Two Eyes Cenote [M] Black-hearted angels sunk me with kisses on my mouth

Nestled within the labyrinthine recesses of the cave, Machiavelli's den lay concealed behind a crude curtain door—a makeshift barrier fashioned from a stick jammed into the opening and adorned with a pelt that draped like a weary sentinel over the threshold. Beyond this unassuming entrance, the small crevice unfolded, bathed in the icy radiance emitted by bioluminescent mushrooms that adorned the rough-hewn walls like scattered constellations.

Initially appearing barren, the chamber held only two notable furnishings. One, a massive rock, nearly the size of a coyote, occupying a niche along the den's wall. Bathed in the soft glow of the fungi, the imposing object seemed to act as almost a nightlight, absorbing and reflecting the cool glow that suffused the chamber.

In the back corner of the room lay the other, an austere bed fashioned from the tawny pelt of a cougar. It was here that Machiavelli slept, his form twitching restlessly, half-spoken words cringing from his lips in garbled tones.