WESSEX
the wraith
she tied you to her kitchen chair
she broke your throne and she cut your hair
she broke your throne and she cut your hair
The two of them might be a little disappointed to find that there are quite a few steps between Ascending and ruling the night, but Wessex would applaud their enthusiasm.
She would also understand why they did it, the havoc wreaked by starvation and disease, prayers to the Old Gods and their heralds left unanswered, life as they know it slowly eroding away until there’s nothing left. In fact, the Wraith has often wondered why there weren’t more Ascended, given how hellish the Grounds was right before their liberation. But that is neither here nor there - now is for joy at more sisters, for welcoming them into the family.
Rather than pop in and out of her shack - which is truly falling apart now that she doesn’t live there much anymore - Wessex takes the old-fashioned away, revelling in the way she moves in the snow, in the shadows of the skeleton trees. Bare-skinned save for some old leather armor, she welcomes the cold that is nothing compared ot the bite of Halo. She walks through the night with confidence, avoiding houses and lights like the monster they call her. Ah, but she isn’t alone, is she?
Somewhere out there is the brief lilt of voices, the crunch of footsteps. Faint and distant, but at this point her ears pick up a lot more than they used to. “Hello?” Wessex calls into the night, following it up with a simple, Ascended or - ? Silence would be her answer. Any other reaction would be telling.
She would also understand why they did it, the havoc wreaked by starvation and disease, prayers to the Old Gods and their heralds left unanswered, life as they know it slowly eroding away until there’s nothing left. In fact, the Wraith has often wondered why there weren’t more Ascended, given how hellish the Grounds was right before their liberation. But that is neither here nor there - now is for joy at more sisters, for welcoming them into the family.
Rather than pop in and out of her shack - which is truly falling apart now that she doesn’t live there much anymore - Wessex takes the old-fashioned away, revelling in the way she moves in the snow, in the shadows of the skeleton trees. Bare-skinned save for some old leather armor, she welcomes the cold that is nothing compared ot the bite of Halo. She walks through the night with confidence, avoiding houses and lights like the monster they call her. Ah, but she isn’t alone, is she?
Somewhere out there is the brief lilt of voices, the crunch of footsteps. Faint and distant, but at this point her ears pick up a lot more than they used to. “Hello?” Wessex calls into the night, following it up with a simple, Ascended or - ? Silence would be her answer. Any other reaction would be telling.
and from your lips she drew
the hallelujah
the hallelujah
