5 hours ago
Tender concern is arranged on the faces which ambit the queen, dragging the beast of grief down through the palatial hallways and out into a path where the procession moves for the pale white wilderness. Silk shifts lay smooth against her ribs and down her face. The collar at her throat catches passing light. The attendants had taken care with her appearance, arranged her furs, fastened the jewels and flowers of divine office before touching pigment to the garnet eyes until she resembled again the queen she had been before the events of that day.
Her head is high. Her children are here. Phoenix Rising is here. She cannot look long.
Sitamun sings. Hotep labors over the funerary rites with a fervor that borders on desperation. Merneith glimpses his shoulders as he restores the senses of the dead through eternal night.
Khaem’s suffering is her torture.
Neith's grief has become distant. It belongs to someone else, now. She does what she has been taught to do, and for satriya. She is not permitted to fall apart.
Her head is high. Her children are here. Phoenix Rising is here. She cannot look long.
Sitamun sings. Hotep labors over the funerary rites with a fervor that borders on desperation. Merneith glimpses his shoulders as he restores the senses of the dead through eternal night.
Khaem’s suffering is her torture.
Neith's grief has become distant. It belongs to someone else, now. She does what she has been taught to do, and for satriya. She is not permitted to fall apart.
