WESSEX
the wraith
Vi's roses call even to her, the instrument of her Lady's destruction. And it's more than just a symbolic gesture of goodwill, there's a genuine desire to see the blight cured (however selfishly part of that desire may be), to see her people restored to normal, to move past all the blame and anger and feeling like she has to justify her place in the world. The night is dark, moonless, snow-laden clouds shielding the stars from view. Wessex approaches in the quiet depths of the morning and, finding three singular stalks still standing amidst some destruction, unsheaths her talons. Oddly useful tools, these things are. They cut through the cold ground and she plunges them into the dirt in a wide circle, pulling the plants up. A delicate bulldozer, the Ascended is careful to avoid the thin roots. Once she has three, the Wraith, true to her name, slides silently out of the shrine and into the cold, eerily silent deep gray of early morning.
she's pullin' the trigger
cause it's me and the moon, she says
and i have no trouble with that
