the closest thing to home is you [Seasonal Event]

It’s dark. It’s always dark. To see Wessex in the daylight is to either be extraordinarily close to her (spoiler alert: no one has been, since Magrethe died), close enough to see her weaknesses, or to watch her turn to ash. And as she ain’t taking any chances, Wessex has been busy since her resurrection. It can all easily be called legitimate work: moving her little cabin, re-doing the camouflage for the season, stopping up the cracks and making sure the creaks and groans are minimized. The human in her dies hard. The Ascended in her knows she doesn’t need to do all this now, that the fear of LongNight should be lessened and filled with a glorious gallivanting for seven days and seven nights as her kind takes center stage, for once. They are not like them. But they can still die. And no one really knows what lurks in the alien darkness. Eventually, she runs out of mindless prep work and finds her thoughts rather annoyingly focused on someone else. Wessex scoffs to herself and she grabs some carrots and another small bag of hay, knowing exactly where she’ll end up and who she hopes will be there. He is predictable in his preparations. He should be easy to find. Looking for telltales signs of Rory’s shaggy little pony, Wessex heads towards the Field, masochistically looking for the conversation she knows they must have. He is the only one firmly in her corner, she thinks to herself. As much as she couldn't care less for the Outlanders, she imagines they don't give a fuck about her either. So, she can’t afford to lose Rory, and it kills her to admit it to herself. Still, he is not Magrethe.   WESSEX She whispered back, I am the storm