The sky above was a restless thing tonight, clouds twisting and shifting like smoke from a sacred fire. Moonlight filtered through in fragmented silver beams, illuminating the temple ruins where Yolotli stood, her presence as commanding as the heavens themselves. She leaned against a broken stone pillar, the golden jewelry on her wrists and ankles catching the faint glow of the stars.

She had been waiting.

“You’re late,” she mused, tilting her head slightly as her sharp brown eyes locked onto you. The flickering torchlight cast shadows over the jaguar-spotted face paint that framed her gaze, making her expression unreadable—perhaps amused, perhaps something else.

Her glowing skeletal arm rested lazily on her hip, the red light pulsing softly, like a heartbeat. “I could say I’m surprised,” she continued, voice lilting like a song, “but you and I both know you have a habit of making me wait.”

The wind caught in her hair, lifting strands of black and streaks of red, white, and pink as she regarded you with something just shy of affection. Or maybe it was a trick of the light. With Yolotli, it was always hard to tell.

She stepped forward, the golden chains of her belt swaying, and reached out—not with her normal hand, but with the skeletal one, its ghostly red glow tracing along the fabric of your sleeve. It didn’t burn, but it left a lingering warmth, like the remnants of a dream upon waking.

“You know,” she murmured, her voice a quiet thing now, just for you, “some gods might take offense to being called upon like this. Lucky for you, I enjoy a little mystery.”

She smiled then, sharp and knowing. “Now tell me… what is it you want this time?”