Of Stranger Things

WESSEX out of the night that covers me Telling Wessex to lay low is like telling a kid with a major sweet tooth not to take a piece of the half-eaten cake on the kitchen counter; her impulse control is shitty and that rush of endorphins is almost worth the risk. Except that she’d just been called the brightest of the bright ones, and the praise makes her proud, like her rebirth was worth it. It makes a thirty-eight year old woman feel like she can actually glow. “I hear you…” she says with a sigh. “And while I’m dying to know what the monsters will say and do, it probably isn’t the smartest thing to re-engage with them.” She mock grumbles for a moment, then laughs at herself. Curiosity is a bitch, isn’t it? She could sit there and talk for hours with the Lady if she would let her, but Wessex won’t press her luck. She’s almost done, and she tries to remain cool and collected. “Is there anything I can do in the meantime? Burning brightly isn’t exactly… my version of productive.” Anything. A nudge in a direction. A riddle. A book title (the Athenieum has so many books in it! Who knew?). Even just telling her there will be a sign. Patience and ambiguity aren’t Wessex’s strong suits. black as the pit from pole to pole i thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul