Anzu's eyes go wide, as chill runs through his entire body; he looks genuinely frightened. He reaches for Shen Qingqiu's hand, and grasps it tight, pulls the other man closer to him in an embrace. He's shaking.
It isn't the name that jolts him, nor the placename, but the description. An author and his penpals ... there's two that Anzu's aware of, that might've written ghost stories and other horrors as a diversion — and somehow he thinks it wasn't harmless old Reinhardt Johannes Montague's ghost stories, the ones where a scholarly nebbish encounters a little more history than he bargained for.
"What kind of ... what kind of entity?" he asks, his voice trembling. "Entity. I shan't call an idol a god. But. The name, ah. Tell me not the name, darling. The name is immaterial. Names change. What is it like?"
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Anzu's eyes go wide, as chill runs through his entire body; he looks genuinely frightened. He reaches for Shen Qingqiu's hand, and grasps it tight, pulls the other man closer to him in an embrace. He's shaking.
It isn't the name that jolts him, nor the placename, but the description. An author and his penpals ... there's two that Anzu's aware of, that might've written ghost stories and other horrors as a diversion — and somehow he thinks it wasn't harmless old Reinhardt Johannes Montague's ghost stories, the ones where a scholarly nebbish encounters a little more history than he bargained for.
"What kind of ... what kind of entity?" he asks, his voice trembling. "Entity. I shan't call an idol a god. But. The name, ah. Tell me not the name, darling. The name is immaterial. Names change. What is it like?"