Two Eyes Cenote no, no, it's rightfully mine.

Each night is plagued with terrors. Sleep never comes easy, if it comes at all.

The witching hour is odd; too warm, too thick. The air is wet against Eset's sides as she rises, drawn instinctively from the hebsut’s chambers out into the concourse where two figures are stood, silhouetted in red at the cenotes' edge.

There’s a faint, muffling voice. “Medusa?”

Closer she pads to the woman– a stranger, as is the child at her side, though she recognizes both. Immediately in their faces something is horrifically, irrevocably wrong.

A shade closes over her. The depths of the cenote are dark, they churn, aggravated, riling and spouting the meager remains of their bloodied contents.

The sanctuary echos with the coy’s wild cries.

“What have you done!?” Teeth bare for the white woman. Too slight too fight, it didn't matter now. Her rage was as hot and searing as lashes upon the skin.