W E S S E X
The last light is fading from the sky as Wessex enters the Temple and stations herself at the entrance to wait and see who will join herself and Isla (for now, at least) in the Infirmary. Wearing a not-so-unusual slight frown, the elder blonde perches on the arm of an old pew just inside the great door, peering out into Sanctuary. Memories, both good and bad, float like ghosts in front of her - Rex and Clem dying as they seek safety, various LongNights spent huddled and silent in a run-down house stuffed to the brim with snow moss.
None of these things are helpful now, but they come just the same. Haunting and unbidden, a life filled with loss.
A bow an arrow slung on her back, it rests with her chakram on the stone floor, along with a small bag in which she’d squirreled away an impromptu sparkly little thing. And the letter Isla had sent about demigod blood, with a very important question on her mind.
None of these things are helpful now, but they come just the same. Haunting and unbidden, a life filled with loss.
A bow an arrow slung on her back, it rests with her chakram on the stone floor, along with a small bag in which she’d squirreled away an impromptu sparkly little thing. And the letter Isla had sent about demigod blood, with a very important question on her mind.
The Wraith
