empires fall when we move the unmovable, so tell me all of my secrets, tell me all of my lies,
None except for, perhaps, the Voice, though her Goddess’s emotions have likely shifted out of both necessity and scope, the Wraith has to believe that the deity is saddened by each death. Not that she would ever question it. Wessex remains quiet, taking in the acknowledgement of her distress as Evelyn’s body floats up, tilting her head to follow its brilliant ascension, she finds the next question flat, already internally knowing the answer. “Mabel’s dead too, isn’t she?” She’d seen neither hide nor hair of the other Occidendum girl - no one came running to report that Evelyn had been missing, so…
Three out of three is a pretty shitty track record. None of it was her fault, but that doesn’t stop her emotions, and there’s something so gut-wrenching about a slit throat. “Is there any way to tell who did it?”
It’s not like she has the time right now to act on it; but there is time to simmer and plan. Revenge is a dish best served cold, after all. With a side of steel and fangs.
Three out of three is a pretty shitty track record. None of it was her fault, but that doesn’t stop her emotions, and there’s something so gut-wrenching about a slit throat. “Is there any way to tell who did it?”
It’s not like she has the time right now to act on it; but there is time to simmer and plan. Revenge is a dish best served cold, after all. With a side of steel and fangs.
WESSEX
