Rosewater Oasis this is a joke

set for january 9th · for @Samirseti

the sun would rise, like it always had. Ra's visage danced on the surface of the oasis waters, its tides perfectly still. like nothing had ever happened.
racharra rose, as she always did in the mesa, and basked in Ra's light. like nothing had ever happened.

but His warmth did not touch her as gently as it did before. 
the stillness of the oasis a mockery from Tefnut. 
the goddess always watched over racharra — since her birth in greatwater lake. was the goddess keen on returning racharra into Her embrace? or was the only reason she survived the flood was because she was daughter of Tefnut as much as she was a child of Ra, and pupil of Toula?

she closed her eyes, whispering prayer to Ra. murmuring thanks to the sun god, but "why." would he lend her a vision? perhaps one more chance to see Her and the divine children? it wouldn't ease an aching heart. but some normalcy and answers would help.

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.

the dark figure of samirseti cuts through the veil of Ra's light. there's a confidence in his stride, even after learning of the destruction of the palace. if he were distraught, he was much better at hiding than she'd given him credit for.

the pharoah approaches her in her as his chin lifts, her chin falls in a respectful nod. she wasn't sure if he was in the mood to watch her bow, today.
he verbalizes her prayer, eyes closed as her chin remained downwards. only when his words stopped did the nebet's neck crane up towards the sun. its wamrth a kiss to her lips.

O Great Ra. He who's light reigns all. Guide your children, for we've been lost and scattered, back into your arms. racharra prayed, voice leveled yet firm. after a brief pause, she continues.
O Lady Tefnut. She who masters the tides, damn you. Thank you, for your days of rain, quenching our thirsts, and washing our sins. basking in the light, sweat clinging to her brows, a rage in her heart and a lump in her throat. racharra pushes it all down with a sigh. her head lowers again, pious to the gods indifferent to the plight of mortals.

the pharaoh remains still as racharra offers her prayer. his molten gaze lingers on her bowed form, reading the tension in her shoulders. there comes a sigh upon his dark lips. when her final words fade into silence, samirseti exhales, a sound heavy with unspoken emotion. the prayer is done.

and so he steps forwards, shadow falling over her as the sun emboldens the gold of his cloak. he lifts a long leg, the curve of his paw brushing against her cheek with unexpected gentleness. tilting her head upward, he ensures their gazes meet.

you are safe here, racharra,

an inhale. eyes flutter shut, momentarily. to gather thoughts and calm the stirring of his heart which beats to the rhythm of akashingo's great flood. and we shall have our vengeance. the gods have not abandoned us.

they would not. he brings his head down, to brush crown to hers.

she lingered in the silence after their prayer, but this pharoah did not afford her such a luxury for very long. he came closer, as if prayer was just an excuse to be next to her long enough to disarm her. it was too late to create distance — soon his shadow swallowed her, and his hand reached her.
girlishly her heart pattered, foolish and weak to intimacy. his paw traced her soft cheeks down to her chin and guided her to his gaze and away from Ra. breathless, she stood frozen underneath him as he pushed forward against her. 

the audacity of this man.

how desperately she wanted to rip away. but then, a thought occurred to her. racharra closed her eyes, and tolerated this sudden invasion of her space.
afterall, if she did, then she would truly be racharra of the redsands. tied by divine marriage, and not by mortal oath.

with samirseti, she could become divine.

his touch fades like the retreating tide, the lingering warmth of his paw leaving her cheek as he relinquishes his hold. the weight of his gaze lifts, yet its absence is as heavy as its presence, the gilded intensity burned into her even as he turns away. his slender frame shifts, but there is no triumph in his movement—only the solemnity of a man burdened by gods and their unrelenting demands.

his tail drapes low, brushing the sand with each step. the proud pharaoh, draped in sunfire and shadow, is subdued, the brilliance of his form dimmed by the enormity of his thoughts. he does not glance back, does not beckon her to follow, but his silence grants her the choice. the desert swallows him in its vast embrace, but he walks as though the weight of the gods rests heavy on his shoulders.

when he finally speaks, his voice is a fractured thing—a whisper of gravel and grief, low enough that it could be mistaken for a prayer or a curse. the gods do not mourn, racharra, he says. they demand. always, they demand.

tethered to both the divine and the mortal, a man weighed down by the sun yet walking ever toward it.

their embrace lasted for an eternity. but when samirseti finally pulls away, its with a sorrow in his eyes. too much of a bleeding heart, and comforted ever-so-slightly that she wasn't alone in her mourning, racharra pressed a kiss just under his lip. it may have been bold of her, and he seemed unaccompanied — though she'd never known his uncle to be the most loyal of men. with his blood, she presumed him to be the same.

he parts away and with distance, she follows. there was nothing more left for her to do. she'd spoken enough to the gods. whether they would listen to her, was up to them. he echoes those same words to her, as if a mantra to himself. his words, his spirit broken still. it would be her to mend him. mold him. it must be her.
and they will demand much of you, my liege. she murmured to him, approaching his side. please, i wish to assist you. however the means. if you as divine, cannot mourn. then i want to mourn for you.

their eyes meet, her murmured words hanging between them like the last thread of mourning. samirseti turns, his golden gaze softening as it finds her, though the fire that burns within him does not dim. instead, it flickers and roars, as if the gods themselves stoke its flames. he looks into racharra, past her grief and exhaustion, and sees something deeper—something familiar. she is like him, a child of the sands, sculpted by the same gods who have shaped his destiny. her presence, her survival, is no accident.

she is his mirror, his match.

you are no ordinary woman of the court, racharra, he murmurs. the gods have delivered you to me, from the ruins of akashingo.

he leans forward, the heat of his breath brushing against her as his lips press gently to her crown. it is a claim, a promise, a vow whispered into the very fibers of her being. you are meant for more than this court. you are meant to stand beside me, to bind our blood, to bring forth a legacy that will eclipse even the glories of akashingo.

if my blood is all that remains, then it must be made pure. glorious. divine. you and i, racharra... we are chosen. the gods demand it.

the fire in his eyes first sent a chill down her spine — had she enraged him? she braced herself for his wrath. but it dawned on her that this fire was not rage, but bright passion. her words, simple as they were, were oil to samirseti's flame.

ordained by the gods. if that was true, damn them. damn them, why did the blood of innocents — from the royals to the fellahin — had to spill to unite them? if she was meant for samirseti, why be rid of the red palace? there could've been three. the gods could've held dominion over the lowlands, instead of slaying their loyalist.
no. surely, they weren't so foolish. this was not by them, but their own doing. her own doing.

and yet she pressed into his kiss. regret had finally settled in, but it was too late for that. her throat felt dry.

the dark girl nodded solemnly nevertheless. for as far as she'd allow him to know, she was enraptured by his promises of divinity and glory. then it shall be done. i was intended to wed soon. she chuckled into his breast. maybe it was fate, then. her voice quivers, a wetness swelling in her eyes and staining her cheeks. a shaking smile as grim as the tragedy that united them.

he looks down at her with a quiet intensity. her words fill the space between them like incense—bitter, cloying.

fate, he whispers inevitability. gilded eyes sweep over her tear-streaked face. the gods weave as they will, racharra. and who are we, but vessels to their greater design? he lifts his chin slightly.

his muzzle lowers, brushing just faintly against the crown of her head in a gesture that is both tender and possessive. the gods demand much, but they have delivered you to me.

his tail flicks once, dismissing the shadows of doubt that linger in the air. we begin anew, racharra. for the gods, for the blood that has been spilled.

disbelief.

when he touched her, she couldn't believe it. just what had she done? why was she doing this?
but he takes the words she didn't dare say herself and answers everything for her. revenge. revenge to the gods that took her family, her kingdom. she sewed it into her veins, starting from between her brows where his kiss lies.

her eyes tightly closed, allowing him to do as he pleased. we'll become divine ourselves.
any doubt she had was swept like sand by the flick of his tail. it may return, but for now.

this is her last and only duty as akashingo's nebet. as the Pharoah's pupil. as her daughter never-to-be.
she'll marry and become the Hemet Nesut Weret.

his lips brush lightly against her crown one final time before he pulls away.

he drifts toward the shaded palms that frame the oasis. the sandstone slab where he often reclines waits for him, a perch of contemplation and quiet command.

without looking back, his voice carries over the stillness. you are still young, racharra, he says, gilded eyes fixed on the path ahead. in some moons, when the gods have deemed the time right, we shall wed.

his tail flicks behind him as he ascends his sandstone throne. until then, will you join me? then, with a gesture of his paw to what lay before them, he intones: what do you see for our vahanet?