Work Text:
Pain
Scorching heat consumes him from the inside.
The brush falls from shaking fingers, ink painting a dark streak across Minister Shen’s memorial. He clutches at his desk and in his attempt to stand, piles of reports are toppled and an inkstone cracks against the floor. One leg gives out under him and the Emperor falls. It burns, it hurts, he needs to call out but where is his voice.
There is movement around him, distant panicked cries, only he cannot see, cannot move, can barely hear. Thoughts are smothered under this searing pain.
The Emperor lies in his bed, almost numb. Cold settled deep in his bones, chill creeping inevitably inwards.
Even the strongest blaze will extinguish when its fuel has been consumed.
In the twelfth year of Yuanze, Emperor Wu of Liang takes his last breath.
In the third year of Zhenping the newborn seventh prince, Xiao Jingyan, opens his eyes for the first time.