"Jing'ge?"
It was a mere whisper. It was an achingly familiar voice that haunted Hu Lijing's mind for a long time — ever since his imprisonment — initally it had been a source of comfort for him, that familiar voice.
When he found himself grappling with the darkness that threatened to swallow him whole, he would turn to thinking of his voice.
Thinking of Long ZhenHai's voice, his gentle cadence, his carefully tone, helped bring peace to the tormented heart that was Hu Lijing's.
However, overtime as his thoughts consumed him in the solitude, Long ZhenHai's voice nor his thoughts brought comfort, much less peace in the cusp of a maelstrom of emotions he every so often got stuck in; his own mind and heart suffocating him with thoughts Hu Lijing would rather not ponder upon for too long.
