Two Eyes Cenote Woma

there is a soft tremble in his breath; no longer nerves but the settling of something, like the desert after a raging, blinding sandstorm. it is a relieving sort of tremble, and beneath it something else.

do you like it?

drawn out of whatever reverie had consumed him, glossing his gaze as he studies her face in return; wrapt in a spell that he did not wish to ever be free from —

a blink is given to signify the breaching of his thoughts, the ending of the spell; though warmth lingers in the depths of his green gaze all the same.

i do. answers meseba simply, unsure of how to communicate how perfectly the name she and the gods have chosen for him fit. and though meseba is content to remain mazoi, he knows with the death of stark there a chance he can pursue his true passion.

without lingering guilt of disappointing parents whom now no longer existed. stark had been born but meseba had been moulded from the soft crafting hands of sopdet and breath of osiris.