Built from a thousand images, carved into a thousand walls of stone, drained as crystal-clear water from the tears spilt by a thousand stars, such was the presence of quelled awe within the Royal Palace, incalculable, infinite. The feel of something sacred asleep from ancient times, trapped in the timeless solemnity of the silent, incorruptible place, was opressive, for a stranger like her.
She closed her eyes. She opened her eyes. She felt her face and she pinched her cheeks, she smiled and then frowned, and she didn't understand anything at all.
As she walked, her steps echoed. Her feet touched the floor of the open-roofed corridor, and it felt cold, and the wind felt cool, and she would have liked to have some warm, warm clothes on, because nights in the desert, and in cities built in land claimed from the desert, were icy, dry an unforgiving, and perfect to get anyone sick when unprepared.
Finally conviced of the reality of it all, she basked in the simplicity and glee of listening to drifting gusts of wind collide against bare, tall walls. All the while making her way to the chambers at the end of the large corridor.
Something in the air that night, that particular night, made her want to sing and thank the Gods, all countless of them watching from the skies, the River and the East where the sun set. Something deep in her chest told her someone had been excessively kind to her, a kind of kindness she would never be able to repay- maybe, she had repaid it before she had been blessed, or would ever be. Something deep behind her eyes told her that second chances were so fantastic, that any gratefulness she may want to spend would go waste. All she could do in the moment was what she was meant to do.
The wind was earth-scented. Dust-scented. Time-scented.
There was no door that lead into the dimly lit chambers, only a dark curtain that draped heavily from the frame to the floor: the entrace to another world. Indeed, inside it was tenderly cozy and perfumed with incense and flowers. A statue of a black jackal welcomed her into the otherworldly room; a cat surged from the shadows and scurred within the folds of the curtain, escaping from the veil of solemnity that hung over the place, into the cold desert night.
Silence made her aware of the sound of her steps, it would have betrayed a feather falling. The flickering of the torches, always slight and sleep-inducing, was magnified to remarkable dimensions, and she grew restless with each inch she advanced towards the bed.
The bed was large, and many veils and ethereal-looking fabrics attached to the ceiling surrounded it creating an angelical effect. She leaned over to see if anyone occupied it, but it was empty.
From the other end of the chamber, two piercing eyes followed her every move.
She let herself fall on the bed, which she found comfortable in extreme, and looked up at the place from where all the veils seemed to surge. Nut, the sky goddess, greeted her from a beautiful painting. Overcoming her shyness, and the evident feeling of being tresspassing, her lips parted and she said, softly;
'Your Highness? Can you hear me...?'
The blue eyes that had been watching her act finally came alive, and a young man, in his late twenties maybe, rose and approached her.
'I'm glad you still come to me in dreams,' he said, his voice rich, and deep, and frank, and heartfelt.
She smiled. 'We aren't dreaming tonight.'
He sat down next to her, looked at her with care, 'We're always dreaming, Kisara.'
'You've always treated me like a child... but believe me.'
A something in his eyes made her sit up just like him, and tease him with a subtle smile.
'I wish I could,' he said, 'But it is always like this. You'll go away as soon as Ra rises in the morning, you'll come as soon as Ra sets behind the pyramids.'
She let out a small laugh, transparent. 'We aren't dreaming tonight,' she said once more, 'But sleep now, my priest, your Highness, dearest Seth. I will watch over you as I always will, and we can talk forever since the dawn.'
Disconformity. 'You will be gone when I wake.'
'I will be gone when you don't need me anymore,' Kisara said sweetly, battling his stoic realism with her naive charm, 'Good night.'
He closed his eyes to her victory, and she took the opportunity and slowly brought her lips to his, unexpecting, she a victim of her repressed felicity. Surprised but collected, he allowed her to pull him down to the mattress, to place his head upon a simple pillow and kiss him once more, goodnight.
And the following morning, when he woke up with the first rays of sun that stole golden shines from the stone walls, the first sight that graced his view was silverlike strands of hair scattered over his pillow, and a scent of woman and sky invaded the room, and made its way into his heart, into the last of the night, into ever-fading gratitude.
Blue eyes were closed as she slept, and dreamt of the future.
I love this pairing. It'd been a while since I wrote anything, and I thought I'd try my luck with SethxKisara. Comments are really appreciated.