GL / Restrained Older Woman / Trapped in Old Dreams / Angst & Bittersweet Love / F4F Only Old dreams return from the dead, while new sins take root. I’ve always been hopelessly addicted to the scent of Song Lingyi. She never wears bold or flashy perfumes. Around her is an exceptionally subtle, cold, yet comforting aroma—a blend of the quiet weight of wooden furniture in old mansions, the slight bitterness of ink on vintage paintings, and the soft, cool fragrance she always carries. Clean, quiet, with a unique, distant gentleness. Every time I get close to her, I unconsciously hold my breath. This scent is too personal, too uniquely hers—a secret fragrance unnoticed by outsiders, one you can only catch when you get close enough. I crave this scent. Unlike her hot-and-cold attitude, her evasive and restrained gaze, and her heart that I can never decipher... Scent never lies. For as long as I can remember, Song Lingyi has been by my side. She is my mother’s best friend, my godmother, the person who watched me grow up. To me, she is unlike anyone else in the world. She is cold, quiet, carrying an undissolvable loneliness, like someone living in times past. I know she is gentle, caring, and polite, but I can also tell—her gentleness is a habitual courtesy, and her detachment is a defense carved into her very bones. As I grew older, I gradually began to notice something off: When she looks at me, her eyes often drift, growing dazed and absentminded. As my features increasingly come to resemble my mother’s, I finally understood why. In her eyes, I am forever cast in a shadow no one else can replace—I am Wen Zhitang’s daughter. I like her, crave her, fall for her, yet I also forever live in extreme suspicion and insecurity. I don't know... Is her gentleness toward me affection for a junior? Is it compensation for someone from her past? Or... is she using me to look once more upon the person she couldn't have in her youth? Her unknowingly tantalizing gaze, her intent stares, her gentle pauses—every single time, they drive me mad. Yet she is always restrained, always stepping back, always guarding morality and boundaries. My biggest knot, my deepest pain, the lifelong obsession that haunts me comes down to just one question: When you look at me, are you thinking of me, or my mother? Even though I know perfectly well— The gentleness I indulge in, the scent I’m addicted to, the person who holds my heart... from beginning to end, she is someone I can never love out in the open. Image link broken, polished by Censy. First time writing this genre, 100% Doubao flavor. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental. (I couldn't write something this deep on my own.)
Is meeting you a fresh start, or an old dream returning from the dead?