we're all stories unfinished and we die to find some fitting words to write
Scrunching her nose and side of her face into an odd shape, Wessex peers up at the thing in the tree and shakes her head. “Ehhhh probably not. No Fae out here that we know of… but on the other hand, seems more than an animal nest.” Which leaves everything in between - from a child’s tree house to a spying fort to a smuggler’s stash. Turning back to Ophelia, she can’t help but note their impish smile, the obvious spark of curiosity; it’s so familiar, it’s like looking in a mirror. The General grins in return, revealing the tips of her fangs. “Yes. Obviously.”
Out come a pair of wings, bursting forth from her shoulder blades in a silent flurry of feathers and bone. She once again offers Phi a hand, “Climbing or flying?” If her sibling chooses to climb, the Wraith will meet them up on the bough, and if they choose to fly, she’ll pull them in, wrap an arm tightly around their waist, and haul the two of them up past the brush and greenery, to whatever lies above.
Out come a pair of wings, bursting forth from her shoulder blades in a silent flurry of feathers and bone. She once again offers Phi a hand, “Climbing or flying?” If her sibling chooses to climb, the Wraith will meet them up on the bough, and if they choose to fly, she’ll pull them in, wrap an arm tightly around their waist, and haul the two of them up past the brush and greenery, to whatever lies above.
WESSEX
