Cerulean Cape I made you my temple, my mural, my sky

the woman's rebuttal drew a sharp look; ramesses meant to say something, but words crumbled upon his tongue as if they were dust inside a sarcophagus. one eye blazed back with the hardened expression of one who has seen too much war; the other was gone, swallowed inside its own cavern. 
"a whore gives pleasure," pharaoh rebutted. "this gives nothing." and still he did not take his eyes from the greystone's face, feeling himself helplessly compelled to explore the edge of that open maw set where her stare should have been equally hard. "life is your own series of demands."