Lion Head Mesa a whispering god

kiseki-yoku was rising.

queenly whispers surrounded the royals' glowing pool, and into it senmut stared as if he might divine the voice within the catacombs. he was not able to determine what had changed of the wellspring, only that in some minute way it had shifted.

kiseki-yoku whispered unto itself to nichibotsu and hinode;

satsu's smile curling upon redstone walls.

senmut thought he must be going mad.

as of late, the palace had received @Machiavelli but no eset. a stifling heat in the wintertide air gripped red priest, and in search of that sweetened familiarity he moved purposefully through the scarlet halls.

a scribe with a prince's step. voice beckoned to the fellahin and senmut did not wait to be bidden. "is she well, machiavelli?" he asked, worried greenlight gaze etching over the traveltorn figure of the pearlspill man. he did not allow himself to remember, not in this moment.