WESSEX
If Wessex had had an inclination to enter the house, it was cut off by Mabel’s body language - though she stands aside to permit entry, it seems to be only out of politeness - because what else does one offer to a Queen? No, she stays where she is, a flicker of sadness, or maybe disappointment, in the twitch of a mouth corner, a flicker of an eyelid.
Remember, Wessex, you were once an angry, sullen teenager. You once raged against the world (don’t kid yourself, you still do). You died.
She nods slowly, acknowledging that the process of dying - the very thing she’d Ascended to avoid - must have been agonizingly slow. Painless, but what is physical pain to the mental anguish of that kind of thing? “It must have been terrible…” she murmurs. They’ve done this dance before: Wessex isn’t comforting. She’s not good at that kind of thing.
The anger (she takes it as anger) helps her steel her spine. “Yes. It’s about Evelyn...” she begins slowly, watching keenly for signs of - who knows, something.
Remember, Wessex, you were once an angry, sullen teenager. You once raged against the world (don’t kid yourself, you still do). You died.
She nods slowly, acknowledging that the process of dying - the very thing she’d Ascended to avoid - must have been agonizingly slow. Painless, but what is physical pain to the mental anguish of that kind of thing? “It must have been terrible…” she murmurs. They’ve done this dance before: Wessex isn’t comforting. She’s not good at that kind of thing.
The anger (she takes it as anger) helps her steel her spine. “Yes. It’s about Evelyn...” she begins slowly, watching keenly for signs of - who knows, something.
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
