Two Eyes Cenote sand & lapis

She does not answer, only allows the familiar storm of his eyes to fill her. Something gnawed, reached, yawning for life. And Eset knew she would hate herself. She also knew hating herself was what made it feel so good. The extremes of feeling, of needing it to hurt.

But it was a kind of love she’d made over and over, awakening in a pile of ash with the smoke still in her lungs.

Khusobek was a mazoi to her; loyal guardsman, devoted resident of Muat-riya.

She nods, straightening, tearing her eyes ahead. She would send Legend as a messenger to the valley of gold.

"One moment," she asks of Khusobek before calling to a passing fellahin, “please have @Machiavelli brought to my quarters.”