we're all stories unfinished and we die to find some fitting words to write
“Hotaru?” Wessex replies, a consciously held internal dam bursting somewhere beneath her rib cage. A flood of emotion - recent and old - rips through like a tsunami wave, flooding everything from that sacral hiding place to the roots of her hair. Inorganic or not, the Wraith feels far more human in this moment than she has in a long time, as she reaches out to pull Hotaru in to her, arms folding tightly around the smaller woman as if she might never let go.
“I saw you at the Trial,” she begins, “And couldn’t believe it - but then Nate and everything and I lost you in the rush and -” and now here she is. Alive. Flesh and blood. Not eaten by the Wilds of Caido like so many others. Her mouth presses gently against the crown of Hotaru’s head, a kiss of indeterminate meaning, but tender and gentle and full of yearning and relief all the same.
Allowing the embrace to last as long as either of them would like, Wessex murmurs against the woman’s head “Gods, I was worried.”
“I saw you at the Trial,” she begins, “And couldn’t believe it - but then Nate and everything and I lost you in the rush and -” and now here she is. Alive. Flesh and blood. Not eaten by the Wilds of Caido like so many others. Her mouth presses gently against the crown of Hotaru’s head, a kiss of indeterminate meaning, but tender and gentle and full of yearning and relief all the same.
Allowing the embrace to last as long as either of them would like, Wessex murmurs against the woman’s head “Gods, I was worried.”
WESSEX
