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
Casually perched atop the hedge, one leg draped over the edge, the other pulled up to her chest, the Wraith lingers atop this odd little microcosm of a maze. Locked doors, a fire still burning - for, what? - at least three hundred years? Or did someone recently come here and light it? Loki’s perched on one of her shoulders, tiny little lizard head slowly weaving back and forth as she tries to investigate in her own way.
Heedless of how the shrubbery should scrape and prickle the back of her legs, Wessex slides off the top of the wall and lands quietly in a crouch on the ground, as if this were some foe to be snuck up on, some place she was breaking into. The Wraith rises and circles the obsidian bowl warily, eyes narrowed, on alert for anything out of the ordinary.
Heedless of how the shrubbery should scrape and prickle the back of her legs, Wessex slides off the top of the wall and lands quietly in a crouch on the ground, as if this were some foe to be snuck up on, some place she was breaking into. The Wraith rises and circles the obsidian bowl warily, eyes narrowed, on alert for anything out of the ordinary.
and from your lips she drew
the hallelujah
the hallelujah
