WESSEX
the wraith
Yes, Wessex believes her. She remembers Amalia’s face when she came back to life and walked into that meeting as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Newsflash: it wasn’t, but the reactions were pure fucking gold. It brings a soft smile to the Wraith’s face as she looks down for a moment, then back into the earnest, still child-like honesty of the baker’s gaze. And then it hides again, and something in Wessex sinks in sadness, but accepts that the nature of their relationship has changed enough that tears need not necessarily be discussed. They can simply be dealt with. Or shared with others. She won’t pry. If ‘stressed’ is what Amalia wants to call it, then so be it. The Queen nods empathetically until the ball is thrown to her and she makes a noise of deep thought in the back of her throat.
“Harder than I ever thought it would be. Everyone has an opinion. There isn’t enough time to do everything. Sometimes it feels like everyone else has a piece of the puzzle and if we only sat down and put them all together, the solution to this or that would be magically revealed.” A pause, and then a wry tone. “But then I remember how much I hate long-winded meetings and decide it’s a no-go.” And then she leans in conspiratorially, as if what she’s about to say is a state secret. But what comes out is a “And I’m really fucking sick of Outlander men’s disbelief when they find out I’m Queen, just because I don’t fit their dainty little old world versions.”
The Wraith scoffs. It’s actually fairly insulting.
“That being said, it isn’t… bad, exactly. Just stressful right now, like you said.”
she's pullin' the trigger
cause it's me and the moon, she says
and i have no trouble with that
