Lion Head Mesa [sc] eighty-second

darling.

his spine glowed with the pleasing sound of that; "yes," senmut managed, sitting up very slowly beneath the watchful eye of machiavelli. "i will — i want that. see to my well-being," he pretended to command, before an apologetic look flashed hot in his addled eyes.

steadily he would move, allowing the other to manuever him down the stone path which led back to the networking of rooms and apartments; he would sag against the wall here or there, ashamed in his declarations once more.

laid down in his fine robes, "stay a while," the dry lips asked, and then the prince of the red land found himself so insensate, charmed with the final images of machiavelli before exhaustion blotted him from the world for a time.