the VOICE
The Voice hears the determination, the fire in the belly of her bright one, the reverence and faith needed to form a storm of the magnitude that will one day be Wessex the Wraith. She seems to settle somewhat, her static form growing somewhat more illuminated, and she gives a smile that does not befit her youthful visage. A cruel, sharp smile. One that agrees without saying so, one that promises so much more for the future.
Longnight and its monsters, though, is a strange distraction, though it is not necessarily one that the Voice dislikes. She spreads her hands. "Your book speaks true. It is a regret that those monstrous forms were unable to remain bright within this place. They now are a force unto themselves... and though your suggestion is an interesting one, my bright spark, those creatures are unable to sustain themselves without complete darkness. It is why they only emerge during the longest night."
Her tone grows wry. "Or are you suggesting a world of night? Where we Ascended see clearly, and those who choose shadows over brightness are all the more lacking for it?"
Longnight and its monsters, though, is a strange distraction, though it is not necessarily one that the Voice dislikes. She spreads her hands. "Your book speaks true. It is a regret that those monstrous forms were unable to remain bright within this place. They now are a force unto themselves... and though your suggestion is an interesting one, my bright spark, those creatures are unable to sustain themselves without complete darkness. It is why they only emerge during the longest night."
Her tone grows wry. "Or are you suggesting a world of night? Where we Ascended see clearly, and those who choose shadows over brightness are all the more lacking for it?"
