dont know where the lights are taking us
but something in the night is dangerous
but something in the night is dangerous
Yes, she will be - is - able to do so much for so many. And Wessex will, Old Gods be damned. That fire burns brightly in her, despite her doubts (and who would not doubt, who would not tremble every now and then at the obstacles?), despite the people who say she can’t, and isn’t right for the job, and who would see her torn down. How wrong is it for her to want some reassurance? Or a bald-faced lie? A coy admittance? Anything other than blatant side-stepping.
And now she has it, and the answer doesn’t bother her. Unlike Sam, she can lie her pants off, and often has little qualms about doing it. Queens need to be able to do that, sometimes.
All she wanted was to know, and with it, the unsettled, anxious parts of her calm. Something seems to click into place.
“Friends who keep you trapped get what’s coming to them,” she murmurs, insinuating perhaps, that they deserve it. Not their followers. Not all of them (not Melita and Kiada) But Safrin? Fuck her. Fuck the others too. This is a God’s war waged between mortals and just as Wessex the survivalist came to The Voice with a wish, so she will try to get every leg up she can.
“I have an idea about how to show them the power of being bright. The LongNight Monsters - I found a book that thought they were early versions of us. That in the beginning it was a race between Yourself and Ludo to get the bodies of the dead. So what if I - or even we, all of your children together - could call them back? Or control them?” Can She even control them, her (supposedly) unsuccessful, malformed experiments? They’d recognized her once, bargained with her, even, and Wessex sure as hell isn’t going to go into the next LongNight empty-handed and ill-prepared.
And then there’s the possibility of being able to use them and harnass their destructive power… Wessex’s eyes light up a little, allowing herself to travel a little further down the rabbit hole than she’s ever gone before.
And now she has it, and the answer doesn’t bother her. Unlike Sam, she can lie her pants off, and often has little qualms about doing it. Queens need to be able to do that, sometimes.
All she wanted was to know, and with it, the unsettled, anxious parts of her calm. Something seems to click into place.
“Friends who keep you trapped get what’s coming to them,” she murmurs, insinuating perhaps, that they deserve it. Not their followers. Not all of them (not Melita and Kiada) But Safrin? Fuck her. Fuck the others too. This is a God’s war waged between mortals and just as Wessex the survivalist came to The Voice with a wish, so she will try to get every leg up she can.
“I have an idea about how to show them the power of being bright. The LongNight Monsters - I found a book that thought they were early versions of us. That in the beginning it was a race between Yourself and Ludo to get the bodies of the dead. So what if I - or even we, all of your children together - could call them back? Or control them?” Can She even control them, her (supposedly) unsuccessful, malformed experiments? They’d recognized her once, bargained with her, even, and Wessex sure as hell isn’t going to go into the next LongNight empty-handed and ill-prepared.
And then there’s the possibility of being able to use them and harnass their destructive power… Wessex’s eyes light up a little, allowing herself to travel a little further down the rabbit hole than she’s ever gone before.
