Lion Head Mesa Myrtle

there was a quiet horror growing in silvertongue: an assumption that she had stepped into a watercolor portrait supported by nothing. rote, pretty smile on her face as the royal girl fell across her fine bedding. it was belen who plucked up lillies and laid them where the princess indicated, belen who laughed and said, "you talk about boys, amiirad!" and all the while silvertongue curled inside the roof of her mind and trembled. where was she? and where was ramesses? satsu? she concentrated on elegant breaths.