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Summary
When the first breath of it ghosts through the valleys of Mondstadt, collecting in shadowy corners, the seasonal phantom possesses Diluc’s body. Open-mouthed astonishment, the gasp forced from the chest. He steps out from the winery’s paved patio and sees wild pinks beside the quiet rocks, feels Barbatos’ essence in the misted air, watches wayward precipitation dive in the distance. This is no autumn rain – gloomy and impending, with the mournful task of undressing trees. It is the joyous movement of spring, and it draws rain out from the suspended vapor in the skies, diffusing it amongst thirsty seeds and lonely men.
Little blue shapes plummet to the earth. Uncountable.
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Or, Diluc isn't afraid of storms.
Series
- Part 2 of in passing red shapes
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