Two Eyes Cenote i'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired

“It is what I believe,” her nods are fierce, eyes brimming with a fresh glisten of tears, “you disagree, now. But will you say the same in months to come?” Meseba was much too assured a man to cast doubt upon, she knew. Yet she could not bear to imagine him lying alone for nights after his long day’s laborings, abstaining from any other woman by her own wildering nature. Would he not come to resent himself, if not her?

He nears, reaching for a field touch, his broad body a sensation of security. The tears tremor then spill.

I am your devoted, and here in her mind it read: I am your sacrifice.

Her breathing staggers, “I want only for your fulfillment. Not your regrets,” The murmurs wane, she looks into Meseba’ face, searching for the traces of his soul that could be read upon the roughened features.