Two Eyes Cenote sixty-fifth

a boy, lifted from nothing. a boy born from rich earth beside a slow sea. a boy who would have been content to stay, to marry, to work and die where he had been given life.

but the gods. they move in ways no one can predict.

and now he stood here, princemade and royal, gilded in riches with the finest vintage pooling with fire in his mouth.

and it was sweet, and it was good. he took another, and toyed with a third;

"i was always meant to be fellahin, eset. often i wish for something less than what i have been given. or something more." berry to lips, the radiance gone out of his green eyes. "but now i am in a position to give more than i will ever possess." a dichotomy.

"i am sorry, hebsut. i do not mean to keep you."