we're all stories unfinished and we die to find some fitting words to write
In the dark of night, while the rest of the world slumbers, Wessex… does not. Something unimportant keeps her busy, perhaps the scritch of a quill to paper or the idle, long strokes of sharpening a blade against a whetstone. Something glitches in front of her eyes and she frowns, putting whatever she’s working with down. It takes her a moment to realize that it’s another one of those things, and the natural eases, going willingly into the altered-state.
Once the world around her changes, Wessex grins to herself and strolls eagerly forward, tackeling the maze head on.
Once the world around her changes, Wessex grins to herself and strolls eagerly forward, tackeling the maze head on.
WESSEX
