Two Eyes Cenote lotus & lyre

She lay numbly upon a low dais in the hebsut’s common chambers, for the briefest of moments not so swift to conform to her emblem of rigidity. Leaflet scriptures spread over the polished stone. Her head turns as the guard speaks but she does not yet rise.

“I will not see him released,” is spoken with finality, but her voice is soft. She loathed a prisoner as much as she loathed the idea of playing god with his life, thus an impasse was met, for she would not free a man like that to prey upon more children.

The mazoi sets his decree without opening it for discussion. The coy’s conjectures sharpen. Never had his lack of care been more apparent. He saw her as refutable. She remembers the collar.

“Safiya has fostered her own advancement. She is the one who took the initiative to begin her own training and proved her merit in hours upon the sand.” The hebsut had not yet seen such fierce eagerness as their sister in the mazoi’s sons. She did not doubt their capabilities, only their want for it. They were children, still, and Safiya’s promotion had come at a notably young age.

“Only a Jodai passes that decision, Khusobek.” Rising then, to descend the dais and forge with gentle curves an obelisk of copper and obsidian. Her firelit eyes are lifted upon his ice. “Congratulations.”