#p-supoolparty

@stcries-untcld The bass of the Deity club thrummed through marble and bone alike, a low heartbeat beneath incense and ozone. Anubis slipped past columns carved with prayers older than cities and waded into the pool, water cool against his dark skin, lapping at the gold of my collar. The surface caught the lights—lapis and amber—and fractured them into a hundred shifting stars.

He did not often come to places like this. The god of the dead is accustomed to quieter thresholds. But even gods tire of the weight of endings.