WESSEX
The sun’s last fiery sliver sits neatly on the horizon, turning the sky a beautiful salmony-pink color. The day’s heat has begun to ebb, but Wessex doesn’t really take pleasure in these little things. She can take note of the dazzling display and then turn her cheek, waiting for the stars to come out. She could dress in wool from head to toe and not break a sweat. But what she can’t do is magic. Having hopefully given Remi enough time to do whatever it is he needs to do - call on the gods, or sacrifice a virgin, transmute some blood-to-gold shit (who knows), Wessex is back and eager to politely pick up her order. A sharp, loud knock comes to the Guildhall’s door and The Ascended hopes she’ll the alchemist here. Dorky as it is, she’s eager to be able to read the texts (as if she doesn’t already have enough to do). But LongNight is only half a year a way, and she’s eager to prevent the massacres again, if possible.
No, I’ll be the stone
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
