Lion Head Mesa the [m]arble hall

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it was not the act itself which paused senmut in this moment, it was the anticipation of a connecting that he was not certain he had the ability to comprehend. he circled in legend's dance steps on limbs he scarcely felt, something hot as the touch of an eternal ice jarring its way along his flesh to heart to muscle to loins, and he saw at last what he sought in melody as a conduit. not the glow of sun, but the flash of starlight above a red desert, the bloodstains of their hemming refleshed now in the one who held senmut snared.

a wisping of guilt, a withdrawal into contemplations of nazli, she who shyly inhabited the warm homeland of his secret unspoken heart; she who he saw in himself, and he in her, fellahin who had ascended above the backflung provincial poverty into something more. 

in the end, they had both ascended beyond themselves, though his rank as prince was reflection of akashingo's grandeur, and what nazli had endured was the stamp of the palace's shame. his love for her, genuine and simmering only you, but he could not let desire touch it.

now he was offered worship and eagerly reached for the honeyed bite upon that platter; another dangerous game, to glut himself and whet his want on the eager knife's edge of legend. and yet for him, she wished to be the same sort of conduit, and with his priest's eyes he saw her, and lusted in two ways: both for her body and secondly, for her devotion, to know, to see, that legend worshipped him as he was reverent to Amun.

hubris beneath her tongue, filling his mouth.

finally senmut found himself a prince once more, and with eyes turned from sunbright viridian to shadowcast emerald, his edict was swift. her nightbound figure was embraced with scarlet limbs that fair trembled in his enchantment, and in the splendor granted him, of fine pelts and polished redstone, of arched ceilings and the crush of flowers expanding beneath the lavish couch, he moved as he had not before, as if he were possessed, and perhaps indeed he was.

undone, untangled, uncomplicated by her reverence, voices in tremulous winding together, and all of senmut in truth, laying in exhausted wonder thereafter that he had never sought this, and that legend still had given him all that he had not known he desired.