WESSEX
At first, the stillness is welcome. It matches the calm clarity in her mind, allowing her to connect the dots on another train of thought as the Wraith slips deftly through the bare and snow-laden woodlands. She chalks it up to the snow, the dampening layer of white that both hides and betrays the world. It glistens even in the faint light of a crescent moon and crunches ever so slightly underneath her feet, but as Wessex continues towards the old Occidendum farm, it seems to grow and grow and grow.
Where are the low cries of the owls, the subtle, soft crackling of delicate cloven-hooves in the underbrush? The high-pitched squeaks of alarm and the rapid rustle of predator-and-prey? Silence seems to hang heavy here, despairing and ominous. A pregnant pause, waiting on the edge for life to either begin or end - but left too long, now. And now it rots.
She frows to herself, the corners of her mouth crinkling and pressing down in her dismaying assessment of the night. With a furtive, suspicious glance from side to side, Wessex cannot help but feel as if the weight of her news precedes her and now lies ready for an ambush. “Mabel?” she calls into the still, prickly darkness. Continuing towards the edge of the former farm’s boundaries, she calls again. “Mabel? It’s Wessex.”
Where are the low cries of the owls, the subtle, soft crackling of delicate cloven-hooves in the underbrush? The high-pitched squeaks of alarm and the rapid rustle of predator-and-prey? Silence seems to hang heavy here, despairing and ominous. A pregnant pause, waiting on the edge for life to either begin or end - but left too long, now. And now it rots.
She frows to herself, the corners of her mouth crinkling and pressing down in her dismaying assessment of the night. With a furtive, suspicious glance from side to side, Wessex cannot help but feel as if the weight of her news precedes her and now lies ready for an ambush. “Mabel?” she calls into the still, prickly darkness. Continuing towards the edge of the former farm’s boundaries, she calls again. “Mabel? It’s Wessex.”
there was a time that we were kind, but now
don't write me, you're not fooling anyone
don't write me, you're not fooling anyone
