Two Eyes Cenote and anything before is nothing

dreadfather.

a name he has not heard in ... a long time. in what felt like centuries though in reality it had simply been months. but time was a strange thing to ingram. it moved out of sync with him and he felt so much older than his two years. ancient, in comparison.

time has been kind to toula. it has helped to blossom her into a stunningly grown woman.

call me ingram, please, he says this softly; lowly. almost a whisper. he draws in a breath to stop her, to refuse the offer of food and drink; ready to feel the obsession that has singularly driven him from seclusion in kvarsheim to her.

but like a beast subdued, it does not rear it's head despite that he has yet to actually give his message.

she tells him of what he has missed: that she is godswife, a queen but not pharaoh and dread fills him; creeping up from his heart like a parasite, winding up his throat.

no — it chokes out of him; startled. though whether it was because she called herself wife or queen against his vision of ma'at ingram hates that he is unsure. toula, the hellhound throws out formality, wanting — no needing — her to listen to him.

ma'at has come to me, has shadowed my steps and commanded my mind. he has ceased walking, fearing that he is no longer welcomed ... that he may not be after he shares what he has travelled into these unknown lands to tell her.