WESSEX
the wraith
The black snot dripping from Melita’s nose causes the Queen to recoil ever so slightly. Having heard what happens to the blighted, she nevertheless hadn’t seen it up close and personal before. But then the dark liquid drips again and Wessex can pinpoint it as the source of the smell. Her jaws clench, teeth grinding against each other in an effort to stay calm and collected. Anyway, who would she rage against? Herself? Her Lady? Ha.
It’s only a moment before Melita rejects her offer, continuing towards the Spire and Wessex is hot on her trail, hugging her cloak close under the weak rays of the Deepfrost sun. A promise? What promise? is on her lips when Fangorn’s worry and agitation instead, compel her to pick the vampire gourd up as she follows their wasp to the basement entrance of the black (black like the blood on her nose, in the color of her eyes), half-collapsed obelisk. He’s tucked into the crook of her elbow, safe and sound for now.
“Do what?” Wessex calls, trying to follow the conversation and clearly unable to. There is no rhyme or reason to it. There is only the drive, and the Wraith will stand witness to it and protect Melita’s shell as best she can.
she's pullin' the trigger
cause it's me and the moon, she says
and i have no trouble with that
