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Summary
“This one…” he decides; his thumb presses down, and he watches as your lips part. This one…
His eyes are not blue.
Upon arrival within the palace study, it’s such an inconsequential trait to note, but it’s your first and only thought when Seth’s gaze catches yours from behind his desk. There’s only red. The same red you’ve seen splattered on walls and floors, on thin linen, on the dusty coats of camels, fleeing in the firelight of burning adobes and palmwood. Red. Smeared on skin and torn flesh, dripping down the murals of desecrated temples, drenching the blades of caravan khopeshes. His hair. Red. His lashes. Red. His brows. Red. Conjured sand hisses, taking the form of a sha upon his head, but you will not give him the satisfaction of your visible submission. You will not give him the chance to see and recognize the fear that fogs your gaze.
Note: Ib Thi̯(j) — the heart is astray…damaged.
Series
- Part 1 of Seba & Ib Tehi