Two Eyes Cenote [m] Adder

His voice is loosed in the room around them, where all the intrusive smells of stale earth again threatens to roll her fragile stomach once more. She is cold, face like the cool shale walls unmoving, but no less attentive behind the shield of her wariness.

As he goes on her ache for him is a twin to the anger, just as strong and demanding. She holds back any inclinations to comfort, claws tensing the stone as he finishes, eyes caught on the jeweled veins.

Herod, his fingers of control, they deserve to be severed for what was done. Why not pain? Why not death? The hebsut imagines a no more fitting picture of justice than wolf writhing in the dirt with a sword through their heart.

“You have poisoned his men before,” Eset broaches only after long silence, “if they know you are behind this, they will suspect it again.”

It is why she had placed Machiavelli in the prison, but she had no heart to voice it, nor to consider casting him back in after months of suffering in solitude. Her eyes move up to his, shed of mistrust, now brimming with a harsher resolve.