I write sins, not tragedies
She imagines word might have spread already - at least about some things, so Wessex doesn’t waste time by asking Isla to meet. It isn’t meant to be presumptuous or rude, it’s just… well, she knows where the Remedy can be found and there’s no point in wasting any time.
If knocks can be ominous, these three land as heavily on the door as the beats of a tell-tale heart. Her face is not quite stretched into a gruesome mask, but there’s no mistaking that the demigod once again bears bad news. And apologies. And more bad news. Is this the beginning of their family’s fall? It’s hard to see it from down here and oh, that whiff of hope when she’d landed the notebook has faded into but a memory. Other than the Grim Reaper she’s carrying around like a backpack, however, Wessex looks to be completely healthy.
“Hi, Isla,” she begins. “We’ve got problems.”
If knocks can be ominous, these three land as heavily on the door as the beats of a tell-tale heart. Her face is not quite stretched into a gruesome mask, but there’s no mistaking that the demigod once again bears bad news. And apologies. And more bad news. Is this the beginning of their family’s fall? It’s hard to see it from down here and oh, that whiff of hope when she’d landed the notebook has faded into but a memory. Other than the Grim Reaper she’s carrying around like a backpack, however, Wessex looks to be completely healthy.
“Hi, Isla,” she begins. “We’ve got problems.”
WESSEX
