I write sins, not tragedies
“They might,” Wessex concedes, though her tone says she’s not optimistic. “Remember we’re abominations, though. If you’d taken the time to make it clear that Ascended aren’t even human in your eyes, how productive do you think a conversation like that would be for us?” And this is where Wessex always seems to get frustrated - the trying and the trying and trying with those who long ago made their positions known.
The Gods and their heralds are stones; no amount of pleading or bargaining or trying to prove otherwise would move their so-called hearts. Three hundred years hadn’t changed anything and the Wraith very much doubts that any single individual could, either.
She’s trying to remain calm, of course, trying to interact differently with Sam this time, but the question triggers the old irritations and she has to pause, gripping the handles of the wheelbarrow tightly before replying, tight-lipped again. “Where it went. What happened to it after LongNight. Because if it hasn't been destroyed, it could be used against us again. ”
The Gods and their heralds are stones; no amount of pleading or bargaining or trying to prove otherwise would move their so-called hearts. Three hundred years hadn’t changed anything and the Wraith very much doubts that any single individual could, either.
She’s trying to remain calm, of course, trying to interact differently with Sam this time, but the question triggers the old irritations and she has to pause, gripping the handles of the wheelbarrow tightly before replying, tight-lipped again. “Where it went. What happened to it after LongNight. Because if it hasn't been destroyed, it could be used against us again. ”
WESSEX
