She is curious. Her conversation with Wessex lingers in her mind, and she finds herself at a different shrine today. Though she has gone, time and again to the shrine of the old gods to ask after her brother, time and again they have done little more than the occasional parlor trick, making it infinitely clear that they did not really care for her. Even if Ludo took her gifts anyway.
She has no idea what sort of gifts The Voice might like, and so she comes empty handed, but without the bitterness that taints her heart. There is something guarded there though, like a hope that dare not bloom. What Wessex spoke of, a goddess that was once Abandoned, that might understand seemed too good to be true, and yet she does not doubt that Wessex told the truth.
Weaver kneels before the shrine, made of metal and stone, and bows her head slightly. ”Lady,” she offers, parroting the term she has heard used by the few Ascended she knows. ”I have met some of your children, and I admit, they have left me curious to know you better. I have no gifts to offer but an open heart.” And then she waits, expecting no response, and yet daring to hope anyway.
She has no idea what sort of gifts The Voice might like, and so she comes empty handed, but without the bitterness that taints her heart. There is something guarded there though, like a hope that dare not bloom. What Wessex spoke of, a goddess that was once Abandoned, that might understand seemed too good to be true, and yet she does not doubt that Wessex told the truth.
Weaver kneels before the shrine, made of metal and stone, and bows her head slightly. ”Lady,” she offers, parroting the term she has heard used by the few Ascended she knows. ”I have met some of your children, and I admit, they have left me curious to know you better. I have no gifts to offer but an open heart.” And then she waits, expecting no response, and yet daring to hope anyway.
weaver
-- kiss you like a whiskey fire --
