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There was that voice, being oh-so-reasonable in the plight of this disaster, trying to nip all of this resentment in the bud before it exploded into more literal fires and destruction. Onuphrious had no reason to lament the loss of possessions, for everything could be replaced. But, what couldn't be was the bond that'd once existed. How one lie could tear a family apart, how embroiled tensions and ferocity seeped into tones could unravel nearly thirty years.
But, Onuphrious was no such coward.
Were there cracks in the façade before the revelation? Despite the growing lengths of his journeys across the sea, Onuphrious included his wife and eldest daughter in it all. He'd brought the now-bastard, Sutekh, rearing a suitable heir for the harakat and the business itself in one, just as he'd been. As far as he was concerned, Onuphrious did his job as a father. With an amicable relationship with his afflicted daughter, it was only the troublemaker, Neithotep and his new heir, Akhenaten that truly seemed resentful of him. But all suffered in his absence, or so the twisted hope assured him. To be needed... it was a cherished thought.
The fissures formed as the children of Hei Sheifa were obliged to 'pick a side'. There was Iaheru, enraged at the treatment of her son, creating a disaster in the wake of her expedition to fill the crater left behind... Then, there was Onuphrious, the distant and reserved father at last allowing himself to explode into a rage that was always left outside of the saraaya. Iaheru would recognize the potential for it simmering beneath the surface. Had she goaded it out of him, to turn his children against him?
The sirdar felt fear in returning to Cairo, but it was abandoned once he'd had his encounter with Sutekh. However, now wasn't the time for that. He needed to brace himself for the inevitable, for he'd made the ill-advised decision to fetch the documents for himself. He reasoned that no envoy should have their eyes on them, and sure enough, that did ring true. But, Iaheru was no fool. She might've bound them to remain unseen if she didn't simply burn them in front of the envoy.
So, he summoned himself, all-too-willing to deceive himself in order to satisfy a deeper craving.
I need to see her.
Several glasses of wine made the idea all the more necessary, the thought of losing this chance by returning to Thebes all the more poignant.
The thought persisted through the distractions and justifications, a demand spoken from a place as of yet left unbroken within him. He yearned to see her, to speak to her. But, in the end, his resentment would not abate. Sutekh was merely a product of lies. His mother was the source, the delta from which the river of deceit flowed. And yet... while he could not reconcile with the boy, he had to with her. The dull weight on his chest would not allow him to rest. Even now, the rings beneath his gaze were more noticeable, his irritability at being disturbed more pronounced. Everything that Onuphrious did to distract him served as a temporary fixture, bound to collapse at even the slightest nudge.
Onuphrious arrived at the front door of his wife's home, just after the night swallowed the light of Ra and gave over to the tidings of Nephthys. He need not announce his arrival. Perhaps it was boorish, to surprise Iaheru within his own home, but what loyalty the guards bore to him (or was it obligation) allowed his wishes to be heeded. It was quite obvious, with the light flush upon his features and his hesitance in movement that the glasses hit their mark. Tipsy at best, even in the depths of darkness the sirdar did not sully himself with the excess some of his children gave themselves over to.
They got that from her, he insisted, just as his feet led the way without his conscious need to move them. He scaled the flight of stairs with some help from the wall. Instinctively, he understood where his wife would be. Nearly thirty years did not fade so easily.
"Iaheru," he called out, mustering a steely chill within his tone as he gazed at her from the entryway into her office space.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Send someone else.
There was that voice, being oh-so-reasonable in the plight of this disaster, trying to nip all of this resentment in the bud before it exploded into more literal fires and destruction. Onuphrious had no reason to lament the loss of possessions, for everything could be replaced. But, what couldn't be was the bond that'd once existed. How one lie could tear a family apart, how embroiled tensions and ferocity seeped into tones could unravel nearly thirty years.
But, Onuphrious was no such coward.
Were there cracks in the façade before the revelation? Despite the growing lengths of his journeys across the sea, Onuphrious included his wife and eldest daughter in it all. He'd brought the now-bastard, Sutekh, rearing a suitable heir for the harakat and the business itself in one, just as he'd been. As far as he was concerned, Onuphrious did his job as a father. With an amicable relationship with his afflicted daughter, it was only the troublemaker, Neithotep and his new heir, Akhenaten that truly seemed resentful of him. But all suffered in his absence, or so the twisted hope assured him. To be needed... it was a cherished thought.
The fissures formed as the children of Hei Sheifa were obliged to 'pick a side'. There was Iaheru, enraged at the treatment of her son, creating a disaster in the wake of her expedition to fill the crater left behind... Then, there was Onuphrious, the distant and reserved father at last allowing himself to explode into a rage that was always left outside of the saraaya. Iaheru would recognize the potential for it simmering beneath the surface. Had she goaded it out of him, to turn his children against him?
The sirdar felt fear in returning to Cairo, but it was abandoned once he'd had his encounter with Sutekh. However, now wasn't the time for that. He needed to brace himself for the inevitable, for he'd made the ill-advised decision to fetch the documents for himself. He reasoned that no envoy should have their eyes on them, and sure enough, that did ring true. But, Iaheru was no fool. She might've bound them to remain unseen if she didn't simply burn them in front of the envoy.
So, he summoned himself, all-too-willing to deceive himself in order to satisfy a deeper craving.
I need to see her.
Several glasses of wine made the idea all the more necessary, the thought of losing this chance by returning to Thebes all the more poignant.
The thought persisted through the distractions and justifications, a demand spoken from a place as of yet left unbroken within him. He yearned to see her, to speak to her. But, in the end, his resentment would not abate. Sutekh was merely a product of lies. His mother was the source, the delta from which the river of deceit flowed. And yet... while he could not reconcile with the boy, he had to with her. The dull weight on his chest would not allow him to rest. Even now, the rings beneath his gaze were more noticeable, his irritability at being disturbed more pronounced. Everything that Onuphrious did to distract him served as a temporary fixture, bound to collapse at even the slightest nudge.
Onuphrious arrived at the front door of his wife's home, just after the night swallowed the light of Ra and gave over to the tidings of Nephthys. He need not announce his arrival. Perhaps it was boorish, to surprise Iaheru within his own home, but what loyalty the guards bore to him (or was it obligation) allowed his wishes to be heeded. It was quite obvious, with the light flush upon his features and his hesitance in movement that the glasses hit their mark. Tipsy at best, even in the depths of darkness the sirdar did not sully himself with the excess some of his children gave themselves over to.
They got that from her, he insisted, just as his feet led the way without his conscious need to move them. He scaled the flight of stairs with some help from the wall. Instinctively, he understood where his wife would be. Nearly thirty years did not fade so easily.
"Iaheru," he called out, mustering a steely chill within his tone as he gazed at her from the entryway into her office space.
Send someone else.
There was that voice, being oh-so-reasonable in the plight of this disaster, trying to nip all of this resentment in the bud before it exploded into more literal fires and destruction. Onuphrious had no reason to lament the loss of possessions, for everything could be replaced. But, what couldn't be was the bond that'd once existed. How one lie could tear a family apart, how embroiled tensions and ferocity seeped into tones could unravel nearly thirty years.
But, Onuphrious was no such coward.
Were there cracks in the façade before the revelation? Despite the growing lengths of his journeys across the sea, Onuphrious included his wife and eldest daughter in it all. He'd brought the now-bastard, Sutekh, rearing a suitable heir for the harakat and the business itself in one, just as he'd been. As far as he was concerned, Onuphrious did his job as a father. With an amicable relationship with his afflicted daughter, it was only the troublemaker, Neithotep and his new heir, Akhenaten that truly seemed resentful of him. But all suffered in his absence, or so the twisted hope assured him. To be needed... it was a cherished thought.
The fissures formed as the children of Hei Sheifa were obliged to 'pick a side'. There was Iaheru, enraged at the treatment of her son, creating a disaster in the wake of her expedition to fill the crater left behind... Then, there was Onuphrious, the distant and reserved father at last allowing himself to explode into a rage that was always left outside of the saraaya. Iaheru would recognize the potential for it simmering beneath the surface. Had she goaded it out of him, to turn his children against him?
The sirdar felt fear in returning to Cairo, but it was abandoned once he'd had his encounter with Sutekh. However, now wasn't the time for that. He needed to brace himself for the inevitable, for he'd made the ill-advised decision to fetch the documents for himself. He reasoned that no envoy should have their eyes on them, and sure enough, that did ring true. But, Iaheru was no fool. She might've bound them to remain unseen if she didn't simply burn them in front of the envoy.
So, he summoned himself, all-too-willing to deceive himself in order to satisfy a deeper craving.
I need to see her.
Several glasses of wine made the idea all the more necessary, the thought of losing this chance by returning to Thebes all the more poignant.
The thought persisted through the distractions and justifications, a demand spoken from a place as of yet left unbroken within him. He yearned to see her, to speak to her. But, in the end, his resentment would not abate. Sutekh was merely a product of lies. His mother was the source, the delta from which the river of deceit flowed. And yet... while he could not reconcile with the boy, he had to with her. The dull weight on his chest would not allow him to rest. Even now, the rings beneath his gaze were more noticeable, his irritability at being disturbed more pronounced. Everything that Onuphrious did to distract him served as a temporary fixture, bound to collapse at even the slightest nudge.
Onuphrious arrived at the front door of his wife's home, just after the night swallowed the light of Ra and gave over to the tidings of Nephthys. He need not announce his arrival. Perhaps it was boorish, to surprise Iaheru within his own home, but what loyalty the guards bore to him (or was it obligation) allowed his wishes to be heeded. It was quite obvious, with the light flush upon his features and his hesitance in movement that the glasses hit their mark. Tipsy at best, even in the depths of darkness the sirdar did not sully himself with the excess some of his children gave themselves over to.
They got that from her, he insisted, just as his feet led the way without his conscious need to move them. He scaled the flight of stairs with some help from the wall. Instinctively, he understood where his wife would be. Nearly thirty years did not fade so easily.
"Iaheru," he called out, mustering a steely chill within his tone as he gazed at her from the entryway into her office space.
Ochre for manifests. Green for inventory. Indigo for transactions. Black for internal affairs. This was the way all Hei documents are filed, their purpose clearly indicated on the colored corners for quick reference. For all outliers, see the Sirdsett Iaheru for direction. - A guide to Sheifa Storehouses
Ochre for manifests...
It had been her maintenance day at the Cairo residence. As a woman with all the wealth of Egypt, maintenance manifested itself in appearance. After all, the jewel of the Nile would lack luster without it consistent polishing, priming necessary to uphold reputation. Make no mistake, an unmarked face did not indicate an easy life. Iaheru H’Sheifa was once Iaheru of Cairo, a merchant's daughter marked by cleverness, the means to cultivate it, and the beauty to wield it as a woman of society. Had she been born plainly, there would be no saraaya in Cairo that rivaled Evening Star itself.
Fingering through the files her manager brought her, she made mental and physical lists of anomalies and questions to be relayed in the morning meeting. Where had the 20 bolts of silk gone if not to Hei Isazari? Which ship had a wayward slave or careless merchant misplace such a quantity of silk? Her physical form grew even tauter with the stress, as if a string attached to the base of her spine was constantly pulled upward, curving the spine and throwing the shoulders back in a statuesque pain.
Maintenance day left her smelling of frankincense and musk, her hair unrestrained and falling in a thicket of coils that reached just below her shoulders. Perfume oiled her tresses as well. In the morning, the hair would be braided out of her way and adorned with gold baubles of all variety. Rings. Coils. Cuffs. Perhaps even dangling golden charms bearing the Hei’s sigil.
Green for Inventory…
Yawns formed at Iaheru’s lips, tingling and plumped from spearmint salve applied by a slave with a horsehair brush. They dabbed it on so gently, afraid of the viper tongue the woman wielded in her marital exile, Iaheru H’Sheifa had transformed from a forgiving mistress to a silent, exacting one. Just short of cruelly impatient and cruelly disposed. An imprint of the salve rested on the rim of an ivory wine chalice sat on her matching ivory inlay desk.
The office was decorated sparsely, but opulently. Wooden chaises and plush ostrich cushions sat at the reception, in front of her desk imported from lands afar, Iaheru was always at the head of her domain. Golden palm fronds decorated the walls, the window behind the desk opened to her gardens and stables so she could appreciate their beauty while fingering through the day's records, and so she did this evening with the evening breeze ruffling a sheer, purple cloak from her shoulders.
Indigo for transactions...
“Iaheru”
She would know that voice anywhere. Once, it was her guiding star. She remembered the first time the voice had said that name and she remembered distinctly when she thought it was the last utterance. Yet, here this name was brought to life and here this voice was. Strained, but also reckless. A flash of anger riles in the woman’s chest, but only a cool, radiant face rotates to take in the flesh of her greatest love and hatred. Onuphrious H’Sheifa in his mortal form, in her home in Cairo, unannounced and unwanted. Iaheru’s lips begin to purse, but she stops as the salve buckles and spreads under the pressure, no, he would not interrupt her maintenance.
A purple night shift accompanies her sheer purple cloak, brushing against her kneecaps as she stands in silence for what seems like forever. A pirouette of wind billows the cloak out from under her again as the torchlight dances on the peaks of her face. Her robes matched the impending night. Onuphrious. In Cairo. Iaheru would laugh if she wasn’t so infuriated by the breach of solitude. She simply tilts her chin up to acknowledge his presence. Neutrally, she seats herself at the precipice of the room, fanning out the cloak and crossing her legs politely under her desk. Once she has completed smoothing out her dress, she shuffled the papers in her hand, discarded them into the box for her manager, and allowed herself to down the entire chalice of wine.
Black for Internal Affairs
Iaheru choked back the wine, drawing upwards with hazy eyes to her husband once more. She knew why he was here. These papers had been out of place for weeks. She just never expected the courier to be a ruffled Onuphrious at her office, as if it was months prior and he was beckoning her to take rest.
“Iaheru”
She thought to herself, dripping in venom her reply, Get my name out of your mouth. But she was silent. She had practiced this moment until her mind bled from possibility. Now that it presented itself, she realized that she shared the same sentiment as she did on the rooftop…
What else is there to say?
Iaheru takes the black cornered documents and she begins to stand, before she planted herself firmly in the seat and sectioned off a chunk of the documents. Gritting her perfectly white, straight teeth behind salved lips, she throws them at the Sirdar. She sectioned off another stack and sent them into a fury of flight in a room of open flame. The wind picked up and scattered the papers along his sandaled feet. Get my name out of your mouth.
What else is there to say
She began to repeat the process, but her fury found his eyes once more and something halted the flick of her wrist. Iaheru found no tears. No stress at the loss of her famed order with the papers strewn across the office. She only found an enraged numbness as she looked upon a face she loved so dearly. I’ve missed you.
Silence prevails with her chest falling and rising, beating against her ribcage.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Ochre for manifests. Green for inventory. Indigo for transactions. Black for internal affairs. This was the way all Hei documents are filed, their purpose clearly indicated on the colored corners for quick reference. For all outliers, see the Sirdsett Iaheru for direction. - A guide to Sheifa Storehouses
Ochre for manifests...
It had been her maintenance day at the Cairo residence. As a woman with all the wealth of Egypt, maintenance manifested itself in appearance. After all, the jewel of the Nile would lack luster without it consistent polishing, priming necessary to uphold reputation. Make no mistake, an unmarked face did not indicate an easy life. Iaheru H’Sheifa was once Iaheru of Cairo, a merchant's daughter marked by cleverness, the means to cultivate it, and the beauty to wield it as a woman of society. Had she been born plainly, there would be no saraaya in Cairo that rivaled Evening Star itself.
Fingering through the files her manager brought her, she made mental and physical lists of anomalies and questions to be relayed in the morning meeting. Where had the 20 bolts of silk gone if not to Hei Isazari? Which ship had a wayward slave or careless merchant misplace such a quantity of silk? Her physical form grew even tauter with the stress, as if a string attached to the base of her spine was constantly pulled upward, curving the spine and throwing the shoulders back in a statuesque pain.
Maintenance day left her smelling of frankincense and musk, her hair unrestrained and falling in a thicket of coils that reached just below her shoulders. Perfume oiled her tresses as well. In the morning, the hair would be braided out of her way and adorned with gold baubles of all variety. Rings. Coils. Cuffs. Perhaps even dangling golden charms bearing the Hei’s sigil.
Green for Inventory…
Yawns formed at Iaheru’s lips, tingling and plumped from spearmint salve applied by a slave with a horsehair brush. They dabbed it on so gently, afraid of the viper tongue the woman wielded in her marital exile, Iaheru H’Sheifa had transformed from a forgiving mistress to a silent, exacting one. Just short of cruelly impatient and cruelly disposed. An imprint of the salve rested on the rim of an ivory wine chalice sat on her matching ivory inlay desk.
The office was decorated sparsely, but opulently. Wooden chaises and plush ostrich cushions sat at the reception, in front of her desk imported from lands afar, Iaheru was always at the head of her domain. Golden palm fronds decorated the walls, the window behind the desk opened to her gardens and stables so she could appreciate their beauty while fingering through the day's records, and so she did this evening with the evening breeze ruffling a sheer, purple cloak from her shoulders.
Indigo for transactions...
“Iaheru”
She would know that voice anywhere. Once, it was her guiding star. She remembered the first time the voice had said that name and she remembered distinctly when she thought it was the last utterance. Yet, here this name was brought to life and here this voice was. Strained, but also reckless. A flash of anger riles in the woman’s chest, but only a cool, radiant face rotates to take in the flesh of her greatest love and hatred. Onuphrious H’Sheifa in his mortal form, in her home in Cairo, unannounced and unwanted. Iaheru’s lips begin to purse, but she stops as the salve buckles and spreads under the pressure, no, he would not interrupt her maintenance.
A purple night shift accompanies her sheer purple cloak, brushing against her kneecaps as she stands in silence for what seems like forever. A pirouette of wind billows the cloak out from under her again as the torchlight dances on the peaks of her face. Her robes matched the impending night. Onuphrious. In Cairo. Iaheru would laugh if she wasn’t so infuriated by the breach of solitude. She simply tilts her chin up to acknowledge his presence. Neutrally, she seats herself at the precipice of the room, fanning out the cloak and crossing her legs politely under her desk. Once she has completed smoothing out her dress, she shuffled the papers in her hand, discarded them into the box for her manager, and allowed herself to down the entire chalice of wine.
Black for Internal Affairs
Iaheru choked back the wine, drawing upwards with hazy eyes to her husband once more. She knew why he was here. These papers had been out of place for weeks. She just never expected the courier to be a ruffled Onuphrious at her office, as if it was months prior and he was beckoning her to take rest.
“Iaheru”
She thought to herself, dripping in venom her reply, Get my name out of your mouth. But she was silent. She had practiced this moment until her mind bled from possibility. Now that it presented itself, she realized that she shared the same sentiment as she did on the rooftop…
What else is there to say?
Iaheru takes the black cornered documents and she begins to stand, before she planted herself firmly in the seat and sectioned off a chunk of the documents. Gritting her perfectly white, straight teeth behind salved lips, she throws them at the Sirdar. She sectioned off another stack and sent them into a fury of flight in a room of open flame. The wind picked up and scattered the papers along his sandaled feet. Get my name out of your mouth.
What else is there to say
She began to repeat the process, but her fury found his eyes once more and something halted the flick of her wrist. Iaheru found no tears. No stress at the loss of her famed order with the papers strewn across the office. She only found an enraged numbness as she looked upon a face she loved so dearly. I’ve missed you.
Silence prevails with her chest falling and rising, beating against her ribcage.
Ochre for manifests. Green for inventory. Indigo for transactions. Black for internal affairs. This was the way all Hei documents are filed, their purpose clearly indicated on the colored corners for quick reference. For all outliers, see the Sirdsett Iaheru for direction. - A guide to Sheifa Storehouses
Ochre for manifests...
It had been her maintenance day at the Cairo residence. As a woman with all the wealth of Egypt, maintenance manifested itself in appearance. After all, the jewel of the Nile would lack luster without it consistent polishing, priming necessary to uphold reputation. Make no mistake, an unmarked face did not indicate an easy life. Iaheru H’Sheifa was once Iaheru of Cairo, a merchant's daughter marked by cleverness, the means to cultivate it, and the beauty to wield it as a woman of society. Had she been born plainly, there would be no saraaya in Cairo that rivaled Evening Star itself.
Fingering through the files her manager brought her, she made mental and physical lists of anomalies and questions to be relayed in the morning meeting. Where had the 20 bolts of silk gone if not to Hei Isazari? Which ship had a wayward slave or careless merchant misplace such a quantity of silk? Her physical form grew even tauter with the stress, as if a string attached to the base of her spine was constantly pulled upward, curving the spine and throwing the shoulders back in a statuesque pain.
Maintenance day left her smelling of frankincense and musk, her hair unrestrained and falling in a thicket of coils that reached just below her shoulders. Perfume oiled her tresses as well. In the morning, the hair would be braided out of her way and adorned with gold baubles of all variety. Rings. Coils. Cuffs. Perhaps even dangling golden charms bearing the Hei’s sigil.
Green for Inventory…
Yawns formed at Iaheru’s lips, tingling and plumped from spearmint salve applied by a slave with a horsehair brush. They dabbed it on so gently, afraid of the viper tongue the woman wielded in her marital exile, Iaheru H’Sheifa had transformed from a forgiving mistress to a silent, exacting one. Just short of cruelly impatient and cruelly disposed. An imprint of the salve rested on the rim of an ivory wine chalice sat on her matching ivory inlay desk.
The office was decorated sparsely, but opulently. Wooden chaises and plush ostrich cushions sat at the reception, in front of her desk imported from lands afar, Iaheru was always at the head of her domain. Golden palm fronds decorated the walls, the window behind the desk opened to her gardens and stables so she could appreciate their beauty while fingering through the day's records, and so she did this evening with the evening breeze ruffling a sheer, purple cloak from her shoulders.
Indigo for transactions...
“Iaheru”
She would know that voice anywhere. Once, it was her guiding star. She remembered the first time the voice had said that name and she remembered distinctly when she thought it was the last utterance. Yet, here this name was brought to life and here this voice was. Strained, but also reckless. A flash of anger riles in the woman’s chest, but only a cool, radiant face rotates to take in the flesh of her greatest love and hatred. Onuphrious H’Sheifa in his mortal form, in her home in Cairo, unannounced and unwanted. Iaheru’s lips begin to purse, but she stops as the salve buckles and spreads under the pressure, no, he would not interrupt her maintenance.
A purple night shift accompanies her sheer purple cloak, brushing against her kneecaps as she stands in silence for what seems like forever. A pirouette of wind billows the cloak out from under her again as the torchlight dances on the peaks of her face. Her robes matched the impending night. Onuphrious. In Cairo. Iaheru would laugh if she wasn’t so infuriated by the breach of solitude. She simply tilts her chin up to acknowledge his presence. Neutrally, she seats herself at the precipice of the room, fanning out the cloak and crossing her legs politely under her desk. Once she has completed smoothing out her dress, she shuffled the papers in her hand, discarded them into the box for her manager, and allowed herself to down the entire chalice of wine.
Black for Internal Affairs
Iaheru choked back the wine, drawing upwards with hazy eyes to her husband once more. She knew why he was here. These papers had been out of place for weeks. She just never expected the courier to be a ruffled Onuphrious at her office, as if it was months prior and he was beckoning her to take rest.
“Iaheru”
She thought to herself, dripping in venom her reply, Get my name out of your mouth. But she was silent. She had practiced this moment until her mind bled from possibility. Now that it presented itself, she realized that she shared the same sentiment as she did on the rooftop…
What else is there to say?
Iaheru takes the black cornered documents and she begins to stand, before she planted herself firmly in the seat and sectioned off a chunk of the documents. Gritting her perfectly white, straight teeth behind salved lips, she throws them at the Sirdar. She sectioned off another stack and sent them into a fury of flight in a room of open flame. The wind picked up and scattered the papers along his sandaled feet. Get my name out of your mouth.
What else is there to say
She began to repeat the process, but her fury found his eyes once more and something halted the flick of her wrist. Iaheru found no tears. No stress at the loss of her famed order with the papers strewn across the office. She only found an enraged numbness as she looked upon a face she loved so dearly. I’ve missed you.
Silence prevails with her chest falling and rising, beating against her ribcage.
Was it prudent, for Onuphrious to be so engaged in watching Iaheru's slow, meticulous sorting through documents? Of keen intelligence both, the minds of Onuphrious and Iaheru did not work on the same axis, but on complementary parallels that served to strengthen the massive empire that they'd amassed. Them, the both of them. While competent in every manner, Onuphrious let himself delve into the larger picture, then pushed himself into dealings in every which language, in all of the corners of the known world.
But there was more to it than simply complementary talents.
Iaheru had a sort of ease about the tribulations of organization. Joined at the hip in love, marriage and business all, Onuphrious was rather surprised to see the office so intact in the wake of everything. If Iaheru wanted to hurt him, she could tear this place apart and leave the sirdar with years of business engagements to recover records from. It'd take hundreds, if not thousands of hours, and serve to impede all of his efforts. But, Iaheru worked diligently, instead. Was her anger abating? Did she spare him such a travesty out of obligation or out of a lingering affection?
Anger was something that both of the powers that led H'Sheifa took to. But, almost never at one another. This detestable resentment festered still, even as the amorous intrigue that waxed within his gaze persisted for a moment longer. How desperately he craved to go back, to the age of prosperity, where he held the heir he'd spent a lifetime educating by the shoulder, where he held his wife at the waist and required no excuse to find privacy and satisfaction.
Now? The woman turned to search his features, a brief exchange of glances between the two before... she turned to silence. Silence that filled the space between them, silenced that deafened the world around them. Then, the chill permeated within. Where Iaheru felt the fires of anger swell within her, something the man could see in her features... Onuphrious only felt the frigid, dousing weight of sorrow. The anger at her secrecy and lies had long abated into a festering resentment, one that bowed beneath the crushing reality that...
His heart raced within his chest at the sight of her.
He felt the bead of sweat at his brow, a swell of heat that rose first within his throat before invading the chill and creating a war of sensation near the center of his chest. How it burned and yet... he felt frozen. He moved unconsciously, just enough for her manager to haphazardly excuse themselves and leave the matriarch and patriarch to their business. Here, left in the midst of their solitude, with nothing between them to say that would serve to repair the fissure that'd separate them.
What else is there to say?
He thought it, too. He rehearsed and rehearsed the apologies that refused to come out. He insisted on coming himself and yet, in the wake of observing that simple tilt of the head, of her utter refusal to so much as speak to himself. The thought of reasonable, if frigid conversation was left by the wayside. This was Iaheru's revenge upon him, instead of burning their livelihood away, she struck him with wounds that would seep deeper.
She said nothing and in it, everything was known. There was no abating the anger she felt for him, an anger that aroused his own, brought it flaring back to life as he drew closer, not away, to the only person who could claim his heart and tear it away from him at the same time. With the tinge of wine souring his judgment, he drew closer and closer, until the scents of her perfume brought with it a vulgar familiarity that threatened to eviscerate his resolve. He swallowed, then took a deep breath until the wave of calm overtook him again. He'd closed his eyes without meaning to, and all of his efforts were undone, immediately, once he gazed upon her again.
"The details from our last journey to Taengea, if you please, Lady Iaheru."
Formality would wedge a deeper wound with her than silence. A subtle vengeance for how she twisted the knife in his chest.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Was it prudent, for Onuphrious to be so engaged in watching Iaheru's slow, meticulous sorting through documents? Of keen intelligence both, the minds of Onuphrious and Iaheru did not work on the same axis, but on complementary parallels that served to strengthen the massive empire that they'd amassed. Them, the both of them. While competent in every manner, Onuphrious let himself delve into the larger picture, then pushed himself into dealings in every which language, in all of the corners of the known world.
But there was more to it than simply complementary talents.
Iaheru had a sort of ease about the tribulations of organization. Joined at the hip in love, marriage and business all, Onuphrious was rather surprised to see the office so intact in the wake of everything. If Iaheru wanted to hurt him, she could tear this place apart and leave the sirdar with years of business engagements to recover records from. It'd take hundreds, if not thousands of hours, and serve to impede all of his efforts. But, Iaheru worked diligently, instead. Was her anger abating? Did she spare him such a travesty out of obligation or out of a lingering affection?
Anger was something that both of the powers that led H'Sheifa took to. But, almost never at one another. This detestable resentment festered still, even as the amorous intrigue that waxed within his gaze persisted for a moment longer. How desperately he craved to go back, to the age of prosperity, where he held the heir he'd spent a lifetime educating by the shoulder, where he held his wife at the waist and required no excuse to find privacy and satisfaction.
Now? The woman turned to search his features, a brief exchange of glances between the two before... she turned to silence. Silence that filled the space between them, silenced that deafened the world around them. Then, the chill permeated within. Where Iaheru felt the fires of anger swell within her, something the man could see in her features... Onuphrious only felt the frigid, dousing weight of sorrow. The anger at her secrecy and lies had long abated into a festering resentment, one that bowed beneath the crushing reality that...
His heart raced within his chest at the sight of her.
He felt the bead of sweat at his brow, a swell of heat that rose first within his throat before invading the chill and creating a war of sensation near the center of his chest. How it burned and yet... he felt frozen. He moved unconsciously, just enough for her manager to haphazardly excuse themselves and leave the matriarch and patriarch to their business. Here, left in the midst of their solitude, with nothing between them to say that would serve to repair the fissure that'd separate them.
What else is there to say?
He thought it, too. He rehearsed and rehearsed the apologies that refused to come out. He insisted on coming himself and yet, in the wake of observing that simple tilt of the head, of her utter refusal to so much as speak to himself. The thought of reasonable, if frigid conversation was left by the wayside. This was Iaheru's revenge upon him, instead of burning their livelihood away, she struck him with wounds that would seep deeper.
She said nothing and in it, everything was known. There was no abating the anger she felt for him, an anger that aroused his own, brought it flaring back to life as he drew closer, not away, to the only person who could claim his heart and tear it away from him at the same time. With the tinge of wine souring his judgment, he drew closer and closer, until the scents of her perfume brought with it a vulgar familiarity that threatened to eviscerate his resolve. He swallowed, then took a deep breath until the wave of calm overtook him again. He'd closed his eyes without meaning to, and all of his efforts were undone, immediately, once he gazed upon her again.
"The details from our last journey to Taengea, if you please, Lady Iaheru."
Formality would wedge a deeper wound with her than silence. A subtle vengeance for how she twisted the knife in his chest.
Was it prudent, for Onuphrious to be so engaged in watching Iaheru's slow, meticulous sorting through documents? Of keen intelligence both, the minds of Onuphrious and Iaheru did not work on the same axis, but on complementary parallels that served to strengthen the massive empire that they'd amassed. Them, the both of them. While competent in every manner, Onuphrious let himself delve into the larger picture, then pushed himself into dealings in every which language, in all of the corners of the known world.
But there was more to it than simply complementary talents.
Iaheru had a sort of ease about the tribulations of organization. Joined at the hip in love, marriage and business all, Onuphrious was rather surprised to see the office so intact in the wake of everything. If Iaheru wanted to hurt him, she could tear this place apart and leave the sirdar with years of business engagements to recover records from. It'd take hundreds, if not thousands of hours, and serve to impede all of his efforts. But, Iaheru worked diligently, instead. Was her anger abating? Did she spare him such a travesty out of obligation or out of a lingering affection?
Anger was something that both of the powers that led H'Sheifa took to. But, almost never at one another. This detestable resentment festered still, even as the amorous intrigue that waxed within his gaze persisted for a moment longer. How desperately he craved to go back, to the age of prosperity, where he held the heir he'd spent a lifetime educating by the shoulder, where he held his wife at the waist and required no excuse to find privacy and satisfaction.
Now? The woman turned to search his features, a brief exchange of glances between the two before... she turned to silence. Silence that filled the space between them, silenced that deafened the world around them. Then, the chill permeated within. Where Iaheru felt the fires of anger swell within her, something the man could see in her features... Onuphrious only felt the frigid, dousing weight of sorrow. The anger at her secrecy and lies had long abated into a festering resentment, one that bowed beneath the crushing reality that...
His heart raced within his chest at the sight of her.
He felt the bead of sweat at his brow, a swell of heat that rose first within his throat before invading the chill and creating a war of sensation near the center of his chest. How it burned and yet... he felt frozen. He moved unconsciously, just enough for her manager to haphazardly excuse themselves and leave the matriarch and patriarch to their business. Here, left in the midst of their solitude, with nothing between them to say that would serve to repair the fissure that'd separate them.
What else is there to say?
He thought it, too. He rehearsed and rehearsed the apologies that refused to come out. He insisted on coming himself and yet, in the wake of observing that simple tilt of the head, of her utter refusal to so much as speak to himself. The thought of reasonable, if frigid conversation was left by the wayside. This was Iaheru's revenge upon him, instead of burning their livelihood away, she struck him with wounds that would seep deeper.
She said nothing and in it, everything was known. There was no abating the anger she felt for him, an anger that aroused his own, brought it flaring back to life as he drew closer, not away, to the only person who could claim his heart and tear it away from him at the same time. With the tinge of wine souring his judgment, he drew closer and closer, until the scents of her perfume brought with it a vulgar familiarity that threatened to eviscerate his resolve. He swallowed, then took a deep breath until the wave of calm overtook him again. He'd closed his eyes without meaning to, and all of his efforts were undone, immediately, once he gazed upon her again.
"The details from our last journey to Taengea, if you please, Lady Iaheru."
Formality would wedge a deeper wound with her than silence. A subtle vengeance for how she twisted the knife in his chest.
With each step he drew closer, Iaheru wished to scream louder. There had been robberies in the Ghani district surmounting the noble women left alone to the devices of common men. Screaming would only serve to scare those privileged enough to call her neighbors, perhaps the guards would scurry to the precipice of the stairs and see the Sirdsett and Sirdar among the papers she’d completely destroyed the order of. No, Iaheru didn’t want anyone to see this side of herself, barely even Onuphrious, who saw her as she was for the past thirty odd years of her life.
He was a part of her life longer than he wasn’t. They were closer to death than to the throes of their young lives at the prow of a boat.
H’Sheifa rose to everything and in this moment, devolved to nothing at all.
”If you please, Lady Iaheru.”
Iaheru paused with the stack of papyrus remaining in her hands. A tear threatened to dribble down her rose scented face, a sheen of moisture glazing over her nubile features from the work performed earlier. She comes to the conclusion that if he were to be cold, she would, as always, serve as his complement. “I do not please.”
Were he was cold, she was hot. She threw the papers in his face, close enough to hear him breathe, close enough to see him close his eyes to abate his anger. Iaheru refused to abate her anger, she had held in her pain for twenty-two long years at her condition. Did he truly understand, or at least, politely pretend to, consider what she had suffered? How she looked upon a boy born of force with love? How many nights she had to file away sleepless, tossing and turning beside the man who was supposed to support her through anything, but not through this? Had a secret paled to the years of suffering only recently soothed, all to be thrown in a proud woman’s face publicly.
Iaheru could not separate Imophetasuma from Onuphrious in the recent wake, as both had taken away the joy of her life once she had finally found the courage to accept it.
Uncrossing her legs, Iaheru stood and placed her palms on the ivory inlays, the palm frond carvings that matched the decorations hanging from the walls. Forward she leaned, her wide eyes looking up at the man, so close he could feel the air escaping flared nostrils.
Embarrassed, knowing passion would be met with indifference, her eyes refused to look anywhere but his. Like two animals squaring off against territory, her primal nature subsided for the briefest of moments and realized she’d made work for herself among the rubble of an organized day.
“I’ll send it to you.”
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With each step he drew closer, Iaheru wished to scream louder. There had been robberies in the Ghani district surmounting the noble women left alone to the devices of common men. Screaming would only serve to scare those privileged enough to call her neighbors, perhaps the guards would scurry to the precipice of the stairs and see the Sirdsett and Sirdar among the papers she’d completely destroyed the order of. No, Iaheru didn’t want anyone to see this side of herself, barely even Onuphrious, who saw her as she was for the past thirty odd years of her life.
He was a part of her life longer than he wasn’t. They were closer to death than to the throes of their young lives at the prow of a boat.
H’Sheifa rose to everything and in this moment, devolved to nothing at all.
”If you please, Lady Iaheru.”
Iaheru paused with the stack of papyrus remaining in her hands. A tear threatened to dribble down her rose scented face, a sheen of moisture glazing over her nubile features from the work performed earlier. She comes to the conclusion that if he were to be cold, she would, as always, serve as his complement. “I do not please.”
Were he was cold, she was hot. She threw the papers in his face, close enough to hear him breathe, close enough to see him close his eyes to abate his anger. Iaheru refused to abate her anger, she had held in her pain for twenty-two long years at her condition. Did he truly understand, or at least, politely pretend to, consider what she had suffered? How she looked upon a boy born of force with love? How many nights she had to file away sleepless, tossing and turning beside the man who was supposed to support her through anything, but not through this? Had a secret paled to the years of suffering only recently soothed, all to be thrown in a proud woman’s face publicly.
Iaheru could not separate Imophetasuma from Onuphrious in the recent wake, as both had taken away the joy of her life once she had finally found the courage to accept it.
Uncrossing her legs, Iaheru stood and placed her palms on the ivory inlays, the palm frond carvings that matched the decorations hanging from the walls. Forward she leaned, her wide eyes looking up at the man, so close he could feel the air escaping flared nostrils.
Embarrassed, knowing passion would be met with indifference, her eyes refused to look anywhere but his. Like two animals squaring off against territory, her primal nature subsided for the briefest of moments and realized she’d made work for herself among the rubble of an organized day.
“I’ll send it to you.”
With each step he drew closer, Iaheru wished to scream louder. There had been robberies in the Ghani district surmounting the noble women left alone to the devices of common men. Screaming would only serve to scare those privileged enough to call her neighbors, perhaps the guards would scurry to the precipice of the stairs and see the Sirdsett and Sirdar among the papers she’d completely destroyed the order of. No, Iaheru didn’t want anyone to see this side of herself, barely even Onuphrious, who saw her as she was for the past thirty odd years of her life.
He was a part of her life longer than he wasn’t. They were closer to death than to the throes of their young lives at the prow of a boat.
H’Sheifa rose to everything and in this moment, devolved to nothing at all.
”If you please, Lady Iaheru.”
Iaheru paused with the stack of papyrus remaining in her hands. A tear threatened to dribble down her rose scented face, a sheen of moisture glazing over her nubile features from the work performed earlier. She comes to the conclusion that if he were to be cold, she would, as always, serve as his complement. “I do not please.”
Were he was cold, she was hot. She threw the papers in his face, close enough to hear him breathe, close enough to see him close his eyes to abate his anger. Iaheru refused to abate her anger, she had held in her pain for twenty-two long years at her condition. Did he truly understand, or at least, politely pretend to, consider what she had suffered? How she looked upon a boy born of force with love? How many nights she had to file away sleepless, tossing and turning beside the man who was supposed to support her through anything, but not through this? Had a secret paled to the years of suffering only recently soothed, all to be thrown in a proud woman’s face publicly.
Iaheru could not separate Imophetasuma from Onuphrious in the recent wake, as both had taken away the joy of her life once she had finally found the courage to accept it.
Uncrossing her legs, Iaheru stood and placed her palms on the ivory inlays, the palm frond carvings that matched the decorations hanging from the walls. Forward she leaned, her wide eyes looking up at the man, so close he could feel the air escaping flared nostrils.
Embarrassed, knowing passion would be met with indifference, her eyes refused to look anywhere but his. Like two animals squaring off against territory, her primal nature subsided for the briefest of moments and realized she’d made work for herself among the rubble of an organized day.
“I’ll send it to you.”
"I do not please."
What else would Onuphrious expect but this venom lashed out with scarcely a veneer to cover it up. Iaheru did as she would to cover the tear that wanted to fall, to do as she would to wound him by doing the very thing that tore their family asunder. Lies upon lies, and now... it was a poison that threatened to encompass the sirdar himself. Always, he did his utmost to be truthful, to express discontent calmly and come to an amicable agreement. Reared in this belief, it was the persistent lie coming to light as it did that turned a heart full of love to one filled with disdain and feelings of betrayal.
Reconciliation, as it stood, was impossible.
It meant nothing, in the midst of it all, that her suffering was solitary. Onuphrious could not draw from an empty wellspring of pity or compassion. No, what was left was the visceral betrayal that fed into the fiery anger that she so wanted to see. Or so it seemed. Then, she rose from her seated posture and drew closer to him.
Thmpthmp. Thmpthmp.
How Onuphrious felt the tick wax faster and faster, the very blood in his veins compelling him to draw closer, to kiss the woman he'd embroiled in a romance of nearly thirty years. How it compelled him to forget the rage that dwelled beneath the surface. How everything seemed to culminate, and before he realized it, a hand rose to catch her jawline. The touch, uninvited and unwanted by either side, forced Onuphrious' eyes to widen with the shock of it. He grit his teeth before he shook his head,
"Unacceptable. I am here and I will not leave until you provide me with what is mine."
A frond of pride took root and sprouted in the midst of it all. Onuphrious was not accustomed to being denied, let alone a simple thing. The storm was brewing within his chest, and he pressed forward, to breathe into his wife's ear,
"Give. Me. The papers."
The grasp upon her jawline threatened to lower, to encapsulate her throat until he realized what he was doing. He pulled his hand back, then stepped away entirely. Onuphrious was not Imophetasuma. He wouldn't be led to the line of thought that drew him to violence towards this woman.
But how desperately he wanted to.
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"I do not please."
What else would Onuphrious expect but this venom lashed out with scarcely a veneer to cover it up. Iaheru did as she would to cover the tear that wanted to fall, to do as she would to wound him by doing the very thing that tore their family asunder. Lies upon lies, and now... it was a poison that threatened to encompass the sirdar himself. Always, he did his utmost to be truthful, to express discontent calmly and come to an amicable agreement. Reared in this belief, it was the persistent lie coming to light as it did that turned a heart full of love to one filled with disdain and feelings of betrayal.
Reconciliation, as it stood, was impossible.
It meant nothing, in the midst of it all, that her suffering was solitary. Onuphrious could not draw from an empty wellspring of pity or compassion. No, what was left was the visceral betrayal that fed into the fiery anger that she so wanted to see. Or so it seemed. Then, she rose from her seated posture and drew closer to him.
Thmpthmp. Thmpthmp.
How Onuphrious felt the tick wax faster and faster, the very blood in his veins compelling him to draw closer, to kiss the woman he'd embroiled in a romance of nearly thirty years. How it compelled him to forget the rage that dwelled beneath the surface. How everything seemed to culminate, and before he realized it, a hand rose to catch her jawline. The touch, uninvited and unwanted by either side, forced Onuphrious' eyes to widen with the shock of it. He grit his teeth before he shook his head,
"Unacceptable. I am here and I will not leave until you provide me with what is mine."
A frond of pride took root and sprouted in the midst of it all. Onuphrious was not accustomed to being denied, let alone a simple thing. The storm was brewing within his chest, and he pressed forward, to breathe into his wife's ear,
"Give. Me. The papers."
The grasp upon her jawline threatened to lower, to encapsulate her throat until he realized what he was doing. He pulled his hand back, then stepped away entirely. Onuphrious was not Imophetasuma. He wouldn't be led to the line of thought that drew him to violence towards this woman.
But how desperately he wanted to.
"I do not please."
What else would Onuphrious expect but this venom lashed out with scarcely a veneer to cover it up. Iaheru did as she would to cover the tear that wanted to fall, to do as she would to wound him by doing the very thing that tore their family asunder. Lies upon lies, and now... it was a poison that threatened to encompass the sirdar himself. Always, he did his utmost to be truthful, to express discontent calmly and come to an amicable agreement. Reared in this belief, it was the persistent lie coming to light as it did that turned a heart full of love to one filled with disdain and feelings of betrayal.
Reconciliation, as it stood, was impossible.
It meant nothing, in the midst of it all, that her suffering was solitary. Onuphrious could not draw from an empty wellspring of pity or compassion. No, what was left was the visceral betrayal that fed into the fiery anger that she so wanted to see. Or so it seemed. Then, she rose from her seated posture and drew closer to him.
Thmpthmp. Thmpthmp.
How Onuphrious felt the tick wax faster and faster, the very blood in his veins compelling him to draw closer, to kiss the woman he'd embroiled in a romance of nearly thirty years. How it compelled him to forget the rage that dwelled beneath the surface. How everything seemed to culminate, and before he realized it, a hand rose to catch her jawline. The touch, uninvited and unwanted by either side, forced Onuphrious' eyes to widen with the shock of it. He grit his teeth before he shook his head,
"Unacceptable. I am here and I will not leave until you provide me with what is mine."
A frond of pride took root and sprouted in the midst of it all. Onuphrious was not accustomed to being denied, let alone a simple thing. The storm was brewing within his chest, and he pressed forward, to breathe into his wife's ear,
"Give. Me. The papers."
The grasp upon her jawline threatened to lower, to encapsulate her throat until he realized what he was doing. He pulled his hand back, then stepped away entirely. Onuphrious was not Imophetasuma. He wouldn't be led to the line of thought that drew him to violence towards this woman.
But how desperately he wanted to.
Fire licked the man’s skin, broiling over Iaheru’s insolence and unwillingness. Iaheru prodded and prodded the man with theatrics, and, if she were honest with herself, she found pleasure in frustrating Onuphrious even if it was a fraction of the pain that she felt. The one person she could rely on through anything had forsaken her and now grabbed her by the chin…
To say she was shocked would underscore the gravity of Onuphrious’ actions. She never once recalled the gentle man forcefully grabbing at her in any circumstance. At least, never in anger. If her nostrils weren’t as large as a bulls, they were now in her absolute and total fury. Papyrus rustled about the floor and her lips parted in shock. Unsure of what to say, her eyes widened and her senses keen, ultimately pondering on how to make Onuphrious prey in her grasp again. It was so easy to manipulate him in the past thirty years, when Iaheru wanted to go on trips, wanted the finest dresses and more guards, it was but a bat of the eyelashes after a night spent together. All was hers. Now, she couldn’t have solace or peace in her own home.
When the fingers began to trail down and finally let go of her, Iaheru found it in the depth of her stomach to laugh, heartily. Into the man’s face her laughter went, fanning flames like a slave fanning their mistress on a hot day. “Are you sure you haven’t misplaced them?”
“You have a nasty habit of misplacing things,” her eyes narrowed and she leaned back from his face, half tempted to spit in his face while her chest tugged her to kiss him. How desperately she wanted his affections again. How she wanted to be cherished. Being unwanted was not a challenge Iaheru had faced in her life and she was miserable for it now. All of these anxieties flowed through her to the wine she poured into her cup.
She swayed to the other side of the desk, positioning herself within a hand’s reach of Onuphrious, doe eyes staring up into his as she played coy. “Would you like a drink, dear husband? My Onuphrious.”
On her tiptoes, she perched, leaning in close, whispering a secret into an ear spewing steam.
“Or would you like to build up the courage to wring my neck?”
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Fire licked the man’s skin, broiling over Iaheru’s insolence and unwillingness. Iaheru prodded and prodded the man with theatrics, and, if she were honest with herself, she found pleasure in frustrating Onuphrious even if it was a fraction of the pain that she felt. The one person she could rely on through anything had forsaken her and now grabbed her by the chin…
To say she was shocked would underscore the gravity of Onuphrious’ actions. She never once recalled the gentle man forcefully grabbing at her in any circumstance. At least, never in anger. If her nostrils weren’t as large as a bulls, they were now in her absolute and total fury. Papyrus rustled about the floor and her lips parted in shock. Unsure of what to say, her eyes widened and her senses keen, ultimately pondering on how to make Onuphrious prey in her grasp again. It was so easy to manipulate him in the past thirty years, when Iaheru wanted to go on trips, wanted the finest dresses and more guards, it was but a bat of the eyelashes after a night spent together. All was hers. Now, she couldn’t have solace or peace in her own home.
When the fingers began to trail down and finally let go of her, Iaheru found it in the depth of her stomach to laugh, heartily. Into the man’s face her laughter went, fanning flames like a slave fanning their mistress on a hot day. “Are you sure you haven’t misplaced them?”
“You have a nasty habit of misplacing things,” her eyes narrowed and she leaned back from his face, half tempted to spit in his face while her chest tugged her to kiss him. How desperately she wanted his affections again. How she wanted to be cherished. Being unwanted was not a challenge Iaheru had faced in her life and she was miserable for it now. All of these anxieties flowed through her to the wine she poured into her cup.
She swayed to the other side of the desk, positioning herself within a hand’s reach of Onuphrious, doe eyes staring up into his as she played coy. “Would you like a drink, dear husband? My Onuphrious.”
On her tiptoes, she perched, leaning in close, whispering a secret into an ear spewing steam.
“Or would you like to build up the courage to wring my neck?”
Fire licked the man’s skin, broiling over Iaheru’s insolence and unwillingness. Iaheru prodded and prodded the man with theatrics, and, if she were honest with herself, she found pleasure in frustrating Onuphrious even if it was a fraction of the pain that she felt. The one person she could rely on through anything had forsaken her and now grabbed her by the chin…
To say she was shocked would underscore the gravity of Onuphrious’ actions. She never once recalled the gentle man forcefully grabbing at her in any circumstance. At least, never in anger. If her nostrils weren’t as large as a bulls, they were now in her absolute and total fury. Papyrus rustled about the floor and her lips parted in shock. Unsure of what to say, her eyes widened and her senses keen, ultimately pondering on how to make Onuphrious prey in her grasp again. It was so easy to manipulate him in the past thirty years, when Iaheru wanted to go on trips, wanted the finest dresses and more guards, it was but a bat of the eyelashes after a night spent together. All was hers. Now, she couldn’t have solace or peace in her own home.
When the fingers began to trail down and finally let go of her, Iaheru found it in the depth of her stomach to laugh, heartily. Into the man’s face her laughter went, fanning flames like a slave fanning their mistress on a hot day. “Are you sure you haven’t misplaced them?”
“You have a nasty habit of misplacing things,” her eyes narrowed and she leaned back from his face, half tempted to spit in his face while her chest tugged her to kiss him. How desperately she wanted his affections again. How she wanted to be cherished. Being unwanted was not a challenge Iaheru had faced in her life and she was miserable for it now. All of these anxieties flowed through her to the wine she poured into her cup.
She swayed to the other side of the desk, positioning herself within a hand’s reach of Onuphrious, doe eyes staring up into his as she played coy. “Would you like a drink, dear husband? My Onuphrious.”
On her tiptoes, she perched, leaning in close, whispering a secret into an ear spewing steam.
“Or would you like to build up the courage to wring my neck?”
This one liked to argue. Or, it was, perhaps, because he was being provoked. Where gentle jabbing and an effort at manipulating him had once been a gentle game of cat-and-mouse, where once was playfulness and infatuation there existed only a crater. Where once Onuphrious would've given the world to this woman, there was now selfishness, the flames of disdain stoked by the revelation and how both of them continued to suffer in its wake. Onuphrious, for being deceived, year after year, as he coddled and instructed a boy that could never be his heir. Iaheru, for Onuphrious' disdain at this revelation and his inability to consider her feelings on the matter.
How could he?
How could any of this be okay and return to normalcy? How could Sutekh be allowed to form this pit in Hei Sheifa more than a month after his expulsion? Emotions were not so easily handled, and Onuphrious, who preferred to keep his feelings controlled and his reactions tempered through guile and the ease of repression... now, those feelings manifested with the physical touch he placed on his wife. Her answers, blaming him for misplacing something he hadn't possessed... it was repugnant.
And yet... when he released her, she argued with him.
"Do I?" he asked her, never once recalling having misplaced a ledger. It was her responsibility, to tend to them, made by her own volition to siphon off responsibilities from the sirdar so as to make his life that much easier. The goal, surely, had been to spend more time with the family. But, he decided to expand. Coaxed into by by spectral hands and opium visions, simply because the opium dissipated did not mean that the visions were deceitful. The legacy he kept was not one to be sullied, and he'd insisted on that expansion with the blessing of a dutiful wife who he'd promised never to neglect. Five children, it'd been once, to persist as his beneficiaries. While there were only four now...
The fact didn't change.
It is a father's responsibility to provide.
He knew it then, just as he knew it now. His children that knew varying amounts of a father's love, wanted for nothing. His wife, who hated him so feverishly... she wanted for nothing either. So as Onuphrious gazed upon Iaheru, he wondered to himself what it was that went on in her head. He wondered why she offered him a drink with that coy tone... why she approached him so callously and he felt his heart leap up to his throat as she drew closer to breathe those sick, twisted words into his ear.
The courage to DO it. It is courage to stay my hand...
Or so he thought.
The two of them... their affections, it had been glass all along. Forged by lightning hitting sand, a blaze manifested through the machinations of Ptah and hailing down from the skies of Ra. Something truly unique, with a mystical sort of quality, both rigid and transparent, born from something that gave to the slightest touch.
Onuphrious could hear the glass shattering, the hail of crystals that fell in the wake of a momentous blow. If hatred was Iaheru's hammer, then it would become Onuphrious' as well.
"Come back," he shouted out, to the slave that skittered on the outside. The door opened, for Onuphrious was not blind to his eavesdropper, and he'd command him despite it being Iaheru's house and servant. It didn't matter.
"Bring us wine. Take your time, we will need a large supply. And leave it outside the door. Do not linger."
His commands were spoken simply, to not be contradicted by the woman in front of him. Once the servant turned with a bow, skittering off once again. Once the door slammed shut and he heard the footsteps grow fainter, he raised his hand to meet her throat at last. The pressure was negligible at best, a minimum effort, but one shown to meet the challenge she posed upon him.
"Dear Iaheru, you think it is courage that I require?"
A reason. One she gave to him.
His chest pressed to hers just as the pressure mounted, the sirdar able to feel the rampant pulsein his wife's throat just as he drew himself closer still. He pressed his lips to hers, a kiss that demanded reciprocation, his lips intent on parting hers as if his tongue were to slide into her mouth. But, he did not further it. Instead, his lips curved into a smile against hers, just as he pressed them along the flesh of her cheek to breathe into her ear,
"Turn around, my wife," he demanded of her, just as his hand slid from her throat, to sift his fingers between the fabric that covered so much of her body from his scrutiny. If allowed to, he would siphon off the covering that concealed her hair, that covered her body. The body only he was allowed to have. Not some dead pharaoh. Not anyone else.
"And bear me another son to replace the lie you spawned."
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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This one liked to argue. Or, it was, perhaps, because he was being provoked. Where gentle jabbing and an effort at manipulating him had once been a gentle game of cat-and-mouse, where once was playfulness and infatuation there existed only a crater. Where once Onuphrious would've given the world to this woman, there was now selfishness, the flames of disdain stoked by the revelation and how both of them continued to suffer in its wake. Onuphrious, for being deceived, year after year, as he coddled and instructed a boy that could never be his heir. Iaheru, for Onuphrious' disdain at this revelation and his inability to consider her feelings on the matter.
How could he?
How could any of this be okay and return to normalcy? How could Sutekh be allowed to form this pit in Hei Sheifa more than a month after his expulsion? Emotions were not so easily handled, and Onuphrious, who preferred to keep his feelings controlled and his reactions tempered through guile and the ease of repression... now, those feelings manifested with the physical touch he placed on his wife. Her answers, blaming him for misplacing something he hadn't possessed... it was repugnant.
And yet... when he released her, she argued with him.
"Do I?" he asked her, never once recalling having misplaced a ledger. It was her responsibility, to tend to them, made by her own volition to siphon off responsibilities from the sirdar so as to make his life that much easier. The goal, surely, had been to spend more time with the family. But, he decided to expand. Coaxed into by by spectral hands and opium visions, simply because the opium dissipated did not mean that the visions were deceitful. The legacy he kept was not one to be sullied, and he'd insisted on that expansion with the blessing of a dutiful wife who he'd promised never to neglect. Five children, it'd been once, to persist as his beneficiaries. While there were only four now...
The fact didn't change.
It is a father's responsibility to provide.
He knew it then, just as he knew it now. His children that knew varying amounts of a father's love, wanted for nothing. His wife, who hated him so feverishly... she wanted for nothing either. So as Onuphrious gazed upon Iaheru, he wondered to himself what it was that went on in her head. He wondered why she offered him a drink with that coy tone... why she approached him so callously and he felt his heart leap up to his throat as she drew closer to breathe those sick, twisted words into his ear.
The courage to DO it. It is courage to stay my hand...
Or so he thought.
The two of them... their affections, it had been glass all along. Forged by lightning hitting sand, a blaze manifested through the machinations of Ptah and hailing down from the skies of Ra. Something truly unique, with a mystical sort of quality, both rigid and transparent, born from something that gave to the slightest touch.
Onuphrious could hear the glass shattering, the hail of crystals that fell in the wake of a momentous blow. If hatred was Iaheru's hammer, then it would become Onuphrious' as well.
"Come back," he shouted out, to the slave that skittered on the outside. The door opened, for Onuphrious was not blind to his eavesdropper, and he'd command him despite it being Iaheru's house and servant. It didn't matter.
"Bring us wine. Take your time, we will need a large supply. And leave it outside the door. Do not linger."
His commands were spoken simply, to not be contradicted by the woman in front of him. Once the servant turned with a bow, skittering off once again. Once the door slammed shut and he heard the footsteps grow fainter, he raised his hand to meet her throat at last. The pressure was negligible at best, a minimum effort, but one shown to meet the challenge she posed upon him.
"Dear Iaheru, you think it is courage that I require?"
A reason. One she gave to him.
His chest pressed to hers just as the pressure mounted, the sirdar able to feel the rampant pulsein his wife's throat just as he drew himself closer still. He pressed his lips to hers, a kiss that demanded reciprocation, his lips intent on parting hers as if his tongue were to slide into her mouth. But, he did not further it. Instead, his lips curved into a smile against hers, just as he pressed them along the flesh of her cheek to breathe into her ear,
"Turn around, my wife," he demanded of her, just as his hand slid from her throat, to sift his fingers between the fabric that covered so much of her body from his scrutiny. If allowed to, he would siphon off the covering that concealed her hair, that covered her body. The body only he was allowed to have. Not some dead pharaoh. Not anyone else.
"And bear me another son to replace the lie you spawned."
This one liked to argue. Or, it was, perhaps, because he was being provoked. Where gentle jabbing and an effort at manipulating him had once been a gentle game of cat-and-mouse, where once was playfulness and infatuation there existed only a crater. Where once Onuphrious would've given the world to this woman, there was now selfishness, the flames of disdain stoked by the revelation and how both of them continued to suffer in its wake. Onuphrious, for being deceived, year after year, as he coddled and instructed a boy that could never be his heir. Iaheru, for Onuphrious' disdain at this revelation and his inability to consider her feelings on the matter.
How could he?
How could any of this be okay and return to normalcy? How could Sutekh be allowed to form this pit in Hei Sheifa more than a month after his expulsion? Emotions were not so easily handled, and Onuphrious, who preferred to keep his feelings controlled and his reactions tempered through guile and the ease of repression... now, those feelings manifested with the physical touch he placed on his wife. Her answers, blaming him for misplacing something he hadn't possessed... it was repugnant.
And yet... when he released her, she argued with him.
"Do I?" he asked her, never once recalling having misplaced a ledger. It was her responsibility, to tend to them, made by her own volition to siphon off responsibilities from the sirdar so as to make his life that much easier. The goal, surely, had been to spend more time with the family. But, he decided to expand. Coaxed into by by spectral hands and opium visions, simply because the opium dissipated did not mean that the visions were deceitful. The legacy he kept was not one to be sullied, and he'd insisted on that expansion with the blessing of a dutiful wife who he'd promised never to neglect. Five children, it'd been once, to persist as his beneficiaries. While there were only four now...
The fact didn't change.
It is a father's responsibility to provide.
He knew it then, just as he knew it now. His children that knew varying amounts of a father's love, wanted for nothing. His wife, who hated him so feverishly... she wanted for nothing either. So as Onuphrious gazed upon Iaheru, he wondered to himself what it was that went on in her head. He wondered why she offered him a drink with that coy tone... why she approached him so callously and he felt his heart leap up to his throat as she drew closer to breathe those sick, twisted words into his ear.
The courage to DO it. It is courage to stay my hand...
Or so he thought.
The two of them... their affections, it had been glass all along. Forged by lightning hitting sand, a blaze manifested through the machinations of Ptah and hailing down from the skies of Ra. Something truly unique, with a mystical sort of quality, both rigid and transparent, born from something that gave to the slightest touch.
Onuphrious could hear the glass shattering, the hail of crystals that fell in the wake of a momentous blow. If hatred was Iaheru's hammer, then it would become Onuphrious' as well.
"Come back," he shouted out, to the slave that skittered on the outside. The door opened, for Onuphrious was not blind to his eavesdropper, and he'd command him despite it being Iaheru's house and servant. It didn't matter.
"Bring us wine. Take your time, we will need a large supply. And leave it outside the door. Do not linger."
His commands were spoken simply, to not be contradicted by the woman in front of him. Once the servant turned with a bow, skittering off once again. Once the door slammed shut and he heard the footsteps grow fainter, he raised his hand to meet her throat at last. The pressure was negligible at best, a minimum effort, but one shown to meet the challenge she posed upon him.
"Dear Iaheru, you think it is courage that I require?"
A reason. One she gave to him.
His chest pressed to hers just as the pressure mounted, the sirdar able to feel the rampant pulsein his wife's throat just as he drew himself closer still. He pressed his lips to hers, a kiss that demanded reciprocation, his lips intent on parting hers as if his tongue were to slide into her mouth. But, he did not further it. Instead, his lips curved into a smile against hers, just as he pressed them along the flesh of her cheek to breathe into her ear,
"Turn around, my wife," he demanded of her, just as his hand slid from her throat, to sift his fingers between the fabric that covered so much of her body from his scrutiny. If allowed to, he would siphon off the covering that concealed her hair, that covered her body. The body only he was allowed to have. Not some dead pharaoh. Not anyone else.
"And bear me another son to replace the lie you spawned."
A lifetime of happiness lost flashed before Iaheru's wide eyes. IT was an act to silence a thousand words that flooded the forefront of her mind. Namely, how dare he? How dare he enter her home, order around her slaves? The audacity to wrap thick fingers around her throat, constricting by the minute to tame her wild soul. He knew her, and that's what made this all the more intimate, all the more psychological in the presence of physicality.
Iaheru was not ashamed of her lie, only ashamed that it had come to pass at the time that it had. She remembered hearing the young man's quiet sobs at the stoop, wishing she could comfort her treasured son, explaining to him her reasoning instead of allowing him to conspire his own visions as his father had. Only rarely had Iaheru witnessed Onuphrious' rage and no fit of fury paramount to that night.
There house lay in ruins to Iaheru's dramatic eye. Prior to the revealing of Sutekh's lineage, their jewel sale had been upended by thieves and fire. After? Whispers trailed their movement like fleas to a dog, women covering their lips with a cupped hand, darting eyes glancing upon the jewel of the Nile with pity or polite laughter. She couldn't imagine the embarrassment Onuphrious encountered because she didn't care. The secret could have stayed between the marble white walls had it not been for his explosive reaction. For a man fabled with a sound mind and easy tongue, which now prodded the entrance to her mouth, he was incredibly volatile in his older age.
Iaheru kissed him back, her face reddening and pain heightened by grief. She had experienced loss of different magnitudes, all devastating, all completely life shattering as she embraced the loneliness and learned helplessness of a new life-- merely an ornament, shuffling papers and throwing them when she was enraged. How she missed him, longing to fall on the shores unweathered once more.
For a moment, she thought she'd give in. Turning around and letting him have his way with her. It was what she desired above all else, to be wanted again, to be welcomed in loving arms. Yet, these arms were spiked nettles, burning her flesh with red, raised scars. She fought the Pharaoh all those nights ago, crying disobedience as Ra on Earth ravaged her life and what she considered friendship, if a mortal could coexist and parlay with Gods. The Pharaoh knew that disobedience was no crime to take lightly and punished her ultimately. With touch unwanted and a life meticulously planned decimated by a son she learned to love more than life itself.
His fingers traced fire and Iaheru found herself recoiling slightly from their foreignness. Her hands lay flat against his chest, once hardened in his youth from sailing, and still toned. "Nothing worthy in your life has come easily, my husband." She looks down with her large, brown eyes to his feet, her eyes etching each leather strap binding his toes.
Sharply, her eyes raise with a keen hatred. She shoves him with her flattened palms with all of her might, "I am not a slave in my own home." Iaheru combed through her coils unrestrained, ready to rip hair from follicle. "Especially to a drunk losing composure... No..."
"You will serve me tonight or you will leave," Her feet rustled among manifests and ledgers she discarded to the floor earlier in the evening with a staunch refusal to delve into submission as she may have in weaker moments. The slave had finally brought forth the wine Onuphrious ordered, scurrying away immediately after the pitchers thumped against the wall. "You will look me in my eyes as I speak and take in every word I offer you as a privilege."
"You will sit there on that chaise..." Iaheru ordered, pointing to the furniture in what could be a delusional, righteous fury. Warmth ran through her core as she leaned into her authoritative nature. "... And I will pour you wine. You won't speak unless asked. Whatever is afforded to you will be the touch of a goddess you do not deserve..."
"... Or you may take your leave without your ledger."
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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A lifetime of happiness lost flashed before Iaheru's wide eyes. IT was an act to silence a thousand words that flooded the forefront of her mind. Namely, how dare he? How dare he enter her home, order around her slaves? The audacity to wrap thick fingers around her throat, constricting by the minute to tame her wild soul. He knew her, and that's what made this all the more intimate, all the more psychological in the presence of physicality.
Iaheru was not ashamed of her lie, only ashamed that it had come to pass at the time that it had. She remembered hearing the young man's quiet sobs at the stoop, wishing she could comfort her treasured son, explaining to him her reasoning instead of allowing him to conspire his own visions as his father had. Only rarely had Iaheru witnessed Onuphrious' rage and no fit of fury paramount to that night.
There house lay in ruins to Iaheru's dramatic eye. Prior to the revealing of Sutekh's lineage, their jewel sale had been upended by thieves and fire. After? Whispers trailed their movement like fleas to a dog, women covering their lips with a cupped hand, darting eyes glancing upon the jewel of the Nile with pity or polite laughter. She couldn't imagine the embarrassment Onuphrious encountered because she didn't care. The secret could have stayed between the marble white walls had it not been for his explosive reaction. For a man fabled with a sound mind and easy tongue, which now prodded the entrance to her mouth, he was incredibly volatile in his older age.
Iaheru kissed him back, her face reddening and pain heightened by grief. She had experienced loss of different magnitudes, all devastating, all completely life shattering as she embraced the loneliness and learned helplessness of a new life-- merely an ornament, shuffling papers and throwing them when she was enraged. How she missed him, longing to fall on the shores unweathered once more.
For a moment, she thought she'd give in. Turning around and letting him have his way with her. It was what she desired above all else, to be wanted again, to be welcomed in loving arms. Yet, these arms were spiked nettles, burning her flesh with red, raised scars. She fought the Pharaoh all those nights ago, crying disobedience as Ra on Earth ravaged her life and what she considered friendship, if a mortal could coexist and parlay with Gods. The Pharaoh knew that disobedience was no crime to take lightly and punished her ultimately. With touch unwanted and a life meticulously planned decimated by a son she learned to love more than life itself.
His fingers traced fire and Iaheru found herself recoiling slightly from their foreignness. Her hands lay flat against his chest, once hardened in his youth from sailing, and still toned. "Nothing worthy in your life has come easily, my husband." She looks down with her large, brown eyes to his feet, her eyes etching each leather strap binding his toes.
Sharply, her eyes raise with a keen hatred. She shoves him with her flattened palms with all of her might, "I am not a slave in my own home." Iaheru combed through her coils unrestrained, ready to rip hair from follicle. "Especially to a drunk losing composure... No..."
"You will serve me tonight or you will leave," Her feet rustled among manifests and ledgers she discarded to the floor earlier in the evening with a staunch refusal to delve into submission as she may have in weaker moments. The slave had finally brought forth the wine Onuphrious ordered, scurrying away immediately after the pitchers thumped against the wall. "You will look me in my eyes as I speak and take in every word I offer you as a privilege."
"You will sit there on that chaise..." Iaheru ordered, pointing to the furniture in what could be a delusional, righteous fury. Warmth ran through her core as she leaned into her authoritative nature. "... And I will pour you wine. You won't speak unless asked. Whatever is afforded to you will be the touch of a goddess you do not deserve..."
"... Or you may take your leave without your ledger."
A lifetime of happiness lost flashed before Iaheru's wide eyes. IT was an act to silence a thousand words that flooded the forefront of her mind. Namely, how dare he? How dare he enter her home, order around her slaves? The audacity to wrap thick fingers around her throat, constricting by the minute to tame her wild soul. He knew her, and that's what made this all the more intimate, all the more psychological in the presence of physicality.
Iaheru was not ashamed of her lie, only ashamed that it had come to pass at the time that it had. She remembered hearing the young man's quiet sobs at the stoop, wishing she could comfort her treasured son, explaining to him her reasoning instead of allowing him to conspire his own visions as his father had. Only rarely had Iaheru witnessed Onuphrious' rage and no fit of fury paramount to that night.
There house lay in ruins to Iaheru's dramatic eye. Prior to the revealing of Sutekh's lineage, their jewel sale had been upended by thieves and fire. After? Whispers trailed their movement like fleas to a dog, women covering their lips with a cupped hand, darting eyes glancing upon the jewel of the Nile with pity or polite laughter. She couldn't imagine the embarrassment Onuphrious encountered because she didn't care. The secret could have stayed between the marble white walls had it not been for his explosive reaction. For a man fabled with a sound mind and easy tongue, which now prodded the entrance to her mouth, he was incredibly volatile in his older age.
Iaheru kissed him back, her face reddening and pain heightened by grief. She had experienced loss of different magnitudes, all devastating, all completely life shattering as she embraced the loneliness and learned helplessness of a new life-- merely an ornament, shuffling papers and throwing them when she was enraged. How she missed him, longing to fall on the shores unweathered once more.
For a moment, she thought she'd give in. Turning around and letting him have his way with her. It was what she desired above all else, to be wanted again, to be welcomed in loving arms. Yet, these arms were spiked nettles, burning her flesh with red, raised scars. She fought the Pharaoh all those nights ago, crying disobedience as Ra on Earth ravaged her life and what she considered friendship, if a mortal could coexist and parlay with Gods. The Pharaoh knew that disobedience was no crime to take lightly and punished her ultimately. With touch unwanted and a life meticulously planned decimated by a son she learned to love more than life itself.
His fingers traced fire and Iaheru found herself recoiling slightly from their foreignness. Her hands lay flat against his chest, once hardened in his youth from sailing, and still toned. "Nothing worthy in your life has come easily, my husband." She looks down with her large, brown eyes to his feet, her eyes etching each leather strap binding his toes.
Sharply, her eyes raise with a keen hatred. She shoves him with her flattened palms with all of her might, "I am not a slave in my own home." Iaheru combed through her coils unrestrained, ready to rip hair from follicle. "Especially to a drunk losing composure... No..."
"You will serve me tonight or you will leave," Her feet rustled among manifests and ledgers she discarded to the floor earlier in the evening with a staunch refusal to delve into submission as she may have in weaker moments. The slave had finally brought forth the wine Onuphrious ordered, scurrying away immediately after the pitchers thumped against the wall. "You will look me in my eyes as I speak and take in every word I offer you as a privilege."
"You will sit there on that chaise..." Iaheru ordered, pointing to the furniture in what could be a delusional, righteous fury. Warmth ran through her core as she leaned into her authoritative nature. "... And I will pour you wine. You won't speak unless asked. Whatever is afforded to you will be the touch of a goddess you do not deserve..."
"... Or you may take your leave without your ledger."
"Nothing worthy in your life has come easily, my husband."
That simply wasn't true. Love lost now once came so easily to him. Certainly, wooing Iaheru had its complications, but they were met as all things in his life had been at that age: with a practised composure that he found himself growing less and less comprised of. In the days since Sutekh's fall from grace, the world ceased moving, business was his last bastion, his grand effort but even the give and take of negotiation was losing its majesty with the worming dread that creased his thoughts and laid waste to his rest.
What would his father think of him now, so shaken up and left struggling for self-control? What might his uncle think, with him too distracted to see to it that even a modest jewelry sale couldn't come to term? Everything in Onuphrious' life seemed reared in mockery, driven to shake at the very core of his confidence. A single lie was all it took, exposed to the air and let to disperse its rot through every aspect of his existence.
"I am not a slave in my own home," she continued, the hatred in her gaze palpable, and the insult to his state of mind following along next. Then, she surprised him, attempting to push back in the submission he wanted from her, needed from her. If he could conquer Iaheru again, have her give into the pleasure and satisfaction that they'd once indulged in liberally enough to birth four children... then he could tame her in every other regard. Instead, however, she did not dispute the need that permeated between them, but demanded his own submission instead. It was unthinkable, to let himself fall to her like some child, unaware of how and where to move and touch.
He chuckled at her nerve, the sound blooming from wine-soaked lips as he shook his head. He drew closer once again, to press his chest to her exposed breasts now that her garment had fallen and he had no intention of allowing her to simply... put it back on and forget his advance. Fingers sifted into the matriarch's hair, tightening their hold to tip her chin upwards, just as he bent enough that his lips caressed the flesh of her throat that he'd grasped just moments earlier. The sirdar knew every inch of this woman's flesh, every give and just how much pressure he could exert before bruises formed on her supple skin.
It would be unthinkable, to mar the beauty that they both held so dearly, to bestow her shameful marks and scratches that could be attributed to lower class prostitutes and shameless woman offering themselves for the base pleasure of a life above their station. No, Onuphrious had always treated Iaheru with the most respect to her flawless skin. And it would be the same now, even if he needed to exert his command over her. Lips mets hers once again, his teeth dragging along her lower lip, pulling it just enough to threaten leaving the indentation of his teeth on the plump flesh before he released it.
How sorely tempted he was, to lose that restraint he'd held so tightly to for more than twenty-five years.
So be it, he acquiesced to that rage that bubbled within him. She wished treat him like a servant, but he'd make her scream his name into the night, make her realize just what it was to lose the tender respect he'd kept such a tight leash on.
"You will serve me wine, yes. But I am not your puppet, wife."
His tone held the hint of a growl, his eyes narrowed just as he threw the fabric that'd clothed her to the floor. A hand lowered to trail along her spine, nails leaving red marks along her skin before he grasped at her hips and kneaded the flesh between his palms and the pads of his fingers.
"You will pour me wine. You won't speak unless asked. Whatever is afforded to you will be exactly as I dictate. Then, and only then, my dear Iaheru, will I collect that ledger and be on my way."
His lips curved into a smirk as he pulled back, making distance between them to allow his hand the space to grasp at Iaheru's breasts. Catching each of her nipples between two fingers, he toyed with her, shifting their positions until he pushed her onto the very chaise he was demanded to sit on. And then... he turned around, intent on reaching for the given goblets and various bottles of wine that the servant had brought to him.
"This is a fine vintage," he stated, quite pleased to be laying waste to the very best that Iaheru's property had to offer. He placed one bottle in her lap, then each chalice to accompany it. The sirdar turned so that he took to her back, letting his touch graze along the flesh of her back just as he breathed into her ear,
"Do you understand, my wife, the dichotomy between our intentions for this evening. Obey. Give yourself to your precious husband, lest the fires you're so keen on starting in this house wax and the both of us are engulfed by them."
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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"Nothing worthy in your life has come easily, my husband."
That simply wasn't true. Love lost now once came so easily to him. Certainly, wooing Iaheru had its complications, but they were met as all things in his life had been at that age: with a practised composure that he found himself growing less and less comprised of. In the days since Sutekh's fall from grace, the world ceased moving, business was his last bastion, his grand effort but even the give and take of negotiation was losing its majesty with the worming dread that creased his thoughts and laid waste to his rest.
What would his father think of him now, so shaken up and left struggling for self-control? What might his uncle think, with him too distracted to see to it that even a modest jewelry sale couldn't come to term? Everything in Onuphrious' life seemed reared in mockery, driven to shake at the very core of his confidence. A single lie was all it took, exposed to the air and let to disperse its rot through every aspect of his existence.
"I am not a slave in my own home," she continued, the hatred in her gaze palpable, and the insult to his state of mind following along next. Then, she surprised him, attempting to push back in the submission he wanted from her, needed from her. If he could conquer Iaheru again, have her give into the pleasure and satisfaction that they'd once indulged in liberally enough to birth four children... then he could tame her in every other regard. Instead, however, she did not dispute the need that permeated between them, but demanded his own submission instead. It was unthinkable, to let himself fall to her like some child, unaware of how and where to move and touch.
He chuckled at her nerve, the sound blooming from wine-soaked lips as he shook his head. He drew closer once again, to press his chest to her exposed breasts now that her garment had fallen and he had no intention of allowing her to simply... put it back on and forget his advance. Fingers sifted into the matriarch's hair, tightening their hold to tip her chin upwards, just as he bent enough that his lips caressed the flesh of her throat that he'd grasped just moments earlier. The sirdar knew every inch of this woman's flesh, every give and just how much pressure he could exert before bruises formed on her supple skin.
It would be unthinkable, to mar the beauty that they both held so dearly, to bestow her shameful marks and scratches that could be attributed to lower class prostitutes and shameless woman offering themselves for the base pleasure of a life above their station. No, Onuphrious had always treated Iaheru with the most respect to her flawless skin. And it would be the same now, even if he needed to exert his command over her. Lips mets hers once again, his teeth dragging along her lower lip, pulling it just enough to threaten leaving the indentation of his teeth on the plump flesh before he released it.
How sorely tempted he was, to lose that restraint he'd held so tightly to for more than twenty-five years.
So be it, he acquiesced to that rage that bubbled within him. She wished treat him like a servant, but he'd make her scream his name into the night, make her realize just what it was to lose the tender respect he'd kept such a tight leash on.
"You will serve me wine, yes. But I am not your puppet, wife."
His tone held the hint of a growl, his eyes narrowed just as he threw the fabric that'd clothed her to the floor. A hand lowered to trail along her spine, nails leaving red marks along her skin before he grasped at her hips and kneaded the flesh between his palms and the pads of his fingers.
"You will pour me wine. You won't speak unless asked. Whatever is afforded to you will be exactly as I dictate. Then, and only then, my dear Iaheru, will I collect that ledger and be on my way."
His lips curved into a smirk as he pulled back, making distance between them to allow his hand the space to grasp at Iaheru's breasts. Catching each of her nipples between two fingers, he toyed with her, shifting their positions until he pushed her onto the very chaise he was demanded to sit on. And then... he turned around, intent on reaching for the given goblets and various bottles of wine that the servant had brought to him.
"This is a fine vintage," he stated, quite pleased to be laying waste to the very best that Iaheru's property had to offer. He placed one bottle in her lap, then each chalice to accompany it. The sirdar turned so that he took to her back, letting his touch graze along the flesh of her back just as he breathed into her ear,
"Do you understand, my wife, the dichotomy between our intentions for this evening. Obey. Give yourself to your precious husband, lest the fires you're so keen on starting in this house wax and the both of us are engulfed by them."
"Nothing worthy in your life has come easily, my husband."
That simply wasn't true. Love lost now once came so easily to him. Certainly, wooing Iaheru had its complications, but they were met as all things in his life had been at that age: with a practised composure that he found himself growing less and less comprised of. In the days since Sutekh's fall from grace, the world ceased moving, business was his last bastion, his grand effort but even the give and take of negotiation was losing its majesty with the worming dread that creased his thoughts and laid waste to his rest.
What would his father think of him now, so shaken up and left struggling for self-control? What might his uncle think, with him too distracted to see to it that even a modest jewelry sale couldn't come to term? Everything in Onuphrious' life seemed reared in mockery, driven to shake at the very core of his confidence. A single lie was all it took, exposed to the air and let to disperse its rot through every aspect of his existence.
"I am not a slave in my own home," she continued, the hatred in her gaze palpable, and the insult to his state of mind following along next. Then, she surprised him, attempting to push back in the submission he wanted from her, needed from her. If he could conquer Iaheru again, have her give into the pleasure and satisfaction that they'd once indulged in liberally enough to birth four children... then he could tame her in every other regard. Instead, however, she did not dispute the need that permeated between them, but demanded his own submission instead. It was unthinkable, to let himself fall to her like some child, unaware of how and where to move and touch.
He chuckled at her nerve, the sound blooming from wine-soaked lips as he shook his head. He drew closer once again, to press his chest to her exposed breasts now that her garment had fallen and he had no intention of allowing her to simply... put it back on and forget his advance. Fingers sifted into the matriarch's hair, tightening their hold to tip her chin upwards, just as he bent enough that his lips caressed the flesh of her throat that he'd grasped just moments earlier. The sirdar knew every inch of this woman's flesh, every give and just how much pressure he could exert before bruises formed on her supple skin.
It would be unthinkable, to mar the beauty that they both held so dearly, to bestow her shameful marks and scratches that could be attributed to lower class prostitutes and shameless woman offering themselves for the base pleasure of a life above their station. No, Onuphrious had always treated Iaheru with the most respect to her flawless skin. And it would be the same now, even if he needed to exert his command over her. Lips mets hers once again, his teeth dragging along her lower lip, pulling it just enough to threaten leaving the indentation of his teeth on the plump flesh before he released it.
How sorely tempted he was, to lose that restraint he'd held so tightly to for more than twenty-five years.
So be it, he acquiesced to that rage that bubbled within him. She wished treat him like a servant, but he'd make her scream his name into the night, make her realize just what it was to lose the tender respect he'd kept such a tight leash on.
"You will serve me wine, yes. But I am not your puppet, wife."
His tone held the hint of a growl, his eyes narrowed just as he threw the fabric that'd clothed her to the floor. A hand lowered to trail along her spine, nails leaving red marks along her skin before he grasped at her hips and kneaded the flesh between his palms and the pads of his fingers.
"You will pour me wine. You won't speak unless asked. Whatever is afforded to you will be exactly as I dictate. Then, and only then, my dear Iaheru, will I collect that ledger and be on my way."
His lips curved into a smirk as he pulled back, making distance between them to allow his hand the space to grasp at Iaheru's breasts. Catching each of her nipples between two fingers, he toyed with her, shifting their positions until he pushed her onto the very chaise he was demanded to sit on. And then... he turned around, intent on reaching for the given goblets and various bottles of wine that the servant had brought to him.
"This is a fine vintage," he stated, quite pleased to be laying waste to the very best that Iaheru's property had to offer. He placed one bottle in her lap, then each chalice to accompany it. The sirdar turned so that he took to her back, letting his touch graze along the flesh of her back just as he breathed into her ear,
"Do you understand, my wife, the dichotomy between our intentions for this evening. Obey. Give yourself to your precious husband, lest the fires you're so keen on starting in this house wax and the both of us are engulfed by them."
Her mouth parted at his touch, after years together he knew her every tic, each epicenter of her pleasure. A noise refused to emit from her throat, he already knew her response as each nipple hardened from his unfamiliar touch. Obediently, she leans into the chaise, wondering why she demanded as such from him. Her cheeks heat in both arousal and embarrassment. Why did she think he’d bend to her will? What authority had she ever wielded? What authority had he ever wielded over her? At best, they were a partnership in its truest form, neither dominating the other except what was expected of men at the time. Iaheru knew how to manipulate him with her softened power, and such was the reason she dangled the ledgers over his observed one track mind.
She said she’d pour wine, and so she did. Each received a hearty cup and her mouth remained closed as she was bid. Her head flopped over the edge of the chaise, looking up into his eyes. Iaheru could get lost in them save for her hatred that gnawed away at her gut. Her body came to her knees on the cushioned chaise, his form towering over hers as she looked into those eyes and lowered her own gaze in reverence expected of weak wives. Offering him the chalice, her thoughts laid on her lips, her freed hand extended to gingerly trace his jawline with the gentleness expected of women. Would she mold herself to a lesser form for his affections? Was it truly affection that he offered?
No, this was a matter of ownership, of reasserting his dominance over her body, over her will and soul itself in her calculations. Very rarely was her math wrong. “Is that truly what you desire?” Iaheru taunts, fingers tracing down the planes of his stomach, stopping to tickle his navel and run her fingers under the waistband of his shendyt. “Some spineless woman. Incapable. Dulled.” She took another gulp of her wine, parting her lips as her gaze remained unfettered.
“Do you want me to lay here, Sirdar?” Her fingers slipped under the shendyt, toying with his thighs whilst biting her lip. “To not make a sound? To not speak another word? Do you want me to go as pale and dry as a corpse?”
“Husband, to act as if we have not indulged fire all these years is shortsighted, even for you.” Insults felt good, invigorating a flame within the pits of her belly, her desire tenfold when accompanied by games of the mind. She took him into her hand, slowly and lightly appling pressure as she worked against the confines of the garment. He would be putty in her hands by the end of the evening, at least, that’s what her inflated ego bid her. With all the innocence she could muster, her gaze reverted upwards, “Ravage me.”
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Her mouth parted at his touch, after years together he knew her every tic, each epicenter of her pleasure. A noise refused to emit from her throat, he already knew her response as each nipple hardened from his unfamiliar touch. Obediently, she leans into the chaise, wondering why she demanded as such from him. Her cheeks heat in both arousal and embarrassment. Why did she think he’d bend to her will? What authority had she ever wielded? What authority had he ever wielded over her? At best, they were a partnership in its truest form, neither dominating the other except what was expected of men at the time. Iaheru knew how to manipulate him with her softened power, and such was the reason she dangled the ledgers over his observed one track mind.
She said she’d pour wine, and so she did. Each received a hearty cup and her mouth remained closed as she was bid. Her head flopped over the edge of the chaise, looking up into his eyes. Iaheru could get lost in them save for her hatred that gnawed away at her gut. Her body came to her knees on the cushioned chaise, his form towering over hers as she looked into those eyes and lowered her own gaze in reverence expected of weak wives. Offering him the chalice, her thoughts laid on her lips, her freed hand extended to gingerly trace his jawline with the gentleness expected of women. Would she mold herself to a lesser form for his affections? Was it truly affection that he offered?
No, this was a matter of ownership, of reasserting his dominance over her body, over her will and soul itself in her calculations. Very rarely was her math wrong. “Is that truly what you desire?” Iaheru taunts, fingers tracing down the planes of his stomach, stopping to tickle his navel and run her fingers under the waistband of his shendyt. “Some spineless woman. Incapable. Dulled.” She took another gulp of her wine, parting her lips as her gaze remained unfettered.
“Do you want me to lay here, Sirdar?” Her fingers slipped under the shendyt, toying with his thighs whilst biting her lip. “To not make a sound? To not speak another word? Do you want me to go as pale and dry as a corpse?”
“Husband, to act as if we have not indulged fire all these years is shortsighted, even for you.” Insults felt good, invigorating a flame within the pits of her belly, her desire tenfold when accompanied by games of the mind. She took him into her hand, slowly and lightly appling pressure as she worked against the confines of the garment. He would be putty in her hands by the end of the evening, at least, that’s what her inflated ego bid her. With all the innocence she could muster, her gaze reverted upwards, “Ravage me.”
Her mouth parted at his touch, after years together he knew her every tic, each epicenter of her pleasure. A noise refused to emit from her throat, he already knew her response as each nipple hardened from his unfamiliar touch. Obediently, she leans into the chaise, wondering why she demanded as such from him. Her cheeks heat in both arousal and embarrassment. Why did she think he’d bend to her will? What authority had she ever wielded? What authority had he ever wielded over her? At best, they were a partnership in its truest form, neither dominating the other except what was expected of men at the time. Iaheru knew how to manipulate him with her softened power, and such was the reason she dangled the ledgers over his observed one track mind.
She said she’d pour wine, and so she did. Each received a hearty cup and her mouth remained closed as she was bid. Her head flopped over the edge of the chaise, looking up into his eyes. Iaheru could get lost in them save for her hatred that gnawed away at her gut. Her body came to her knees on the cushioned chaise, his form towering over hers as she looked into those eyes and lowered her own gaze in reverence expected of weak wives. Offering him the chalice, her thoughts laid on her lips, her freed hand extended to gingerly trace his jawline with the gentleness expected of women. Would she mold herself to a lesser form for his affections? Was it truly affection that he offered?
No, this was a matter of ownership, of reasserting his dominance over her body, over her will and soul itself in her calculations. Very rarely was her math wrong. “Is that truly what you desire?” Iaheru taunts, fingers tracing down the planes of his stomach, stopping to tickle his navel and run her fingers under the waistband of his shendyt. “Some spineless woman. Incapable. Dulled.” She took another gulp of her wine, parting her lips as her gaze remained unfettered.
“Do you want me to lay here, Sirdar?” Her fingers slipped under the shendyt, toying with his thighs whilst biting her lip. “To not make a sound? To not speak another word? Do you want me to go as pale and dry as a corpse?”
“Husband, to act as if we have not indulged fire all these years is shortsighted, even for you.” Insults felt good, invigorating a flame within the pits of her belly, her desire tenfold when accompanied by games of the mind. She took him into her hand, slowly and lightly appling pressure as she worked against the confines of the garment. He would be putty in her hands by the end of the evening, at least, that’s what her inflated ego bid her. With all the innocence she could muster, her gaze reverted upwards, “Ravage me.”
There was a tick of satisfaction in how, despite her apparent distaste for him, her body failed to meet the same sort of ire. There was something to be said for the years he'd spent indulging himself in this pleasure with her. Nipples hardened under his diligent touch, but was the sirdar truly intent on turning the woman's body against her? Was this the way he wanted to re-conquer her? It was a venture destined for failure. She would not harbour these feelings for him come the same day... But at the same time, he didn't much care.
The deluge of wine that carried its mark upon his mind... it demanded from him, the desire for hedonistic rewards far outweighing the logical mask he wanted to wear always. Such a mask was a bearing of moral superiority, the shell in which he protected himself. But, it whittled away. Anger... frustration, resentment... lies. None of them mattered in the moment as Onuphrious allowed himself to forget the reason he'd arrived to begin with. How hollow, how transparent...
This is what I want.
The realization was clear, the silence between them unbroken as he drew nearer to her, as the hand at her back lowered, resting upon the small of it as his chest hovered over hers. Lips pressed next to her throat, the distance between them shrinking until the chaise bore both of their weight. His knee positioned against her thigh as the fire staring back at him lowered into the traditional sort of reverent submission bidden by custom and culture.
If Onuphrious could breach into Iaheru's mind, he would agree with her. This was not romantic passion, this was visceral desire meshed with the pressing need to reaffirm his ability to control her. He wanted her as clay in his hand, to be shaped and moulded by his machinations. A laughable fantasy in the face of insurmountable odds.
"Is that what you truly desire?"
Her words were taunting him even as she obeyed, her touch tracing the plane of his abdomen up until she wrapped those digits around the waist of his shendyt. At her words, he was sorely tempted to laugh. Even if it was what he wanted, and it certainly wasn't past this evening, it wasn't a reality that could come to pass. Too complementary were the wills of Iaheru and Onuphrious H'Sheifa for one's will to thoroughly dominate the other.
But, for tonight, he would quell his affections. If reconciliation was impossible, then this night would serve as a reminder of just how innately familiar he was with her. As she drank from her glass, his nails grazed the flesh above her ribs. His touch grew more and more fervent, demanding, lines forming against her skin before he grasped at the woman's ample hips. As she toyed with his flesh, the fabric began to unravel, not quite falling but at a more forceful touch from Iaheru, it would.
"To lay there and remain silent... it wouldn't be possible for you. Not with what I intend to happen here," he answered, allowing a swell of confidence to surge within his words. His lips curved into a grin. She was right, after all. Fire was something they'd played with for decades, from Iaheru's rage that was so quick to burn (though not necessarily at him) to his own ire that was more subtly expressed. They meshed together, an odd mixture of passion and order combining with intuition and drive.
As she insulted him, she served to stoke the flames of his rage. She issued her command, a mutual desire stoked within them. The sirdar took the chalice she'd drunk from, poured the rest of it down his throat before allowing it to clatter on the ground behind them. This chaise would not bear their weight once he obeyed her. But, he didn't care. Fingers drifted from her hips, those lines forming along the path of her navel before he claimed a breast in each of his hands. The sirdar pinched his wife's nipples between two fingers before releasing his grasp.
Lips parted, allowing his teeth to mar the flesh of her neck as his hands slid along the path of her arms, intent upon pinning her wrists to the chaise as it began to bend beneath them. Pushed into an entirely horizontal position, Iaheru languished beneath him, dark eyes admiring the sight of his bound wife before... with an intentional slowness, he unraveled his shendyt, taking the sash that acted as its waistband.
"I intend to," he answered, catching her gaze before he tightened the sash against her wrist. Looping the fabric between plush surface and the chaise's frame, he slid his other hand between Iaheru and the frame, catching the sash on the other side before nimbly working to complete the binding. Onuphrious' attention wandered next, lips refusing to claim hers now that he'd bound her. Instead, they painted a path along her throat, his hands shifting to claim her thighs. Bit by bit, he'd spread them apart, enjoying the inevitable build towards her uttered command.
But first, he'd relish in this victory, short-lived as it might be.
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There was a tick of satisfaction in how, despite her apparent distaste for him, her body failed to meet the same sort of ire. There was something to be said for the years he'd spent indulging himself in this pleasure with her. Nipples hardened under his diligent touch, but was the sirdar truly intent on turning the woman's body against her? Was this the way he wanted to re-conquer her? It was a venture destined for failure. She would not harbour these feelings for him come the same day... But at the same time, he didn't much care.
The deluge of wine that carried its mark upon his mind... it demanded from him, the desire for hedonistic rewards far outweighing the logical mask he wanted to wear always. Such a mask was a bearing of moral superiority, the shell in which he protected himself. But, it whittled away. Anger... frustration, resentment... lies. None of them mattered in the moment as Onuphrious allowed himself to forget the reason he'd arrived to begin with. How hollow, how transparent...
This is what I want.
The realization was clear, the silence between them unbroken as he drew nearer to her, as the hand at her back lowered, resting upon the small of it as his chest hovered over hers. Lips pressed next to her throat, the distance between them shrinking until the chaise bore both of their weight. His knee positioned against her thigh as the fire staring back at him lowered into the traditional sort of reverent submission bidden by custom and culture.
If Onuphrious could breach into Iaheru's mind, he would agree with her. This was not romantic passion, this was visceral desire meshed with the pressing need to reaffirm his ability to control her. He wanted her as clay in his hand, to be shaped and moulded by his machinations. A laughable fantasy in the face of insurmountable odds.
"Is that what you truly desire?"
Her words were taunting him even as she obeyed, her touch tracing the plane of his abdomen up until she wrapped those digits around the waist of his shendyt. At her words, he was sorely tempted to laugh. Even if it was what he wanted, and it certainly wasn't past this evening, it wasn't a reality that could come to pass. Too complementary were the wills of Iaheru and Onuphrious H'Sheifa for one's will to thoroughly dominate the other.
But, for tonight, he would quell his affections. If reconciliation was impossible, then this night would serve as a reminder of just how innately familiar he was with her. As she drank from her glass, his nails grazed the flesh above her ribs. His touch grew more and more fervent, demanding, lines forming against her skin before he grasped at the woman's ample hips. As she toyed with his flesh, the fabric began to unravel, not quite falling but at a more forceful touch from Iaheru, it would.
"To lay there and remain silent... it wouldn't be possible for you. Not with what I intend to happen here," he answered, allowing a swell of confidence to surge within his words. His lips curved into a grin. She was right, after all. Fire was something they'd played with for decades, from Iaheru's rage that was so quick to burn (though not necessarily at him) to his own ire that was more subtly expressed. They meshed together, an odd mixture of passion and order combining with intuition and drive.
As she insulted him, she served to stoke the flames of his rage. She issued her command, a mutual desire stoked within them. The sirdar took the chalice she'd drunk from, poured the rest of it down his throat before allowing it to clatter on the ground behind them. This chaise would not bear their weight once he obeyed her. But, he didn't care. Fingers drifted from her hips, those lines forming along the path of her navel before he claimed a breast in each of his hands. The sirdar pinched his wife's nipples between two fingers before releasing his grasp.
Lips parted, allowing his teeth to mar the flesh of her neck as his hands slid along the path of her arms, intent upon pinning her wrists to the chaise as it began to bend beneath them. Pushed into an entirely horizontal position, Iaheru languished beneath him, dark eyes admiring the sight of his bound wife before... with an intentional slowness, he unraveled his shendyt, taking the sash that acted as its waistband.
"I intend to," he answered, catching her gaze before he tightened the sash against her wrist. Looping the fabric between plush surface and the chaise's frame, he slid his other hand between Iaheru and the frame, catching the sash on the other side before nimbly working to complete the binding. Onuphrious' attention wandered next, lips refusing to claim hers now that he'd bound her. Instead, they painted a path along her throat, his hands shifting to claim her thighs. Bit by bit, he'd spread them apart, enjoying the inevitable build towards her uttered command.
But first, he'd relish in this victory, short-lived as it might be.
There was a tick of satisfaction in how, despite her apparent distaste for him, her body failed to meet the same sort of ire. There was something to be said for the years he'd spent indulging himself in this pleasure with her. Nipples hardened under his diligent touch, but was the sirdar truly intent on turning the woman's body against her? Was this the way he wanted to re-conquer her? It was a venture destined for failure. She would not harbour these feelings for him come the same day... But at the same time, he didn't much care.
The deluge of wine that carried its mark upon his mind... it demanded from him, the desire for hedonistic rewards far outweighing the logical mask he wanted to wear always. Such a mask was a bearing of moral superiority, the shell in which he protected himself. But, it whittled away. Anger... frustration, resentment... lies. None of them mattered in the moment as Onuphrious allowed himself to forget the reason he'd arrived to begin with. How hollow, how transparent...
This is what I want.
The realization was clear, the silence between them unbroken as he drew nearer to her, as the hand at her back lowered, resting upon the small of it as his chest hovered over hers. Lips pressed next to her throat, the distance between them shrinking until the chaise bore both of their weight. His knee positioned against her thigh as the fire staring back at him lowered into the traditional sort of reverent submission bidden by custom and culture.
If Onuphrious could breach into Iaheru's mind, he would agree with her. This was not romantic passion, this was visceral desire meshed with the pressing need to reaffirm his ability to control her. He wanted her as clay in his hand, to be shaped and moulded by his machinations. A laughable fantasy in the face of insurmountable odds.
"Is that what you truly desire?"
Her words were taunting him even as she obeyed, her touch tracing the plane of his abdomen up until she wrapped those digits around the waist of his shendyt. At her words, he was sorely tempted to laugh. Even if it was what he wanted, and it certainly wasn't past this evening, it wasn't a reality that could come to pass. Too complementary were the wills of Iaheru and Onuphrious H'Sheifa for one's will to thoroughly dominate the other.
But, for tonight, he would quell his affections. If reconciliation was impossible, then this night would serve as a reminder of just how innately familiar he was with her. As she drank from her glass, his nails grazed the flesh above her ribs. His touch grew more and more fervent, demanding, lines forming against her skin before he grasped at the woman's ample hips. As she toyed with his flesh, the fabric began to unravel, not quite falling but at a more forceful touch from Iaheru, it would.
"To lay there and remain silent... it wouldn't be possible for you. Not with what I intend to happen here," he answered, allowing a swell of confidence to surge within his words. His lips curved into a grin. She was right, after all. Fire was something they'd played with for decades, from Iaheru's rage that was so quick to burn (though not necessarily at him) to his own ire that was more subtly expressed. They meshed together, an odd mixture of passion and order combining with intuition and drive.
As she insulted him, she served to stoke the flames of his rage. She issued her command, a mutual desire stoked within them. The sirdar took the chalice she'd drunk from, poured the rest of it down his throat before allowing it to clatter on the ground behind them. This chaise would not bear their weight once he obeyed her. But, he didn't care. Fingers drifted from her hips, those lines forming along the path of her navel before he claimed a breast in each of his hands. The sirdar pinched his wife's nipples between two fingers before releasing his grasp.
Lips parted, allowing his teeth to mar the flesh of her neck as his hands slid along the path of her arms, intent upon pinning her wrists to the chaise as it began to bend beneath them. Pushed into an entirely horizontal position, Iaheru languished beneath him, dark eyes admiring the sight of his bound wife before... with an intentional slowness, he unraveled his shendyt, taking the sash that acted as its waistband.
"I intend to," he answered, catching her gaze before he tightened the sash against her wrist. Looping the fabric between plush surface and the chaise's frame, he slid his other hand between Iaheru and the frame, catching the sash on the other side before nimbly working to complete the binding. Onuphrious' attention wandered next, lips refusing to claim hers now that he'd bound her. Instead, they painted a path along her throat, his hands shifting to claim her thighs. Bit by bit, he'd spread them apart, enjoying the inevitable build towards her uttered command.
But first, he'd relish in this victory, short-lived as it might be.
There was a reactive arch of her back at his words. His words were always his gift, like a lute strumming a chord. Their presence and absence held the same weight. His silence was calculated. This ebb and flow, it was what drew Iaheru to Onuphrious in the first place, desiring grit and grace, intentionality and strategy. Her fingers curled around the dowels of the chaise.
Nearly. Almost. Almost, it felt like months prior, when they'd indulge themselves liberally and without restraint. There was a time they only had eyes for each other, turning the cheek to children allowed to run wild, intent to ruin with the aide of vices their wealth afforded them. Hate bloomed between them, resembling passion that once flourished underneath one another in the night. In the morning. Sometimes, during the day in the storehouses.
How had they been so blind to their family? Was their love that intense? That it sanded the roughest of edges and gilded the night sky with blazing sunlight?
How foolish. She felt so old at the revelation she loved like a teenager in court, at the hems of Queen Isetheperu, at the woman's sharp beck and call stealing glances of men as she passed. She wondered when she stole the glance of the Pharaoh. Had her headwraps piqued his curiosity? Had her modesty made her a target? Was her dumb devotion a temptation worthy of unraveling? Wrinkles etched into flawless skin, mourning youth and love lost all the same.
The cloth tightens around her wrists, rising from her reveries and shames. A fog clouded her vision and her chest tightened, not from pleasure as it had before, but in a strange feeling Iaheru had only felt few times in her life. The flicker of oil lights became to bright to bear and lines formed on her eyelids in the force she shut herself off. Rigidity plagued her core. Discomfort pumped from her heart to her extremities. If it was possible, her body would've gone cold.
Her hands, manicured and painted golden, writhed against the binds. Pearls for teeth bit at the insides of her cheeks until the iron of blood washed over her tongue. Her eyes snap open in a climax of distress. "Onuphrious," she pulled against the cloth. Her legs kicked recklessly beneath her, recoiling from his gentle and welcome touch. "Onuphrious," Her wide eyes materializing tears like raindrops from the fog that settled moments prior. The golden light smoothed together like strokes on a fresco in the sheen of water.
"Get it off. Get it off. GET IT OFF!"
Her body falls half to the floor in her struggle, still bound to the dowels. She pulled with all of her might. The room spun and though she always practiced restraint, the wine threatened to creep back up her throat as a pained sound passes through her lips. Similar to the sound a dog makes when its owner steps on its paw. The way a cat screeched when the door caught its tail...
Breathing staggered, as if she was running and running and running.
"Please Onuphrious," Her wild eyes find his, a thousand words unsaid between them as she finally slips a hand loose. Freeing the other, she sits on the floor, bringing her knees to her chest and slacking her back against the chaise.
Lithe, but strong arms flex around her knees as she pulled herself inward. Her head rests atop her knees, a slight ache at the bend of the joint aged, a mop of hair cascading down her back and her hopeless stare falling on the man. How she wished to apologize. Not only this, but for so many things, if she could breathe to speak. But she couldn't yet, she hadn't given herself time to recover with two tear tracks carved into her cheekbones. "You can't do that to me."
Lips refused to part. So they were thrown into a pit of silence once more, looking into his distant soul she longed to touch.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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There was a reactive arch of her back at his words. His words were always his gift, like a lute strumming a chord. Their presence and absence held the same weight. His silence was calculated. This ebb and flow, it was what drew Iaheru to Onuphrious in the first place, desiring grit and grace, intentionality and strategy. Her fingers curled around the dowels of the chaise.
Nearly. Almost. Almost, it felt like months prior, when they'd indulge themselves liberally and without restraint. There was a time they only had eyes for each other, turning the cheek to children allowed to run wild, intent to ruin with the aide of vices their wealth afforded them. Hate bloomed between them, resembling passion that once flourished underneath one another in the night. In the morning. Sometimes, during the day in the storehouses.
How had they been so blind to their family? Was their love that intense? That it sanded the roughest of edges and gilded the night sky with blazing sunlight?
How foolish. She felt so old at the revelation she loved like a teenager in court, at the hems of Queen Isetheperu, at the woman's sharp beck and call stealing glances of men as she passed. She wondered when she stole the glance of the Pharaoh. Had her headwraps piqued his curiosity? Had her modesty made her a target? Was her dumb devotion a temptation worthy of unraveling? Wrinkles etched into flawless skin, mourning youth and love lost all the same.
The cloth tightens around her wrists, rising from her reveries and shames. A fog clouded her vision and her chest tightened, not from pleasure as it had before, but in a strange feeling Iaheru had only felt few times in her life. The flicker of oil lights became to bright to bear and lines formed on her eyelids in the force she shut herself off. Rigidity plagued her core. Discomfort pumped from her heart to her extremities. If it was possible, her body would've gone cold.
Her hands, manicured and painted golden, writhed against the binds. Pearls for teeth bit at the insides of her cheeks until the iron of blood washed over her tongue. Her eyes snap open in a climax of distress. "Onuphrious," she pulled against the cloth. Her legs kicked recklessly beneath her, recoiling from his gentle and welcome touch. "Onuphrious," Her wide eyes materializing tears like raindrops from the fog that settled moments prior. The golden light smoothed together like strokes on a fresco in the sheen of water.
"Get it off. Get it off. GET IT OFF!"
Her body falls half to the floor in her struggle, still bound to the dowels. She pulled with all of her might. The room spun and though she always practiced restraint, the wine threatened to creep back up her throat as a pained sound passes through her lips. Similar to the sound a dog makes when its owner steps on its paw. The way a cat screeched when the door caught its tail...
Breathing staggered, as if she was running and running and running.
"Please Onuphrious," Her wild eyes find his, a thousand words unsaid between them as she finally slips a hand loose. Freeing the other, she sits on the floor, bringing her knees to her chest and slacking her back against the chaise.
Lithe, but strong arms flex around her knees as she pulled herself inward. Her head rests atop her knees, a slight ache at the bend of the joint aged, a mop of hair cascading down her back and her hopeless stare falling on the man. How she wished to apologize. Not only this, but for so many things, if she could breathe to speak. But she couldn't yet, she hadn't given herself time to recover with two tear tracks carved into her cheekbones. "You can't do that to me."
Lips refused to part. So they were thrown into a pit of silence once more, looking into his distant soul she longed to touch.
There was a reactive arch of her back at his words. His words were always his gift, like a lute strumming a chord. Their presence and absence held the same weight. His silence was calculated. This ebb and flow, it was what drew Iaheru to Onuphrious in the first place, desiring grit and grace, intentionality and strategy. Her fingers curled around the dowels of the chaise.
Nearly. Almost. Almost, it felt like months prior, when they'd indulge themselves liberally and without restraint. There was a time they only had eyes for each other, turning the cheek to children allowed to run wild, intent to ruin with the aide of vices their wealth afforded them. Hate bloomed between them, resembling passion that once flourished underneath one another in the night. In the morning. Sometimes, during the day in the storehouses.
How had they been so blind to their family? Was their love that intense? That it sanded the roughest of edges and gilded the night sky with blazing sunlight?
How foolish. She felt so old at the revelation she loved like a teenager in court, at the hems of Queen Isetheperu, at the woman's sharp beck and call stealing glances of men as she passed. She wondered when she stole the glance of the Pharaoh. Had her headwraps piqued his curiosity? Had her modesty made her a target? Was her dumb devotion a temptation worthy of unraveling? Wrinkles etched into flawless skin, mourning youth and love lost all the same.
The cloth tightens around her wrists, rising from her reveries and shames. A fog clouded her vision and her chest tightened, not from pleasure as it had before, but in a strange feeling Iaheru had only felt few times in her life. The flicker of oil lights became to bright to bear and lines formed on her eyelids in the force she shut herself off. Rigidity plagued her core. Discomfort pumped from her heart to her extremities. If it was possible, her body would've gone cold.
Her hands, manicured and painted golden, writhed against the binds. Pearls for teeth bit at the insides of her cheeks until the iron of blood washed over her tongue. Her eyes snap open in a climax of distress. "Onuphrious," she pulled against the cloth. Her legs kicked recklessly beneath her, recoiling from his gentle and welcome touch. "Onuphrious," Her wide eyes materializing tears like raindrops from the fog that settled moments prior. The golden light smoothed together like strokes on a fresco in the sheen of water.
"Get it off. Get it off. GET IT OFF!"
Her body falls half to the floor in her struggle, still bound to the dowels. She pulled with all of her might. The room spun and though she always practiced restraint, the wine threatened to creep back up her throat as a pained sound passes through her lips. Similar to the sound a dog makes when its owner steps on its paw. The way a cat screeched when the door caught its tail...
Breathing staggered, as if she was running and running and running.
"Please Onuphrious," Her wild eyes find his, a thousand words unsaid between them as she finally slips a hand loose. Freeing the other, she sits on the floor, bringing her knees to her chest and slacking her back against the chaise.
Lithe, but strong arms flex around her knees as she pulled herself inward. Her head rests atop her knees, a slight ache at the bend of the joint aged, a mop of hair cascading down her back and her hopeless stare falling on the man. How she wished to apologize. Not only this, but for so many things, if she could breathe to speak. But she couldn't yet, she hadn't given herself time to recover with two tear tracks carved into her cheekbones. "You can't do that to me."
Lips refused to part. So they were thrown into a pit of silence once more, looking into his distant soul she longed to touch.
