fragile creatures on collision with our judgement days

WESSEX after all is said and done you're just a carnivore let you in and drink my blood you're nothing but a monster Oh, if only Juniper had seen Wessex’s previous home: a shack, barely warm enough in Deepfrost and eternally in need of repair. How she didn’t die of frostbite every year was a small miracle. It probably still exists in the Outskirts, somewhere. Unless it’s fallen down, of course. This house, modest, but yes, homey, was meant for appearance’s sake. For other’s comfort. For some semblance of normal humanity. What they don’t know is that Wessex still sleeps in the basement - when she sleeps at all. Nodding slowly in acceptance of Juniper’s apology, the Queen reiterates what has always been true - and perhaps this diplomat had never heard it before. “If I’m home, my doors are open.” Any Grounder may come and ask to speak with her. Other than the other demigods and a select few people, the Wraith believes she can handle most any thread that comes her way. Anyway. Let’s not linger any more than we have to. Wessex offers a general gesture of 'go on,' watching the Fae carefully. “At your leisure”