Egypt (The Herpetology Remix)
Remix of Egypt by Rhoddlet.
She is a snake. She looks slick and wet, but when you touch her, you realise she is bone dry.
She is always dry when he thrusts into her. He doesn't realise.
Dry and smooth and a straight line all the way up -- no hips, no breasts, just long lean pale skin dried out by the sun and the sand. She can move like a snake, slowly, undulating across desert sands, a straight line turning into curves turning into a straight line again.
She is a snake and snakes will, if in a place that is cold, lie there, waiting for it to become warm again. When he is on top of her, he mutters cooling charms before he pushes into her, and she lies there, waiting for the heat to come again.
As he leaves, he tells her to be careful -- there are snakes and scorpions and curses underground -- and she nods, distractedly, because a snake only notices the danger when it moves, and nothing has moved here for a very long time.
She is a snake, and she climbs up rocks to lie out in the sun, the blinding furious sun that brings warmth and delight to her and her kin. They join her on the rock, slinking around her and enjoying not only the sun, but her warmth as well.
She learned how to talk to them from a boy who didn't exist. She whispers sweet nothings to them, at first, then tells them of greater things.
When she finally says the words that she cannot say in English or Arabic or Ancient Egyptian, the snakes lower their heads and understand.
She is a snake, and when he comes looking for her, as the wind rises and the sand scatters over the graves of men who thought they could take what they wished, she is there, looking at him with sad eyes, as her kin rises above her.