WESSEX
Though she’s personally a bit weary of killing the vampire gourds, this one is indeed particularly irritating. Wessex wrinkles her nose at a loud screech. “I don’t blame you,” she says, coming a little closer, but still well out of range to do anything and all sharp pointy things remain sheathed or hidden away.
Mabel’s question prompts an idle glance back over her shoulder and a shrug. Nothing important. “Oh, I don’t know, I find the Barrows kind of fascinating. All the ghosts of daemons, people long dead. All the history we don’t know about, except through stories.” Stopping herself before going on a ramble, Wessex hums quietly to herself. “Though the only real ghost story I can remember must have taken place in Torchline.”
Even in her stories, she doesn’t get much about the Grounds. “And you? Out here?”
Mabel’s question prompts an idle glance back over her shoulder and a shrug. Nothing important. “Oh, I don’t know, I find the Barrows kind of fascinating. All the ghosts of daemons, people long dead. All the history we don’t know about, except through stories.” Stopping herself before going on a ramble, Wessex hums quietly to herself. “Though the only real ghost story I can remember must have taken place in Torchline.”
Even in her stories, she doesn’t get much about the Grounds. “And you? Out here?”
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
