Go
deep throat
a cactus
Wessex already knew about Magrethe’s soul being at peace with Mort - when she’d seen her and their mother at the Festival of Lights, they’d seemed more happy and calm than at almost any time during their life. They’d chatted, scarred wounds were torn open anew and with everything going on, the Queen mourns more for the unconditional love and companionship than anything else, for memories of what once was; nostalgia reared its ugly head and conveniently left every struggle they’d faced in the faded halls of the past. Memory is funny that way, isn’t it?
She nods her head at both the girl’s name and the thanks, then turns to leave the two to talk; she has no interest in the realm of the dead, no use for whatever Delphia might bring. Souls were not a part of her problems, but if it kept her people happy to have demi-god walking amongst them, then so be it.
She nods her head at both the girl’s name and the thanks, then turns to leave the two to talk; she has no interest in the realm of the dead, no use for whatever Delphia might bring. Souls were not a part of her problems, but if it kept her people happy to have demi-god walking amongst them, then so be it.
