WESSEX
the wraith
People talk and Wessex listens. These days her thoughts often drift to last year’s Festival of Lights and the images of her beloveds. It’s bittersweet, these memories that she clings to. Knowing that she won’t participate in the Festival this year unless it’s by herself, some old (the forty-year-old part) part of her still finds itself aligning with tradition and her feet carry her the rest of the way. The seaglass building is pretty with its bobbing lights and she finds many faces she recognizes (some with a quiet growl of ire and some time a restrained smile), but Wessex settles at the back edge of the crowd. There have been many developments since last year, and now the demi-god prefers not to draw the Herald’s attention, though she certainly isn’t dumb enough to think it doesn’t know she’s there. she's pullin' the trigger
cause it's me and the moon, she says
and i have no trouble with that
