Two Eyes Cenote [m] Adder

I'm sorry he's so frustrating to deal with sob

Machi’s gaze flickered with barely concealed irritation as he regarded Eset, the thin thread of his patience unraveling. He shifted his weight against the wall, the tension in his body a palpable force. His tail twitched in agitation, the movement sharp and restless. When he finally spoke, his voice was laced with exasperation, rough and low, Then go attend to your palace, Eset.

You came with me, he continued, and I’m trying—gods above, I’m trying—to give be cooperative and give you answers. But you make it so damn difficult. He exhaled sharply, the sound merging with the persistent rush of water from the stream. I don’t want to tell you anything, truly, but I see that silence gets me thrown into one of your harebrained schemes, so here I am, doing my best, yet you make it nigh impossible with your ever-shifting attitude.

He paused, his gaze narrowing as he listened to her, frustration etched into every line of his face. Yes, I intended to poison the lot. It worked once, and I believe it could work again. I told you as much when I first brought you here, yet somehow, you seemed to hear, "I’m going to murder your children," and ordered me to destroy everything.

His ears flattened against his skull, the irritation in his voice mirrored in the rigid tension of his posture. His shattered-glass eyes darkened, hardening with a mixture of resentment and defiance. I have prayed to every god known, begged them to help me, and you want to know what they did? He spat the words, his voice trembling with a raw blend of anger and despair. Nothing. I thought my prayers were finally answered when Juno arrived, but then he died too. And when I asked for another chance, they only granted it after I watched my mum rot in prison. So, it might not be your place to intervene in their will, but as far as I’m concerned, letting me fuck with their plans one time is the least they owe me, his voice broke, the malice in his words giving way to something more fragile— vulnerable. He shut his eyes tightly, dragging a paw through the matted fur of his tail, trying to steady his breath. When he finally opened his eyes, there was a flicker of remorse in his expression.

I’m sorry, he murmured, his voice quieter now, more controlled, though still heavy with emotion. I shouldn’t have said that. I respect that you have faith. I’m glad you still have something to find comfort in, but I don’t. His gaze dropped to the floor, as if seeking solace in the stone beneath him.

When he spoke again, his voice was tinged with resignation, the fight draining from him. I know you mean to help, or you wouldn’t have freed me— you wouldn't be sitting here. But I can see that you still don’t trust me. That’s fine. I don’t blame you. He sighed, the sound laden with a weariness that went far beyond physical exhaustion. So, ask whatever questions you have, and I swear I will answer honestly—if you’re still willing to listen.