fragile creatures on collision with our judgement days

WESSEX after all is said and done you're just a carnivore let you in and drink my blood you're nothing but a monster Juniper is right in at least one regard; it is not likely to always be a polite conversation. Wessex nods to acknowledge that she’s heard the words and finds a plush chair across from Juniper. “I assume you found it easily enough?” It’d be hard to miss, she thinks, but yes, that icily polite face remains. Daphne enters with a tray of tea and assorted lovely smelling things for the Fae and lingers just a tad too long, fussing over pouring the tea and fidgeting with the display. She accidentally makes eye contact with the Wraith and a sharp look sends her back to the door, where she will inevitably eavesdrop. Such is the way. Whatever. “Whether you meantto or not, a letter in place of the courtesy of a meeting was insulting,” the Wraith begins dryly. “Especially considering its contents.” Tilting her head a bit to examine the petite woman in front of her, she raises one brow ever so slightly. “Why didn’t you come in person?” She, too, is a leader after all. They may not like it, but they can’t deny it. It’s not a matter of respect necessarily (though it is, and Wessex will always chafe at being left out); it’s a matter of equality.