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Idea from TlkFluentSarcasm and inspired by their amazing oneshot titled Silenced. Read it 🔪
P.S. When wwx stutters while signing it's because his hands are shaking lol
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When Wei WuXian was nine years old, Madam Yu bestowed upon him the perfect burden: a curse that sealed his voice. If ever he tried to speak, his jaw would lock, and the curse mark—like a choker around his neck—would glow, and would burn. This happened beneath Uncle Jiang's gaze. The pacifist did nothing, for if he did the Jiang Sect would be ruined, known as the clan whose madam practiced the dark arts.
Wei WuXian couldn't remember a time when his hands were made just for holding; quivers, pens, swords, the little green frogs that hopped about Lotus Pier. Now, they were his tongue and his teeth. He performed sign language although few people understood. Jiang YanLi and Jiang Cheng were the first to learn, followed by Nie HuaiSang. Nobody else bothered. Nobody else cared.
For eight years, he endured. He was seventeen now.
Puberty had long left him with hair and hormones and a new voice he wasn't allowed to touch. Years of unspoken thoughts layered upon his tongue, tasting of dirt and grief, forgotten stories and fettered pleas. It was an itch only the burn of spices and alcohol could scratch.
Sometimes, after a couple drinks, he'd try to speak in the solitude of his room until he coughed up blood. He'd try until he wailed, because he knew he would never break this curse.
There was only one way, and Madam Yu made sure it was impossible for a boy like him.
It was well into the night when Wei WuXian returned to Cloud Recesses' gates with the forgotten invitations. After he'd come across the skeletal remains of the Jiang's fire, and his sibling gone, he knew they must have found their way inside.
Thinking deeply, tapping Suibian against his temple, Wei WuXian considered the barrier before him. The hypnotic haze was like a wall of clouds from the heavens. Veins of deep blue swirled among it, resembling marble stone. Wei WuXian thought it was beautiful. He reached out and grazed it with his fingertips, gasping as it warped and rippled, and the familiar sting of spiritual energy burned. He was used to bearing the pain of spiritual wards. He often had to pass them in his life as a cultivator, pretending to be fine; but because curses were born from resent, he never was. The purpose of a ward was to fend off resentful beings, after all.
Come on, Wei WuXian. You can do this. You've done this before. It's just a little pain. It'll be over before you know it.
