Two Eyes Cenote (BOO) Musō-ka

again she manifests in @Toula's room; this time in a way that is not oppressive, like a wintertime cold front. this time she lingers within the veil of the dead.
it is a late hour. attendants have long since ceased their work. mazoi lingered on night-watch in the corridor.
the queen stretched thin above the sleeping body, watching, watching, watching; a tendril of her chill reaching for the princess, weaving across her tongue. each breath a drink.

as toula drank in the spirit, she was drawn to the between-place. a place where the dead could watch the living. it was not unlike a dream space - apropos to the moment, as the girl had been deep asleep.

daughter, came a voice, familiar; a faceless mother. around her, garlands of desert roses blooming white.
petals falling to toula's feet.
gliding now, towards a plinth of stone. akashingo's monuments rising around her; the cenote opening at her feet.
toula...

in this place of dreams is she transported, from the palace of Gods to where the Shabti now stands. the word “daughter” was a summoning song, and Toula looks to her with great warmth and love.
the Gods had placed a crown upon her head. it was grand and beautiful and gleaming—a circlet before the headdress that would come only when she was Pharaoh. in long furs did Toula now float to the Shabti, the train of it flowing perfectly behind her.
Akashingo’s redwalls on one side, the brilliant blues of the Cenote on the other—and endless stars above them. Shabti, she greets in turn—mother, the third of them—Treva, Iset, Satsu—but her mother nonetheless!

treva-iset-satsu
you were tempted to break from ma'at.
beside toula stood a masculine shape: rashepses? ramesses? someone else? all, and none, and only toula with a long shadow staring back.
to wed in secret, daughter? do not choose the man above the gods.
the figure shimmers, splits, dissipates.
toula, alone.
akashingo now, shuddering with red contortions. the archway leading to the palace becomes a wide eye, lashes of stone; then teeth, as it closes, and there is nothing but empty sand.
only the cenote remaining.
he is only a man. you are a goddess.

a quiet laugh from her—empty of contempt, and filled only with earnest relief that this was why she might have been called.
I shall never break from Ma’at or any of our Gods, mother! I would keep no secret from Them—there would have been a Hem, or Hemet. it would only have been the quiet ceremony of it that was secret—a first wedding, before the grand one, her eyes were bright as she wondered, having never been told, is that forbidden?
Toula turns and opens her eyes upon the Cenote, bright and glimmering. and as she looks to Akashingo, it appears again—perhaps due to her admission that she would never break from their Gods, or perhaps because it was her eye upon where it stood now. 
now she looks for the Shabti. he was born a God, too—a son of Queen and of Pharaoh, and she hoped this would please her mother. Godsblood and more Godsblood—when their little godlings came,
Toula dreamt of spring. she closed her eyes and when she opened them, they were in the ballroom of Akashingo. she asks, will you dance with me? in remembering the woman’s first love. in remembering her own!

the girl does not heed the warnings. those that came before, those that come now. these are subtle denials. the air here, even in dream, is cooling.
they begin to dance, to fly.
slowly their steps go from redstone to gold, and while toula shifts delicately upon her feet the ghost does not touch upon this fantasy earth; more akin to wind now, flowing with her, faceless.
the first love is the hardest, this voice is a soft and musical thing, pining for the days before, and speaking a truth which they mourn. it is perfect because we do not see its wrongs, it is passionate because it is new, it is everything - and you burn for him at the expense of yourself.
the floor cracks. water seeps in, like the earth bleeds.
the cenote widens at toula's feet, grand greenwater, flooding the ballroom the longer they dance and twirl.
you must find your strength. separate from him. is she so smitten, this girl, she will not see the truth in this? heed this last plea? pharaoh, goddess.

has she been heard—or is it only that the words that came were not the ones Satsu wished to hear? what would you have done, if someone had demanded you separate from my father? she asked as they danced, her eyes wide—
Khonsu brought him to me, mother—and his tribute to me, to Akashingo, was a worthy one. he has an army—he could call to them to make the rivers of Akashingo red, she breathes, and he could have done so when not named Pharaoh. but he loves me—and I love him. but I promise you this love will not make me blind, even if you think it already has. all that I do is for the Gods. all that I will ever do is in Their name,
why was she questioned so in this choice! even in this decision, though she had come to love Rashepses, it had not begun by being led with her heart but by what was best for the kingdom! all that she had ever done, for the Gods and for Akashingo! 
the music swelled. Toula heard the plea, and asked, what have you seen that I do not? she murmurs at last, not wanting to believe—but knowing that if there was something she must know, she could not ignore it either.

finally, through the resistance of the girl, there is doubt. it is not much but it is enough for toula to question.
the flood of emerald water stills. becomes the green of the cenote jungle. becomes a verdant hill that stretches forever in every direction: reeds, filling everywhere.
toula stands alone in the center.
the words repeating as a whisper through the reeds: there is only one way that royals die, princess.

the reeds grow taller, taller, taller still, undulating. the stars are overhead, set in to a blackness. one by one they have been snuffing out, and only two remain: shimmering blue.
somehow they squint.
if you bear his children, you curse your people. heed me, i came before. i have seen what comes after.
these stars appear to blink and —

the dream abruptly ends.

Toula is silent. the words do not ring to her like the words of a God, but the voice of a mother filled with fear—
but Toula, she is a Goddess. and she will soon be Pharaoh. 
Satsu had been poisoned—perhaps because she had been hated. she could not imagine to die in such a way. but fear, fear would not rule her…

---

it had not been doubt that caused the question—it had been respect. but when Toula awoke, she forgot all of it, looking around her.
still dark, still late. Toula places her muzzle upon a foreleg, sighing softly. in the cold darkness, she remained unafraid,
filled even then with only love.