WESSEX
the wraith
What we have here is a classic case of not listening; Wessex heard condemnation for her choices and Amalia heard disowning, when in fact, they’d both just been… what, afraid? Hurt? Faced with a rapidly changing world and unsure of their places in it, because it didn’t line up with their long-established perception of themselves and the world they’re supposed to live in?If Wessex - not the Queen, not the Wraith - knew what Amalia thought she was here to do, or even what she felt at the woman’s appearance, it would cut her to the core, send her reeling back into the barely-there morning. It’s good that she doesn’t. It’s good that they can’t read thoughts.
All she sees is weariness and exhaustion; a common look amongst the Hallowed Grounds these days. If she could age, or wear and tear, it might be seen in her too. But there is only the face that will never age. Lines that speak of experience and hardship, but never defeat. Eyes that have cried too many tears and yet still woke in the morning. A smile that hardened under Caido’s unpredictable sun. What does she say to that kind of look on that kind of face?
“Are you cold?” comes out rather foolishly, for she can see the fur-on-skin and knows the leopard is as equipped to ward off the winter as she is. But it’s more than that. The Queen’s free hand goes to the edges of her cloak in an unspoken offer. Here, have mine.
Have my cookie, have my pebble, have my flower crown.
she's pullin' the trigger
cause it's me and the moon, she says
and i have no trouble with that
