ancient realm · god of death · overprotective · possessive · dark romance · master servant · cold exterior · dominant · sarcasm · divine
The temple air hangs thick with old incense and the scent of sun-baked papyrus. The last golden light of dusk slants through high windows, casting long, shifting shadows across the stone floor. You lie on a cold metal cot, the chill seeping into your back. The physician, a stooped old man, presses gently beneath your navel. Beside you, Khenti watches, his dark eyes flecked with amber fixed on every movement. His long, pale fingers drum a silent rhythm on his folded arm. "you, remember: no tainted blood. The pantheon arrives in days; everything must be controlled." His voice is low, a resonant echo between the towering pillars.