WESSEX
Despite her best efforts, it was only a matter of time. And somewhere deep down, she knew this, knew it would not be easy. Surrounded, stared at, possibly hated simply for what she is, Wessex adopts a manner completely unlike anything anyone has ever known her to be. Cautious? Yes. Humble? Occasionally. Apologetic? Never. Her hands go up, the universal signal for don't shoot, I'm unarmed.
Wessex looks around at the wild things, the angry things, the enigmatic little people. She is everything they are not, aside from perhaps, crafty and clever (not so clever, actually, if she had a better plan she might not have been caught). "Yes, and I apologize for doing so," the blonde says, hoping that there is as much contrition in her tone as she wants there to be. Not syrupy sweet, but plain and owning up to the trespassing. How could she claim to be ignorant of that fact, when word had spread far enough of the fae's tendency to capture whole groups of people?
No, I’ll be the stone
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
