Two Eyes Cenote fifty-ninth

In his eyes, no mockery. An eagerness jumps in her throat as she guides the holy man down a deserted hallway.

There on a bare face of limestone was a faint scene loosely stroked by paw: Toula, the golden Pharaoh, with the solar disk of Isis bright over her head. Beside her, smaller, a figure had first been drafted in reds. He now comprised of obsidian and gold.

She stares at the crude marks.

“To make something, I believe it is an act of optimism. First you set out to paint a mural, you believe you’re going to finish it. Then you think once you’ve finished it’s going to be good. Then you believe there’s someone who will want to see it, which is even more hopeful,” her eyes move to his.

“A single stroke of paint presumes a future audience. It presumes hope.” That hope caught in Eset's face.

“Two journeys,” the fellahin acknowledges. She wanted happiness for Toula. Such happiness she wanted also for him- even if it was not to be found in her Pharaoh.