i am singing now while rome burns // we are all just trying to be holy
There were certain normalcies that Bastien and her had grown used to, chosen to keep despite the difference in their bodies now. And it was really no exception that her days, now blinded aside from scouting for the pieces to put herself back together, are spent along the couch, fiddling with fabrics or humming along to music from the thought player while Bastien painted, chatting and conversing the days away. She’s doing just that, tinkering without her magic because at least she can imagine it and create it without seeing it, as she creates a small plain ring, draped in golds and blues for the sheer fact of doing it, when she too hears the knock on the door.
She sits up, shirt low hanging on her frame for comfort’s sake as Bastien announces he’ll answer the door. She nods, listening and waiting, face angled toward the door as she ensures the bandana’s placement over her eyes. But her curiosity is diminished once Bastien tells her it’s Wessex, and she stands on sure legs, having grown used to where things were kept in the Artists Sanctuary now that they had no reason to be moved about. And she slips toward the door with a bright smile, pausing because she doesn’t know where exactly Wessex is, but hopes to hug the woman close in greeting.
“Wessex! I’m glad you’ve come!” A cheerful greeting, though a part of her does worry with Bastien that there might be terrible news. At the very least, she can tell their queen of the task given by the Voice, the things needed to restore her sight so some things are similar.
And even still, the starburst scar along her chest, paired with and just as raised as her brand is, easily seen in the dip of her shirt.
She sits up, shirt low hanging on her frame for comfort’s sake as Bastien announces he’ll answer the door. She nods, listening and waiting, face angled toward the door as she ensures the bandana’s placement over her eyes. But her curiosity is diminished once Bastien tells her it’s Wessex, and she stands on sure legs, having grown used to where things were kept in the Artists Sanctuary now that they had no reason to be moved about. And she slips toward the door with a bright smile, pausing because she doesn’t know where exactly Wessex is, but hopes to hug the woman close in greeting.
“Wessex! I’m glad you’ve come!” A cheerful greeting, though a part of her does worry with Bastien that there might be terrible news. At the very least, she can tell their queen of the task given by the Voice, the things needed to restore her sight so some things are similar.
And even still, the starburst scar along her chest, paired with and just as raised as her brand is, easily seen in the dip of her shirt.
rexanna
