Lion Head Mesa brother-blood

Satakhetem slipped silently through the shadowed corridors of the palace, a slender figure cloaked in the dim glow of sunset that flickered erratically along the sandstone interior. Her intentions were to escape the bustling presence of her siblings and the ever-watchful eyes of the fellahin, the servants whose presence marked every corner of the grand palace. The corridors were a labyrinth which she had only begun to know.

Her dark ears, elegant and tall now that they were opened, twitched with every slight sound, attuned to the murmurs of the palace’s nighttime activities. Her large feet made muted thuds that betrayed her. The sound of her footsteps, though soft, seemed to reverberate despite her best efforts.

As she rounded a corner, she found herself face-to-face with a natural mirror: her reflection was caught in the stillness of the wading pool. She paused, admiring the image before her, though she saw only things that already did not live up to some mental standard that had begun to form deep within. Slender legs growing too quickly; a pot-belly which was common for children, along with a large head, and disproportionate angles everywhere.

Wrinkling her face, she moved to strike the surface with a slap. The sound was louder than she anticipated, echoing off of the walls and catching in her ears, causing her to flinch. Her reflection does the same - obscured as it was - and Satakhetem looks over her shoulder to the hallway as if she might be caught there.