WESSEX
Wessex painting flowers? The idea makes her chuckle. “I’ve done it before, but my efforts might offend Caido’s greatest artist.” Ducking inside with a thankful tuck of her head, she spies the news painting of Rexanna first - the one that sits by the door. She stills and pauses, the chuckle quickly dying out, though it’s not replaced by melancholy. “I like that one,” she says to Bastien as she turns back and heads further into the house - a semi-familiar place - but she pauses before making herself at home. “How are you?” the Wraith asks politely, inquiring mostly about his post-illness state of being. “And how’s Azrael?” As far as she knows, the child hadn’t been sick but that doesn’t account for the myriad of other concerns one might have when the parent is deliriously ill.
It’s one of the few reasons she won’t ever ask for a child; her life is too dangerous, too bold, too reckless. It would be unfair to raise a child in that kind of environment, or expose it to anyone who might use it against her. But she wouldn’t mind playing Aunt every once in a while.
No, I’ll be the stone
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all
