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
“Well you can’t be worse than Deimos,” she whispers back in a cheerfully conspiratorial way, glancing over at the giant who’d once even brought her a flower crown during Fiat Lux. Those were simpler days.
“You’re quite determined,” she says with an appraisin chuckle as she rises, intent on moving on. “Good luck.” Perhaps practice will make perfect with the young Outlander. Setting her eyes on the wreaths, she seems to be following Arialla’s course, picking up where the woman left off. The wreaths are easier for the Wraith, or so she hopes - less prone to breaking when calloused, rough hands try to bend them to her will. Perhaps this time without popping off blossom heads, Wessex is able to bend the pieces into circles that signify the cyclical nature of life.
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Wessex does wreaths.
“You’re quite determined,” she says with an appraisin chuckle as she rises, intent on moving on. “Good luck.” Perhaps practice will make perfect with the young Outlander. Setting her eyes on the wreaths, she seems to be following Arialla’s course, picking up where the woman left off. The wreaths are easier for the Wraith, or so she hopes - less prone to breaking when calloused, rough hands try to bend them to her will. Perhaps this time without popping off blossom heads, Wessex is able to bend the pieces into circles that signify the cyclical nature of life.
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Wessex does wreaths.
and from your lips she drew
the hallelujah
the hallelujah
