we write down made-up stories to tell the truths we wish we could say out loud
He isn't Mara, but it isn't like that matters terribly.
Arriving with an infectious glint of happiness in his blue stare, the final member of this secret meeting makes his way into the heart of the shrine. Nodding politely at the two men in attendance, Edwyn next turns his gaze towards Wessex offering her a humble nod and smile. It is good to see her back in fighting form, with her wits and senses about her.
"This all feels sufficiently mysterious." Edwyn chimes, pushing his hands into his pockets with a grin. "Don't you think?" He asks the group, but also no one in particular. The writer is often in the habit of asking pseudo-rhetorical questions. He'd be perfectly happy for an answer, but wouldn't be put off should he be ignored.
Arriving with an infectious glint of happiness in his blue stare, the final member of this secret meeting makes his way into the heart of the shrine. Nodding politely at the two men in attendance, Edwyn next turns his gaze towards Wessex offering her a humble nod and smile. It is good to see her back in fighting form, with her wits and senses about her.
"This all feels sufficiently mysterious." Edwyn chimes, pushing his hands into his pockets with a grin. "Don't you think?" He asks the group, but also no one in particular. The writer is often in the habit of asking pseudo-rhetorical questions. He'd be perfectly happy for an answer, but wouldn't be put off should he be ignored.
