Rosewater Oasis this is a joke

he is tormented. cast in a shell of what he felt he once was, torn between the visage of a man blessed and a man cursed. he is blessed in the light of his almighty Ra, and yet cursed by the allure of the flesh. he is a man.

a man.

and the sun rises, as Ra wills it. but samirseti finds no radiance, no glory, in his sunshine today. he finds only torment, anguish, and disarray. and his long stride carries him through the crystalline sands of the naaghai and his oasis, form a shadow against the brilliance.

and there she is. racharra. homely of akashingo, requited honorary daughter of toula, goddess of the red sands. she who is next to the godhead. he halts beside her, his chin lifting, the plume of his thick neck fur catching the light.

he bows his great crown.

o great ra, who rises eternal and burns with the strength of a thousand suns, hear your children. he inhales. he exhales persecution. tefnut, mistress of the waters, she who fills the earth’s veins, watch over us as you have always done.