Wessex
some turn to dust or to gold, but you will remember me
Sporting four legs, a single tail, and clad only in fur, kitsune!Wessex creeps about the dark, LongNight-shadowed Citadel with an impish mischief in her eyes. Her snout and ears are hard at work, furtively glancing this way and that for Halovians who might be out far later than usual. The dead Ningo in her mouth is half-frozen, awkward to handle but thus far not leaking any bodily fluids that might give them away, other than the stray feather two. When it seems the coast is clear, kitsune!Wessex darts across the muted street and towards the shrine. She sticks to the sides of buildings, the undersides of stairs. Behind trash bins and through the flickering shadows of fire pits she leaves her pawprints, but ah, she might just be a small dog, or a large cat, or anything other than her demigod self, really. When the coast seems clear, she crosses the threshold into the shrine and darts right up to the altar, where she lays the dead bird down and begins to tear it apart.
