on humbled, bended knee

WESSEX out of the night that covers me It’s been a long time since she’s seen the glassblower and his son. Well, more specifically, his son, Lanoch. Once you insult a guy’s ability to fuck, it’s kind of hard to do business with them, which is why Magrethe always went when the Theskyra household needed something. Except now there’s no Magrethe, and Wessex may have to eat her words. For better or worse, there’s no sense of shame in her when she approaches their workshop-slash-farmstead. It slowly grows hotter as she approaches the compound’s gate, the clay oven still burning in the early shades of dusk. Wessex tries to approach ‘noisily’ - well, noisy for her - to give them a heads up instead of just popping in. A couple of dogs bark, and the blonde woman stops just before the gate, calling out with a strong, “Hello? Lanoch?” black as the pit from pole to pole i thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul