Evie
tell me all of the things
that make you feel at ease
There is a distinct comfort as the minutes unwind and the woman wiggles her fingers in display of her own magical aptitude. Companionship, sisterhood. Someone who knows the weight of her admission, more than any Outlander possibly could. Someone who knows her family name, her brother's history. Perhaps Wessex is merely becoming a collector of redheads, or just Wordsworth children, but Evie's smile is relieved and grateful in ways she is too proud to voice. A demigoddess. It brings Evie to pause, blinking owlishly. Truthfully she hadn't thought The Voice had such power, in a purely logical and theoretical sense. And while a part of her - the part that is Wordsworth at heart, that is tied to Amalia and weakly empathizes the woman's faith - shrinks aways at the idea of such power, it doesn't...actually bother her as much as she expected. Her faith has shriveled only further the more she has accepted her own race, her inevitable fate. It's impossible to avoid the gods entirely, but why should she care what The Voice does? It is a bitter outlook, but one she clings to pettily. And it makes it all the easier for her features to soften and her sincerity to come through when she speaks. "Congratulations, that's...truly an honor, I would think. It's understandable you'd want to practice your new abilities." Whatever they may be.
Smiling and gesturing for Wessex to walk alongside her, she continues along her path through the foliage. "I've had magic my whole life, but this is the first any earthly inclinations have shown. I guess I'm practicing too," she admits, offering the proverbial hand to her companion. Initiating the conversation that had been taboo her entire life.
