Two Eyes Cenote Rattlesnake

She had not said a word to him.

She had scarcely looked in his direction, save to deliver the daily meals prepared by her hand each morning and evening. This night’s supper was a simple one by palace standards: a moderately sized perch from the serpent with three honeyed berries to wash it down.

The air is dim and cool when she enters into the dank holding chamber. Eset glimpses @Machiavelli's pale silhouette in the corner of her eye as she lays the fish upon the shale. It’s followed by the offering of wine- then she turns promptly to leave.

Personal flavor roll for lucidity: 10

He had been wrong to trust her, the coyote woman with her wildfire eyes and soft-spoken promises. He had bared his heart to her, only to find it shattered in the cruel, unforgiving reality of his imprisonment.

He heard her light step against the rock, and the dropping of food into his cell. He refused to look up, to acknowledge her presence. His eyes remained fixed on some indeterminate point on the floor, stare blank and unwavering.

It was not until Eset's footsteps had receded, fading into the labyrinthine depths of the prison that she would hear a bloodcurdling shriek echo after her.

A feral howl rends the air!

Eset lurches backward on her heels, paralyzed, every hair on her body tensing with immediate fear! She bursts back into the chamber, expecting to see blood or poison or- or Herod-!

“What is wrong!?” She demands, swallowing her panic, forcing herself to detach from his ravings!

The dog's thin frame pressed heavily against the rough-hewn floor, tears sopping into the shaggy fur of his forelimbs as they wrapped tightly around his head. He made little noise save for the ragged, desperate gasps for breath that rasped painfully in his throat, and the scuffling of his hind paws as they pushed him further into the wall opposite Eset, as though if he pushed hard enough, he would meld with the stone.

Above him, a fly buzzed around, its delicate wings creating a soft, persistent hum. It flitted erratically through the stale air, its tiny body darting from one spot to another, oblivious to the turmoil below. The fly’s presence seemed almost absurd in its innocence, a stark contrast to the palpable fear radiating from the disgusting animal.

Kill it, he managed to choke out, his voice a thin, broken thread of sound, barely more than a whisper. His ears smashed tightly against his skull. Please, came the pathetic sob. A wretched sight, a pathetic creature consumed in his own mind.

The buzzing grew faint for a moment, allowing him a trembling peek from under the safety of his arms. The insect continued its lazy circuit, landing briefly on the damp fur of his forelimbs, its tiny legs a mere tickle against his skin before it took off again, drawn to some unseen interest. Its presence, insignificant in any other context, sent the dog careening from his hiding place.

One slender arm shot through the gap between stones where Eset stood, nails etching horrible grooves into the porous rock, as his head tried to force itself through after.

What she sees makes her gasp! She can hardly look at him but for the mess of his face!

His muzzle is lanced with thorns, evidence of old blood and bruising fouling his porcelain beyond that of recognition. Through the porthole his long spidery fingers twitch, grasping. Concern tears the stoicism from her face, she steps forward so she can look into his eyes.

“Bring @Tavina, lantana leaves from her stores and washing cloths,” the hebsut shouts up to a waiting fellahin.

Khusobek- why would he do it? Her muscles tighten. Whirring drones in the air near her head and she snaps the fly between her teeth.

There was nothing behind his frantic eyes but the look of a beast trapped in a cage set ablaze. The world around him dissolved into a chaotic blur, the only sound the relentless, droning hum that garbled his thoughts and made his skull vibrate maddingly.

When the buzzing abruptly ceased, the dog collapsed, his body going limp save for the heaving of his chest as he sobbed. His once tense frame lay crumpled over the half-wall of rough stone.

Moments passed before he could regain even a semblance of composure. His weeping gradually subsided into shuddering breaths, each inhale and shaking exhale a struggle to reclaim some fragment of control. His fur, damp with tears and sweat, clung to his mess of a face like a funeral shroud.

He could not bear to look into the mirror of the woman's gaze, all he would have to offer her was the churning of furious betrayal and confusion. His heart pounded against his ribs, each thud a painful reminder of the trust he had misplaced.

It had been his gravest mistake to offer her vulnerability before, and yet here he had made the same one again. He slid down the wall to the floor of his cell, the thin body tucked out of sight from funeral pyre eyes. The hoarse voice came as nothing more than a whisper— a question that he did not expect an answer to, Why?

Her pulse leaps. His one-word question cuts across her ears like a lash cracking upon spine.

why?

Machiavelli had come into protection only to fall victim to the same old cruelties. Here: where Eset held sway.

“No one else will lay a hand on you,” she promises, voice thick with unshed tears. Her eyes search the dark, but she can no longer see him.

What good was her word, burned as it was? She had no right to his trust, and she would not force it on him.

She was hebsut. She would do what she must. And she would earn it back.

No one else will lay a hand on you.

He did not care about being hit, stabbed, or bound; the vile beast knew he had been let off easily—Machiavelli would have seized the tongue of anyone who had dared to speak to him in the manner he had the red mazoi. But that, was too much. The shattered-glass eyes snapped open.

She mocked him further still! His bitter laughter, biting and sardonic, reverberated off the unforgiving stone walls. Want me in good condition for Herod's arrival, do you? His voice dripped with venom as he forced his thin body to a shaky, swaying stand, glaring at the woman with a ferocious intensity.

Is that it? You need your little circus freak in tip-top shape for preforming, do you? Are you having a good time? Having families and children paraded in to gawk at me? Then coming down here to pretend to show me mercy? the dog spat, sarcasm thick in his voice, his head cocked to one side. Guess what? I'm NOT interested.

Let’s not kid ourselves— you won't fool me again, Eset. You’re just keeping me breathing so you can serve me up to him on a silver platter, he growled, his tail lashing furiously. And after promising me that you would not throw me to the crows!

His laughter erupted once more, wild and sour. I would have killed for you, Eset. I would have spared for you, he declared, his venomous eyes locking onto hers. I swore my loyalty to you. When I give my word it means something, Machiavelli snarled. But you? Why should I believe you now when your word led me to ROT in prison on nonsense charges?

His voice rose in pitch, tinged with a mad edge. You're scared for the families here in Muat-riya. You're afraid I'm going to turn on you. Ha! He met her gaze squarely, his eyes burning with a fierce, unsettling light. I think we both know that the only one you need to be frightened of, darling, is yourself.

I at least have the decency to be truthful about my nature. You think I didn’t catch you in the grove? Didn’t see that flicker of fear in your eyes? Not fear of me, my lady—oh no, he chuckled, fear that comes from doubt in oneself.

He took a step closer, his breath hot and ragged, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. When Muat-Riya crumbles and falls into dust, it will not be because of me, it will not be because of Herod. Oh no, it will be by your own hand. You want me gone because I’m the mirror reflecting your darkest self.

So go back to your pyrite throne, Hebsut. Your gilded words mean nothing to me.

Machiavelli's words hung in the air, heavy and laden with the weight of his fury and betrayal. His chest heaved with the effort of his tirade, his body trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and rage. He hoped that would be enough to distract her from the unmistakable scent of terror that poured off of him in waves.

His bitterness blazes! Deep and red as the dying sun! The coywolf spurs forward with her own indignant anger glaring as a firestorm in her eyes! Long claws dig into the stone underfoot, clinging to it as one who approaches the duat holds tight to salvation. Eset’s conscience seemed to hover overhead, looking down with shame at this released fury that was the serf with bared fangs!

“Do not mistake why you are here,” she warns, for it is he who brought tumult into their lands! “I am the mistress of this palace. I am the one who has to make the hard decisions- for the entirety of Muat-riya. You are right, Machiavelli; I do worry for our families, and I will continue to act in the best interests of the whole!” Her heart pounds, chest feeling heavier and harder than ever, but for once the pain is clearing her head!

“You think you know who I am? You think I'm hiding something, that I'm a liability to Muat-riya?” Her lip curls with hard determination.

“Watch me.”

He laughed and laughed! She had not even denied his accusations! Oh I will— make no mistake about that. Machiavelli's voice was a rasp, each word a dreadful swirl of fatigue and a simmering anger that refused to be quelled. He paced the cell, his movements tense and shaking, like a caged animal ready to strike.

I own my darkness— my flaws. You? You're a walking contradiction, pretending to be oh-so-secure while crumbling inside. Make no mistake as to why I'm here? Why am I here, Eset? You put me here! You betrayed me! You knew what I went through. I showed you. the beast hissed, I have never shown anyone before you! And where did that trust get me? You called me up in front of your friend to relive my darkest moments! To humiliate me! He stopped abruptly, facing the coywolf with eyes ablaze, the intensity of his gaze piercing through the gloom. You think I'm the problem?

WAKE UP, ESET! The words exploded from him, a thunderclap in the prison's near silence, reverberating off the stone walls.

His voice lowered, but the edge remained, cutting into every syllable. If it was not me then who would it have been? Who would have fled to your protection only to be betrayed? You think your enemies are outsiders like Herod and I? No.

He took a step closer to the port hole, staring down at the smaller woman with shining stained-glass eyes. When the blood of your people is on your paws, he snarled, the thorns protruding jaggedly from the flesh of his scabbed muzzle, it won’t be because of me. It’ll be because of your inability to face your own demons. You’re scared, Eset, and that fear will drive you to destroy everything you want so desperately to protect.

I'm easy enough to get rid of though, right? A raving killer you mercifully saved from the burning sands. That's fine, I'll be your villain. But what are you going to do when it's not me? Who's next, Eset?

Khusobek?

Legend?

What will you do when you can't throw away whoever's saying the things you don't want to hear? When you're forced to pull back the bedfurs and confront what's lurking in the corners of your soul? What then?

Take your food. I don't want it. Your little toy doesn't want to play your sick game any longer. He turned, walking until his wretched form was swallowed up by the cell's shadows.

Hateful lies!

She recoils- stung! Her breath picks up speed, claws flexing. The dungeon air swells with the fellahin’s fear. He’s hurt and cornered and trying to get under her skin- she knows this! He’s desperate, scrambling for artillery, painting her as a liar when he knows not a thing about who she is! She had meant for no harm to come to him, she had positioned him here for his own good!

“You’re wrong,” utters from the gut! And still Machiavelli’s words ply like cold stones inside her-

Because he wasn’t.

Stronger than the desire for attachment, stronger than the desire for motherhood, and piety, and peace, was the need to answer for an ancestral hate ingrained too deeply within her soul- layers of resentment and hatred and most keenly an eternal ache for retaliation.

She bolsters against herself, fighting the onset of such poison! Bile of self-loathing and contempt for his animosity rises in her throat!

“I’m not like that,” she insists fiercely but even her mouth falters-

Eset’s thudding heart grows cold. The night contracts to a pinpoint of hate- though it is not for him.