges through your veins at the sight of what might offer refuge. Sand kicks up with each footfall as you rush toward the glowing pool of water. Palm trees whip past you in a blur, their branches outstretched like beckoning arms guiding you to safety.

Bursting into the small oasis, you stumble to a halt beside the water's edge. Your hands brace against your knees as greedy lungs drink in air. Through the shallow pants, your ears strain for any sign you are still being pursued. Only the gentle lapping of waves meets them, the normal night sounds of the desert serenading the sparse trees.

Slowly, muscles uncoil from their clenched state. The immediate threat seems past, at least for now. You lower yourself fully to the cool sand and let the sight of glittering water soothe frazzled nerves.

Soft moonlight dances across the surface, dappling the shore in an ethereal glow. Clarity returns along with your breathing, allowing reality to truly sink in.

A shiver runs through you that has nothing to do with the desert chill.

Pushing to unsteady legs, you shuffle closer to the pool's edge. Your parched throat begs for refreshment after the exhausting escape. Cupping greedy hands, you bring the cool liquid to chapped lips. Too soon, the last droplets fall from your palms. Thirst barely slaked; other needs demand attention in your weary state.

Scanning the sandy shore, your gaze lands on a cluster of palm fronds piled near the trees. With any luck, they might offer cushion and cover for the night. One problem at a time - rest now, plans later. Heavy feet carry you to the pile and you collapse into the fronds with a sigh. Cool surrounds quickly lull frayed senses as lingering adrenaline fades into exhaustion.

Darkness pulls you under like a comforting blanket.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The desert night is alive with the constant song of insects and wildlife. A sliver of moon drifts overhead amid patches of scattered clouds, casting the oasis in a dim glow.

As you drift in the space between sleep and waking, a shiver runs through your body that has nothing to do with the cool night air.

Something is different. An energy tingles at the edge of perception, faint yet familiar. Slowly prying open weary eyes, you lift your head from the nest of palm fronds.

Rippling across the surface of the water is a blur of colors, dancing in hues too vibrant to be natural.

A paintbrush comes into focus, wielded by a figure kneeling at the pool's edge. Colored wisps trail his movements like an artist’s ashes, each strand levitating impossibly in the air.

There is no mistaking Hwei's magical brush at work, weaving ephemeral illustrations that shimmer on the water's canvas.

His eyes, iridescent even in shadow, find yours across the shore. Recognition lights within those prismatic orbs before flickering with an emotion you can’t place. Concern? Relief?

With fluid grace, Hwei rises and strides to your side. Up close, faint scents of oils and pigment cling to his frame. His gaze roams your form, lingering on patches of torn cloth.

"You're hurt." His voice is soft yet carries an undercurrent that raises the hairs along your nape. Fingers gently grasp your wrist to examine your wounds. You suppress a wince at the contact.

"It's nothing serious." Your assurance does little to quell the tempest raging behind Hwei's eyes. Releasing your arm, he pulls his brush from where it is strapped across his back. Colors sprung to life along the bristles at his beckon, bleeding together into a soothing teal wash.

Without a word, Hwei dips the brush’s edge into the shimmering paint. Your breath hitches as cool bristles make contact, tracing delicate lines along your wounds.

Where pigment spreads, numbness follows in its wake, deadening pain.

Fascinated, you watch reddened skin knit together before eyes, leaving fresh and unmarred in the healing liquid’s wake.

Magic, or simple a gift of Hwei’s brush? Impossible to say where abilities end and the artist begins.

You gaze up to find his focus intent on the task, lips parted slightly as his skill purifies damaged flesh. Heat rises unbidden to your cheeks under such devoted care. Your heart, already quickened from your closeness, threatens to burst from your ribs.

The last abrasions disappear under careful strokes. Hweis' eyes lift to yours, their depths reflecting colors and emotions too deep to comprehend.

One arm encircles your waist and pulls you against his slender form, the other brushes tousled strands of hair from your face. His thumb lingers and caresses the line of your jaw with tenderness.

“You’re safe now. I’ve got you.” Hwei’s hushed murmur causes lids to flutter closed, lost in the soothing rumble of his voice.

Lips meet yours then, slow and searching as if committing every facet to memory through touch alone.

With utmost care, he gathers you into his lap to cradle against his chest. One hand soothingly combs through your hair while the other takes up his brush anew. Upon the oasis sands, Hwei begins to paint in colors of serenity.

Lush blooms spill from under his talented strokes—petite lilies burst with dewdrops; morning glories unfurl translucent petals. Their vivid hues shine all the brighter in the shadows of night. As detail after detail comes alive, the flowers' sweet fragrance joins the cool desert air.

Instead of darkness, visions of sunlit gardens dance behind your closed eyes. Hwei watches vigilantly, brush never ceasing until the last stem stands vibrant and whole. Only then does he set the magical implement aside once more. You feel relaxed and calm.

Gently, he tilts your face up to meet his gaze. Hwei gazes for long moments, memorizing each fleeting emotion buried beneath fatigue. His hands cup your cheeks with care.

"Let me share this burden," Hwei murmurs, breath soft against your lips between words. "I would bear it all if only it rids you of pain."

Then slowly, he lowers his mouth to yours in a kiss filled with promise and devotion profound as the stars above.

Art is the highest form of hope.

All thoughts flee under that tender onslaught. Your hands tangle in his tunic, clinging to escape the nightmares of past hours in his grounding presence.

Within the circle of his embrace, reality seems but a distant dream. Here, in Hwei's arms, you know only comfort, protection... and love that shelters your heart, always, from any threat in the waking world.

As the stars light creeps over the dunes, you stir in Hwei's tender embrace. Beneath palms and stars, the remainder of night has passed in comforting solace.

Gaze meeting Hwei's own, you ask in hushed tones, "How did you find me here?" A rueful smile touches his lips, fingers lifting to brush aside disheveled locks. "Worry not over such details, my heart. What matters is you're safe now."

Still the unknowns nag, his knowing eyes betraying depths beyond casual passersby. "Through your magic, wasn't it?” Hwei's nod grants affirmation, though guarded concern now creases his features. A painter's sight can unveil truths better left buried; it seems...

"Tell me what horrors drove you to this place," he bids softly, voice roughened by rising emotion kept barely leashed. And so, haltingly, the tale spills forth —of Jhins plan, his machinations to make you "a creation beyond compare."

How Jhin's maddened machinations seek to immortalize your agonized demise. How by fortune or fate, an opportunity arises allowing escape from dire design. Yet escape is not the end, as horrors haunt memory still...

At the story's close, Hwei grows deafly silent.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The journey back is a somber one. Smoke rises on the horizon long before Koyehn's Temple simple spires come into view, an ominous shroud hanging overall.

But no prayers can prepare you for the hellscape that awaits.

As the temple comes into sight, it is engulfed in angry orange tongues that devour sacred scrolls and timber alike. Embers swirl chaotically on smoldering thermals, borne aloft to spread ruin further still.

Hwei reins in with a sudden gasp, leaving you to brace against his back. You clutch him tight as anguished cries escape his lips, giving voice to the torment writ large across his features. Never do you see such depths of anguish from the stoic painter, who schools his passions into disciplined lines and fluid strokes.

"No..." Hwei's choked whisper tears at your heart. This place is his sanctuary, his home—now reduced to cindering ruins. You grasp his arm for support as much as offering console, finding only tremors wracking his lithe form in return.

His soul bleeds… and the blood steadily, silently, disturbingly slowly, swallows him whole.

His brush falls unheeded, magic sparking errant between clenched fingers as if begging release. Yet for all the chaos within, no colors escape Hwei's tight rein—not here, not for this.

Sliding to the ground, you pull him into your arms as tears carve trails down soot-stained cheeks. You stand locked in mournful embrace until the sobs begin to still, the conflagration within banked to smoldering embers once more by love's balm. Lips press against your hair, murmuring apologies for all that can never be regained.

As morning's light lifts the ashen pall shrouding all, the full horror of the night comes into grim clarity. Where once lived and worked over fourscore brothers and sisters, now only broken shells of walls remain amongst the rubble.

You pick your way over the ruins, hoping against hope that some sheltering alcove or secret chamber may offer refuge to even a sole survivor. But as the sun climbs overhead with no signs of life stirring, grim certainty takes root.

You stand alone as the last remnants of an order consigned now to memory alone.

Hwei searched the longest for any survivors, as if refusing to accept the bitter truth laid bare before your eyes. When he finally sinks to his knees in defeat, wracking sobs echo the agonized screams that must have filled the night air as flames claimed their victims. You pull him close, but no comfort of yours can staunch the flood of his grief.

In time, his tears run dry, leaving in their wake an exhaustion of body and spirit you fear no rest can repair.

Hwei wanders as one dead, seeking solace that forever eludes him amongst the ruins. Nights find him waking in terror, reliving each moment of devastation in vivid and gruesome detail no hand can capture.

One such night, a glint of color amidst the cinders draws his numbed feet. Lifted free, it reveals a fiendish trap, its petals splayed open in grinning mockery—a lotus blossom none, but one artist could have crafted.

Understanding dawns in those hollow eyes, a cascade of emotions stirring their murky depths once more: terror, sorrow, betrayal... and a dreadful fascination you know all too well.

The ruins fall silent once more as Hwei gazes unblinking upon that noxious blossom. You dare not break his reverie, dreading what shadows might take root should he linger too long in contemplation of such madness... and the dark allure it holds, even for one whose gift is life and color, not decay.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The crackling fire does little to cut through the tavern's smoky chill. You nurse a mug of ale, staring into the fire as if they might hold answers to questions plaguing Hwei's mind.

It has been moons since you left the smoking remnants of Koyehn behind you. Amongst the ashes, you find renewed purpose—your art brings messages of hope and restoration to weary communities... but sometimes also of destruction. But with each new dawn, fresh mysteries call Hwei ever onwards.

You glance to where he sits apart, brush hovering restlessly as always. His eyes, once home to passion's vibrant spectrum, now seem but windows onto an abyss churning with shadows.

Hwei seeks understanding through revelation of torment—by replicating each scene of suffering until its essence bleeds forth. You fear such intimacy with evil may leech away what remains of his light.

As the sun dips low on the horizon, casting a golden hue over the tavern’s wooden beams, you sit beside Hwei, captivated by the way his brush dances across the canvas. Each stroke is filled with emotion, transforming the blank surface into a vibrant landscape of colors. Hwei pours his heart into the painting, bringing to life a sun rising triumphantly over a gentle sea, its rays bursting forth like tendrils of warmth. Hwei is completely absorbed in his painting.

Truly, no artist tolerates reality.

You lean closer, intrigued by the imagery. “Is it a sunset or a sunrise?” you ask, admiring the way the light plays in his eyes. Resting your chin on Hwei's shoulder, you feel a warm connection, as if the moment stretches into eternity.

Hwei pauses, his brush hovering above the canvas as he turns to you, a soft smile blooming on his lips. “It’s a sunrise,” he replies, his voice warm and tender. “A new beginning. I dream of painting and then I paint my dream.”

His gaze lingers on you, and in that moment, the world outside the tavern fades away. You feel a magnetic pull, an unspoken connection that draws you closer.

The ambiance is thick with the scent of paint and the calming whispers of the sea outside.

You close your eyes as his hand comes up to gently cup your cheek. His thumb softly traces your bottom lip. As he leans in closer, you can feel his warm breath mingling with yours.

His kiss is tentative at first, mere brushes of contact that leave you craving more. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against his form.

His other hand slides into your hair, fingers twisting in the strands to tilt your head to a better angle. His kiss becomes deeper, more passionate. When his tongue sweeps along your lip, you grant access eagerly. As your tongues meet, a soft moan escapes you.

All the while, his hand on your cheek begins a slow descent. Over your jaw, down your neck, it comes to rest on your waist. His fingertips graze under the edge of your shirt, sending sparks across your skin. You cling to him more tightly, lost in the bliss of his lips moving with yours.

When you finally part for air, he does not go far. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes still closed as you both pant, lost in the moment. His hand never strays from your waist, thumb making gentle strokes across the sensitive flesh. In his embrace, you have never felt so wanted, so cared for. It is here, in his arms, that you are meant to be.

Hwei opens his eyes and whispers, “Some people are artists. Some themselves, are art.”

When you finally pull away, breathless, you look into his eyes, which shimmer with joy and intensity. But as you glance back at the painting, something catches your eye. Dark, shadowy figures seem to writhe within the vibrant hues, lurking just beneath the surface of the canvas. They flicker in and out of existence, vanishing as quickly as they appear.

A shiver runs down your spine. “Hwei, do you see that?” you ask, pointing to the canvas.

His expression shifts, a shadow crossing his features. “I—I’ll protect you,” he says, his voice suddenly serious, his grip tightening around you. The remnants of the massacre at the temple echo in his eyes, a haunting reminder of the darkness he has faced.

“I know you will,” you reassure him, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

For a moment, the weight of his past hangs heavy in the air. He leans into your touch, the warmth of your presence grounding him. “You’re my light,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

As the firelight dances upon Hwei's face, you trace gentle fingers along his jaw, brushing aside an ebony strand fallen askew.

Hwei leans into your touch with a soft sigh, clasping your fingers in his own. "I feel there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people. I feel like art and love are the same thing: it’s the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you.”

His lips graze your knuckles, stirring memories as vivid as yesterday's joyous discoveries. For a moment's respite, all traces of grief and care dissolve beneath remembered rapture...

...Until a sharp rap at the door shatters remnants of days past like spun glass.

You open the door. A single lotus flower lays on the ground.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The memories of Hwei's past weigh heavily on him, each loss a haunting echo in his mind. Yet, as he paints, the burdens begin to lift. His art speaks of grief and longing, capturing the essence of his experiences in hues and textures that transcend language. With every stroke, he communicates the inexpressible—an intimate connection to those who suffer alongside him.

While words can falter, art holds the power to bridge the chasms of isolation. It is a silent language, one that resonates deeply within the hearts of those who behold it, conveying feelings that can never be articulated. The beauty of creations offers solace, a reminder that even in the depths of despair, connection is possible through the shared understanding of emotion.

Art can speak for one, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. In a world rife with pain, it becomes a guiding light—a universal form of communication that unites hearts across boundaries.

Though silent, art speaks volumes. In this moment of catharsis through creative expression, one begins to find healing. Art provides an empowering and voiceless language to communicate intimate feelings beyond what words can say.

Especially in times of deep suffering when words fail, art becomes a "silent language" to express the inexpressible emotions of a soul.

Through art, one always finds a way to express the inexpressible, to share a silent language with the world.

Art's Silent Language.

Note: Well, here it is—finally the grand finale of my fanfic! 🎉 Did you notice that this is the fourth chapter and the whole thing clocks in at 14,444 words? I mean, come on, Jhin would definitely be proud of me for that little numerical homage. Four is his jam, right? Haha! So, about the ending... it’s kind of a happy one, or at least an open one. I did toy with the idea of killing off the protagonist—just a little cheeky thought, you know? Hehe. Oh! And I hope you caught the title drop at the end, “Art’s Silent Language.” Subtle, right? Or maybe not so much, but I tried! Now, I did mischaracterize Jhin a tad for my down-bad heart (shoutout to all my fellow simps!), but I did my best to keep him lore-accurate. This chapter is dedicated to all my broken artists out there. 💔 Don’t let life get you down—pick up the pieces and create something beautiful! That’s the real message here. Art can express feelings that words sometimes can’t. As I wrote, "Art is the highest hope." And for the Van Gogh fans, I hope you recognized some of his quotes sprinkled throughout! I love Van Gogh, and honestly, Hwei gives off major Van Gogh vibes. Plus, he has that surrealist flair, so it felt natural to weave in some of that genius. If you’re curious about my theories on Hwei, check out my theory account (https://www.tumblr.com/hwei-theories?source=share). And if you want to see more of my chaotic thoughts, here’s my main account (https://www.tumblr.com/reverieparacosm?source=share). Thanks for reading, everyone! Keep creating! 💖

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