The Darkness is an odd stranger. She was a child of the sun, bleached blonde and freckled by its vicious rays only a few weeks ago - and now? Now her tan lines fade, now she strolls about by the light of the moon and now she is in denial. Was it worth it? Wessex weighs the pros and cons in her dreams, loading up gilded scales before two Altars, eternally unable to make them balance (to get them right). She thought she knew what it would be like, how it would feel, what she would have to do after the transformation. She was wrong. And Wessex loathes being wrong.
For a woman who’s always been able to adapt and survive, this change in both body and confidence is… particularly unnerving.
The Ruins, however, are safe; darkness and colder temperatures keep most others out, giving infant Wessex time to figure shit out on her own. The last thing she wants is to run into another Ascended before she can play the young-but-fully-has-this-new-race-thing-under-control role and get some casual advice rather than desperate survival tips. She’s made it to thirty-five, a rare accomplishment amongst some circles, so she sure as hell isn’t going to start acting like an idiotic teenager just because she has to, you know, re-learn half her skills and adjust her thought processes.
Despite the perpetual darkness down here, she can feel the natural shift of the day in her blood. Sluggish and dozey before, Wessex’s body hums as the sun dips to the edge of the horizon. She can hear the footsteps of another in the distance and smell the vague odor of something burning. Her tongue runs over her newly sharpened canines in a self-conscious manner, but the unusual gesture slowly morphs into something slightly more devious, as Wessex realizes she can, perhaps, see what kind of effect she has on whoever is wandering these dark, dark corridors.
Wessex stalks the girl on leather-soled feet, allowing her heightened vision to guide her through the tunnel until she is hopefully in front of the girl, waiting patiently for the dim glow of the flames to light upon her pale face, which holds a slightly devious little smirk. It’s cliche, she knows. But she’s never had the opportunity to play like this before. Maybe it is all worth it.
Sarya
For a woman who’s always been able to adapt and survive, this change in both body and confidence is… particularly unnerving.
The Ruins, however, are safe; darkness and colder temperatures keep most others out, giving infant Wessex time to figure shit out on her own. The last thing she wants is to run into another Ascended before she can play the young-but-fully-has-this-new-race-thing-under-control role and get some casual advice rather than desperate survival tips. She’s made it to thirty-five, a rare accomplishment amongst some circles, so she sure as hell isn’t going to start acting like an idiotic teenager just because she has to, you know, re-learn half her skills and adjust her thought processes.
Despite the perpetual darkness down here, she can feel the natural shift of the day in her blood. Sluggish and dozey before, Wessex’s body hums as the sun dips to the edge of the horizon. She can hear the footsteps of another in the distance and smell the vague odor of something burning. Her tongue runs over her newly sharpened canines in a self-conscious manner, but the unusual gesture slowly morphs into something slightly more devious, as Wessex realizes she can, perhaps, see what kind of effect she has on whoever is wandering these dark, dark corridors.
Wessex stalks the girl on leather-soled feet, allowing her heightened vision to guide her through the tunnel until she is hopefully in front of the girl, waiting patiently for the dim glow of the flames to light upon her pale face, which holds a slightly devious little smirk. It’s cliche, she knows. But she’s never had the opportunity to play like this before. Maybe it is all worth it.
Sarya
