Ophelia
Ophelia’s smile is beatific as it’s aimed towards Wessex, and if their expression wasn’t so peaceful most times it wouldn’t be clear in the slight changes that they were amused. “No, I’m not. And I don’t want to be; I’d rather our time together be spent as we want it to be. Aside from preparing of course.” Ophelia doesn’t want to be another name on ‘Wessex’s Worry Roster’. They’re the equivalent of a robotic limp noodle, effectively useless in war, but they aren’t dancing in sunbeams or learning to eat fire. Hopefully that basic level of self-preservation can ensure Wessex doesn’t have to tend to them; they want to help the family, not take precious dwindling time away.
Wessex’s gaze draws Phi’s own, and they wander over to stare up into the tree. “Is it like the homes the Fae build you think?” they ponder. Obviously having never entered the Greatwood, they can only rely on knowledge passes down verbally and written in the Atheneum’s books. A gleam of intrigue enters their pale eyes and a small, impish, childish smile is leveled towards Wessex. “Shall we investigate?”
Wessex’s gaze draws Phi’s own, and they wander over to stare up into the tree. “Is it like the homes the Fae build you think?” they ponder. Obviously having never entered the Greatwood, they can only rely on knowledge passes down verbally and written in the Atheneum’s books. A gleam of intrigue enters their pale eyes and a small, impish, childish smile is leveled towards Wessex. “Shall we investigate?”
Feel the storm every night, hope it passes by
Hallucinate a shady grove where Judas went to die
Hallucinate a shady grove where Judas went to die
