Two Eyes Cenote the night does not belong to god

she spoke and apollyon meant to listen. and he did. a little. she certainly knew more about the stars than he could ever hope to know.

"her consort." he did know that word, a sweetened segue back into why he had come, why he stood listening about the stars while her scent wreathed around them.

apollyon turned his attentions back to the young holy woman. "and do you, like sothis, desire a consort?" he grinned, the black-oil sheen of his eyes dancing.