Lion Head Mesa Primrose

Pharaoh Ramesses’ watching eyes are a cobalt glow in the empty cathedra. The children’s small footsteps are loud, it is almost too hard to linger in as Neith is led toward the prominence of the two thrones. She is a minute creature in the midst of deep red eminence, where permeates a distinct feeling that they should not be here– not while Pharaoh and Semer-wati are away.

What if Satakh should catch them? What if Den?

But the princess of light listens for the fluent coo of her name, finding the whole sun in her lion brother’s voice. A rapturous pleasure in his command as the dais awaits, vacant.

The ascent is shy, the lazuli eyes her guide, and by the time Merneith is seated, nacre over red,  youth has been lanced from her bones.

Such height quickens her breath. Looking up into a dome of darkness Neith is suddenly made aware of all she may be. The blood of the universe shivers within pulsing veins and she gasps, feeling what she can never express and yet cannot conceal as her eyes find the prince.

Feeling and thought and sense and soul, everything merges in a moment which gives her at last Khaem; around her, beneath her, above her.

“Beside me,” breathlessly, she calls to him.