Asgeirr has never minded, not a day in his sad second life. The mist that so often darkens his eyes seems to have lightly dispelled — he looks at Wei Wuxian and briefly knows him.
"Please, cut my frayed ends." A literal request, sooner than a metaphor. That cloak's seen finer days.
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"Please, cut my frayed ends." A literal request, sooner than a metaphor. That cloak's seen finer days.