we're all stories unfinished and we die to find some fitting words to write
Wrinkling her nose at the prospect of losing time with Ru, Wessex sighs. “Maybe. Let’s give it a bit.” Because there are still heavy weights on her shoulders and stormclouds in her head. And she, too, is in need of some kind of catharsis.
Which means that Ru’s answer is satisfactory. Even though she’s unsure of what she’s looking for, Wessex thinks she’s found an unbiased party to tell her the truth. Something inside her clenches, bracing before she can even get the words out - preparation has always been Wessex’s modus operandi and this is no exception. Where to begin is the only decision she has left to make.
“Am I a Monster the Voice has unleashed?” Clear, but quietly intimate, as she asks the Queen’s brows furrow in long-held worry. “LongNight was not my best - yes, most everyone survived, but I was careless with some, endlessly frustrated with others. I made some bad decisions but - am I a monster?” Struck and stung by the claim, Wessex has both accepted and resisted it, fighting to say, no, this isn’t me, and wanting to throw up her hands and let herself be the nightmare others seem to want.
As she turns her gaze down to Hotaru, one thing is clear: Wessex has been made into so many things, jumped into so many different roles that she no longer knows who she is. At her very core. Hotaru probably doesn't know either, but at least the Outlander won't hold back in her fair assessment.
Which means that Ru’s answer is satisfactory. Even though she’s unsure of what she’s looking for, Wessex thinks she’s found an unbiased party to tell her the truth. Something inside her clenches, bracing before she can even get the words out - preparation has always been Wessex’s modus operandi and this is no exception. Where to begin is the only decision she has left to make.
“Am I a Monster the Voice has unleashed?” Clear, but quietly intimate, as she asks the Queen’s brows furrow in long-held worry. “LongNight was not my best - yes, most everyone survived, but I was careless with some, endlessly frustrated with others. I made some bad decisions but - am I a monster?” Struck and stung by the claim, Wessex has both accepted and resisted it, fighting to say, no, this isn’t me, and wanting to throw up her hands and let herself be the nightmare others seem to want.
As she turns her gaze down to Hotaru, one thing is clear: Wessex has been made into so many things, jumped into so many different roles that she no longer knows who she is. At her very core. Hotaru probably doesn't know either, but at least the Outlander won't hold back in her fair assessment.
WESSEX
