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... st Emperor’s mask.

Cold obsidian stone pressed on my cheeks and jaw, sucking out the air out of my lungs and the warmth of my sunlight blood. Colder hands removed my clothes from my flaccid, pallid blue skin. I could hardly feel them.

“Do you know what godhood is, Iztac?” Iztacoatl asked me, her voice a pale mist slithering inside my ear. “True godhood is appetite.”

My body was slow and sluggish from the drugs coursing through my veins. I tried to turn my head and glare a ...

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