Wheeling Gull Isle but sleep won't set me free

"ah, yes. the red flower of Iset, She Who Brings Oblivion in the Night," ramesses uttered proudly. "She has always been a favorite of mine. those who follow Her eat of what is inside the scarlet petals." pharaoh was, of course, speaking in two frameworks; he could not help slipping into his favorite diversion: flirtation.
the woman was not unpleasant despite her ruined jaw and odd foot. in her mind there was something beside vapid aspiration to beauty, so he hoped. loveliness was not always compelling; the allure did not forever last. these thoughts, even as ramesses himself had spent long hours wreathed in his own lust. it was different, he supposed. pharaoh was inspired to sire a nation. his bride must be content to bear his heir.
"i saw them twice. once when i was a boy, and another when i was a man. they speak in riddles. their feet seem not to touch the earth. whatever is in the red flower keeps them encased."
ramesses had ignored her statements upon healing, ignored her inquiry for his name, settled into the tone he had learnt from storytelling emissaries, and his muzzle had slowly dipped down until his face had perhaps moved into the outer boundary of the space surrounding this woman called maegi.
"the first at the jubilee of my father. he had won a war. we celebrated. the priestesses danced. the second, when i won my first skirmish. not a war or a battle, but they sang and danced all the same. and later, with them, i fought another kind of struggle. far less unpleasant."
his lapis eyes flicked over the pale features, like marred marble. perhaps just as cold. "who do you serve?"