WESSEX
the wraith
She can’t help herself; rising unbidden to the occasion like bile in one’s stomach, acidic and hateful and yet simultaneously trying to temper it for the sake of an agreed upon peace. “Not his fault, no –“ if one needed a scapegoat, Ronin might best suit the role, “but it was probably preventable.” Her tone grows tight and bitter, scorn leaking from her pores as she says just enough to toe the line between piquing interest and letting the topic die. “For someone who claims to love you so much, he seems to have a habit of leaving your well-being to others so he can get the chance to play the hero.” Some might say the same of Wessex, but at least she’d put her hero complex aside when what truly mattered to her was in danger.The Wraith shakes her head, tight-lipped as she lifts the rock from the outside and Amalia lifts from the inside. A way out appears, a flat black snout poking out cautiously. Wessex’s brow furrows, unsure of what she’s looking at – what kind of creature? But then it begins to scramble out, perhaps sensing that it’s safe, and the nose is followed by golden serpentine eyes with a ridge of spines between them. The spines – or ears? – continue up over its head, scales as black as a starless night cover its body, and it has curious feet – clawed, but with a wide base. And spines… everywhere. On the back of its legs, down its neck – then wings! Leathery things the size of its body. Clearly, that had been what was keeping it stuck beneath the debris.
She doesn’t yet reach for the dragon (because why would she?), but there eyes connect for a moment and in that moment, a whole world opens in Wessex’s mind, almost causing her to drop the slab before Amalia can get out. But when she does, she will find this woman of steel and ice, this solitary, fierce, and achingly lonely warrior, staring in awe at the little dracling, who begins to advance with a query that Wessex can’t yet hear.
Mine?
she's pullin' the trigger
cause it's me and the moon, she says
and i have no trouble with that
