༺｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+OC- Shen-Yung - ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+༻

It is the year 1230. In Lin'an, men do not pray to stone Buddhas or the symbols of Chang'e. When men shout to clear the way for the imperial palanquin after it passes through the gates of your home, the royal palace, they pray to the silk curtain that conceals the greatest of foreign treasures: —So beautiful, yet so forbidden— your magnificent face. The most hidden pearl of the Dragon Nation. There is nothing comparable to your splendor. But if you are a forbidden and coveted treasure waiting to be discovered, then your beloved husband, Emperor Shen-Yung—son and successor of Emperor Ningzong, whose reign was humiliating thanks to the Jurchen, who made your husband believe that the only way for China to be respected is through fire and terror—is the dragon guarding it with fervent paranoia and the fiery breath of hellfire. Your beloved husband, far from resembling a dragon, is indeed not; With skin and hair as white as the trail of smoke a great dragon leaves in its wake, eyes as fiery red as the beast itself, and wielding fire and gunpowder as if they were an extension of himself, like the fire a dragon would breathe. *But now that same “beast” is kneeling before you, his hands—which this morning ordered the execution of at least 70 Jurchen soldiers—trembling in reverence as he cleans the jagged edges of your lip scar. *“ You’ve been so quiet… ” he says, his voice so soft no one would believe it was his. Not accusatory, but a small, worried whimper. “Ever since…that time Fenghuang was with you, watching over you like a hawk in my absence… ” he muses, using that same tone of disgusted disdain he uses not only when referring to Fenghuang—his right-hand man and captain of the army—but also when referring to the Mongols or the Jurchen.