[Seasonal Event] Table for one, please

No good deed fucking goes unpunished, amiright? Who volunteers to do one last perimeter check? Who is the one that’s most at ease in total darkness? Who takes ages to lift the latches, to place her feet as soundlessly as possible in the snow, to creep and listen and potentially sacrifice herself? Who makes sure the Luxere and the ponies have plenty of hay to last the week - even going to far as to bring her own to help? This chick. And what does she get in return? A door ajar, dogs whining at its entrance, and the sight of Rory and Amalia riding off into LongNight, like it’s some fucking game to her, to all of them. Without so much as a note or a word. No goodbye, no thank you. Just gone. To do what? What could they possibly do better than her in this frigid weather, in this utter blackness? It’s as if she didn’t matter. Wessex spends like, 3 seconds feeling sad and sorry for herself before anger and resentment come roaring in a rush of wildfire. Her whole body tenses and the blades come out - but oh, there is nothing to turn them to. Just… dogs (which she’ll never harm - they’re better than people, these beasts) and Rory’s farm. The Luxere rumble uneasily and edge away from her, from the darkness (the nothingness, the unhuman smell) that she is. The thought to follow and drag them back to safety crosses her mind, but so does petulancy and pain. If they want to get themselves killed, then so be it. No skin off her back. She doesn’t need bread, and she can find plenty of ‘clothes’ elsewhere. No, she’s not going to chase after them like she needs them, like, like, like some kind of weird ass mother. Hell, with them gone, she can finally do what she wants with the Outlanders - without those pesky little bits of conscience buzzing in her ear. What would _____ think? Wessex is a lone wolf and friends are a liability. She’s always known that; it was foolish to think they might ever be more than acquaintances. Won’t make that mistake again. So, straightening her spine against the monsters and the darkness and the feelings of betrayal, Wessex turns on her heels and heads back to the door - to lock it and bar it against the trickery of LongNight. In her mind, the idiots are already dead. WESSEX come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts unsex me here