May the devil himself splatter you with dung.
Jean CocteauTags: dung
She was so warm, her drenched clothes had almost dried. Her eyes were rolled back in her head. She started muttering, and I could’ve sworn she said, “Dung balls. Time to roll the dung balls.”
It might’ve been funny—except for the fact that she was dying.
“That’s Khepri talking,” Setne explained. “He’s the divine dung beetle, rolling the sun across the sky.”
I didn’t want to process that—the idea that the girl I liked had been possessed by a dung beetle and was now having dreams about pushing a giant sphere of flaming poo across the sky.
Tags: balls carter-kane dung
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