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
With the prospect of living *forever* (though some part of her seriously doubts that will happen) ahead of her, there’s a certain kind of delight in the unexpected. The lights of the Night Market reflect brightly in Wessex’s eyes as she wanders through the stalls, occasionally stopping at one that draws her interest, but seriously thinking about buying little Music rings behind her, infectious and and sultry and alive.
Her spirits can’t help but be buoyed.
Even when she steps in something rotten. A quick brush of her boot against a cart’s wheel gets that mess off quickly and the Wraith is wandering on - until she hears a hawker call out something that piques her interest. Secrets? Mysteries?
Yes, please. Wessex draws her hood up about her face and approaches the Table, letting the spirit of the Night Market take her where it wills.
Her spirits can’t help but be buoyed.
Even when she steps in something rotten. A quick brush of her boot against a cart’s wheel gets that mess off quickly and the Wraith is wandering on - until she hears a hawker call out something that piques her interest. Secrets? Mysteries?
Yes, please. Wessex draws her hood up about her face and approaches the Table, letting the spirit of the Night Market take her where it wills.
and from your lips she drew
the hallelujah
the hallelujah
