Lion Head Mesa thirteenth

she glowered, simmered, burned.

it felt as if her brain suffered a great million deaths at once. that all at once she must pull on a pale, serious face. a mask to close her heart from the world around her.

she stood.

tall, sharp, molded by the roman in her stance.

in a single moment she thrashed with a sharpness unbecoming a composed royal. a nearby fur tattered and sent sliding across the dusty floor. she was thankful it was not trinkets or plating. less they shatter and skitter, bring forward nosy attendants.

no.

only senmut would be witness to this small outburst.

a harder stance taken now. another thing gathered up from her time in mereo. a few small steps to bring her face to senmut's own. so that she might bare her breath upon the fine hairs that covered surely pale skin.

tell me it is a lie, hem.

but her whispered and strained voice betrayed her, for she knew he would not say such to her mindlessly.