it was an endless prayer—it rang in her ears as it poured like bitter medicine, like sweet poison!, from her mouth. ah, Her mouth—Their! mouth—the lips of the Divine. bodies, still before her—captured, briefly, in the stiff rigor of true death. not for long—not as the words grew louder, firmer, not when desperation became true devotion, true belief. they too will wake!
death was not the end, it was another beginning—but she did not wish to begin again without all of the faces that had gone to rest with her in the pyramid. Pharaoh was made of more than she, then—a young girl meant to be Goddess driven by feeling. but she must be Goddess, must be pious, to see all eyes open—
and they began to! oh, thank the Gods—Satiset moved to each of them, throat still working out the prayer as she saw Their work be done. relief, love, gratitude—her Mazoi, her apothecary, her fellahin, her—
no name for him, yet. she knew who he was meant to be, and her affection for him was the real affection of any young girl with a good heart who cared for each being she encountered. relief, yes—the Gods had found him worthy, and this meant something surely. something for them, perhaps—the dutiful daughter would wed who she was told, regardless of her own feeling on the matter; she knew his own arrival granted legitimacy to the desires of his own family. knew it when her mother looked upon him, to beckon him to their family.
Satiset Neferseba smiled upon him firstly, the hymn taking on a more joyous note now, voice growing warmer and warmer as she beheld her people and their return!

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