we're all stories unfinished and we die to find some fitting words to write
“You’re not a burden,” she replies reflexively. Defensively, almost, though the demigod knows there aren’t any hints of insinuation in Ophelia. They didn’t seem to be the kind of person to wield passive-aggressiveness like that. “I’d rather spend all day with the family than spend all this time relic hunting, or preparing for this fucking war.” More than a little grumbly (and who can blame her?) the Wraith growls to herself whilst hunched over a giant fern, poking around the base of the fronds.
Gods, if she didn’t have to be a weapon - there are a thousand cooler upgrades she could have if she knew she didn’t have to try and kill monsters and people and shit like that.
Anyway. Wessex isn’t hear to lay all her woes as Phi’s feet. So she straightens up, casting a glance towards the sky, and in the meantime, catching a glimpse of something interesting in the tree. “Huh. What’s that?” she muses aloud, moving towards the behemoth, staring up at the shrine.
Gods, if she didn’t have to be a weapon - there are a thousand cooler upgrades she could have if she knew she didn’t have to try and kill monsters and people and shit like that.
Anyway. Wessex isn’t hear to lay all her woes as Phi’s feet. So she straightens up, casting a glance towards the sky, and in the meantime, catching a glimpse of something interesting in the tree. “Huh. What’s that?” she muses aloud, moving towards the behemoth, staring up at the shrine.
WESSEX
