WESSEX
the wraith
There is nothing to do but let Melita go to the ground and curl up into a ball. There’s no disappointment in her face - if only the girl would look at her, she would see that! At least, there isn’t until her concern and affections are shrugged off. And that? That stings. It doesn’t matter that her mentee may still be blighted, that it’s shame running through the woman, an emotion she's relatively unfamiliar with. What's the point? Wessex pulls away and straightens the hood around herself, still aware that even though the sun is weaker in Deepfrost, it can still burn. “Suit yourself,” she says, soft and cold. Even now, the real Melita seems to spurn her, and the Queen is weary of it. Not that she’d wanted appreciation for her efforts, but - well, yes, she did. Just a smidgen, even if the desire for appreciation is more or less grossly misplaced. Wessex can understand defiance, but why it’s directed at her, she can’t understand.
“Will you come inside, at least?” Her hand extends to the crouching, ruminating redhead, there to help her up or be cast away. It’s her choice.
she's pullin' the trigger
cause it's me and the moon, she says
and i have no trouble with that
