you wouldn't even recognize me anymore
not that you knew me back then
Wessex almost recoils from the room and the painter upon hearing that he is expressing himself, something that is so far outside her comfort zone when paired with art that it’s almost scary.
And the Wraith is scared of very little. Except, perhaps, unrestrained emotion. She’s so tightly wound, some people say, that a stick can’t even make it up her ass because there’s no fucking room.
With every fiber of her being yelling to quickly and quietly back out of the room, she naturally has no answer for him when he asks why not? “Yeah, uh… dunno. Good - point.” In fact, the Queen is probably inching backward, looking back out of the antechamber again, “Y’know, I was looking for -”
Except then he tells her to try it and Goddess above, she has never backed away from a challenge (because that’s what it is to her, a challenge). Cringing inwardly, she takes a look at the splatter and then the brush, the paint cans, back to the man, who seems delightful and eager and everything she is not. “O…. kay.” Hesitant, but ultimately agreeable, Wessex goes for the can of black paint, dips the brush, and then tentatively flicks it against the wall so it’s more of a line than a spray or splatter.
And the Wraith is scared of very little. Except, perhaps, unrestrained emotion. She’s so tightly wound, some people say, that a stick can’t even make it up her ass because there’s no fucking room.
With every fiber of her being yelling to quickly and quietly back out of the room, she naturally has no answer for him when he asks why not? “Yeah, uh… dunno. Good - point.” In fact, the Queen is probably inching backward, looking back out of the antechamber again, “Y’know, I was looking for -”
Except then he tells her to try it and Goddess above, she has never backed away from a challenge (because that’s what it is to her, a challenge). Cringing inwardly, she takes a look at the splatter and then the brush, the paint cans, back to the man, who seems delightful and eager and everything she is not. “O…. kay.” Hesitant, but ultimately agreeable, Wessex goes for the can of black paint, dips the brush, and then tentatively flicks it against the wall so it’s more of a line than a spray or splatter.
but it all comes back to me in the end
WESSEX
