It's Lord of the Flies in my mind tonight
The demigod knows well the feeling of naievete and nods in understanding. “Hope is both a fragile and strong thing,” she murmurs - just like people. Like Aurelia and herself, bleeding at the slightest bit of sharp pressure, but ultimately resilient and possessing a strong core. Or so she thinks, the more she learns about the Outlander and the world she’s come from.
“Gods, but if that ain’t the truth,” Wessex chuckles, knowing that she, too, has come to accept many, many things she didn’t think possible. “It doesn’t get any easier as you get older.”
Especially when what looks like a budding warmth has to be quelled by Safrin. Wessex tries not to visibly tense at the reveal, tries not to begin to think ill of Aurelia. But there is a fierce flash of anger at both the herald (for stealing her) and Aurelia (for being so stupid as to fall under her spell), that she can only follow it up with what she hopes is a neutral-sounding “Ah. Safrin is… compelling.” Manipulative, is what she means, but it would be unwise to say that right now.
“How did she feel about your magic?”
These are the times when Wessex both wishes she could get drunk and is glad she can't, because there are a few choice things she might say about Safrin if her tongue were looser, and she imagines that might ruin a useful friendship with the herald's her newest devotee.
“Gods, but if that ain’t the truth,” Wessex chuckles, knowing that she, too, has come to accept many, many things she didn’t think possible. “It doesn’t get any easier as you get older.”
Especially when what looks like a budding warmth has to be quelled by Safrin. Wessex tries not to visibly tense at the reveal, tries not to begin to think ill of Aurelia. But there is a fierce flash of anger at both the herald (for stealing her) and Aurelia (for being so stupid as to fall under her spell), that she can only follow it up with what she hopes is a neutral-sounding “Ah. Safrin is… compelling.” Manipulative, is what she means, but it would be unwise to say that right now.
“How did she feel about your magic?”
These are the times when Wessex both wishes she could get drunk and is glad she can't, because there are a few choice things she might say about Safrin if her tongue were looser, and she imagines that might ruin a useful friendship with the herald's her newest devotee.
