Cerulean Cape I made you my temple, my mural, my sky

because ramesses did not understand how the cold river ran into the cold seas, he had gone back to it. here the scents of yuelong and of others clung, and he trotted along the ice-rimed sand of the peninsula, his own stomach cramped in hunger.
it was perhaps why the pharaoh did not move to strike an immediate conflict with the small figure who stared at the wintertide with a somber expression. the pale beast only snorted, approaching until he was close enough to find her far different from the empress. he kept a polite distance between them, turned his own lapis gaze out to sea.
"this is an ugly place."