Thin rays of light filtered through the cracks in the stone to illuminate the golden sand. There was a heaviness in the air, solemn and ancient. Occasionally, a scarab would scuttle along the wall before disappearing back into its hiding spot.

Two sets of footsteps, slightly muffled by the sand but still loud enough to be heard, sounded on the stone floor. One set was lighter than the other.

Aside from the thin light rays, a lit torch was the only thing illuminating the tomb. Its glow was still enough to show the owners of the footsteps.

One was a tall woman, darkly tanned from a life in the sun and muscled from years spent fighting and exploring tombs such as the one they were in now. Her dark hair was cut shorter in the front than in the back and you could just about see her emerald green eyes. A scar ran diagonally across her neck.

The other one was a black cat. Her fur cut as short as she would allow and around her neck was an enchanted ice crystal to keep cool in the heat. The curious thing about this cat was that she was walking on her back legs with perfect balance.

---

@writer-grandma

also tagging @strawberryspaceship because I know you expressed interest in Nenet

There was something about staring into a mirror made several hundred years ago, during which time the country it had been made by had been fighting a war against your own.

She didn’t know what that something was. She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

Nenet mulled over that thought as she adjusted the neckline of her dress, tucked a short lock of hair behind her ear and took inventory of her face (and the room, with its rails of old dresses, gaudy jewellery displayed by mannequins and walls decorated in gold). 

She picked up a tube of red lipstick and began to apply it, green eyes staring back at herself.

Perhaps that something was the feeling of what it must have been like, hundreds of years ago, going about your daily life with the threat of an invasion by people who fought like wild things and never surrendered.

---

@writersloth @strawberryspaceship @rosella1356 @rmorada @editedandwrittenbyhannah

Shouldn’t I be actually writing this story? Yes.

But seeing as these idiots are oblivious and take like a decade to realise they like each other, I’m doing this. 

Enjoy!

---

Despite the bride’s many objections to having a big wedding, it was expensive, over the top etcetera, it appeared that half the city had shown up. 

Nenet and Morgan had chosen to sit with Maurice who, despite the glamour of the party, had brought his barrel table aboard.

“This is boring,” Morgan stated what all three of them were thinking, a grumpy expression on his face as he picked at the sleeve of his suit.

“You said it, “ Nenet agreed, twisting her wedding ring around her finger idly. “I dont even know most of these people!”

“You did save them from Augustine,” her long-haired husband pointed out, “they probably wanted to see you up close.”

“That is…weird.”

“If you hate it so much, we could always sail away without people noticing,” Maurice had been joking but from the way Morgan’s face lit up, it was clear that the younger man had taken him seriously.

“Round up the crew, sneak out and not come back to this city for a few years,” Morgan thought aloud.

“Let’s do it!” Nenet exclaimed, pulling off the various bangles she worn as a homage to her home land. “Let’s go do something we actually want to do instead of sitting around moaning about it.”

Maurice sighed but also smiled. “I’ll round up the crew,” he said as he stood up.

The newly weds watched him walk off.

“Do you think Francis will forgive us for rejecting his hospitality?” Nenet’s tone of voice was blasé.

“He’ll have to. After all, love, you saved him from being ripped apart.”

“Hmm, I find myself regretting that now,” she chuckled and kissed him on the cheek.

---

@writersloth @strawberryspaceship @rosella1356 @rmorada