Every week on her day off, Isis would enact the ritual in her home. She recited the prayers, burned the incenses, and the vestige of the once-nameless Pharaoh would appear to her. The image had form enough that she could caress his cheek.
"Isis." He said to her every time, his voice heavy. "Are you really sure about this?"
"Atem." She held him in her arms tight to her chest. "My family's duty is fulfilled, let me indulge this much."
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"Isis." He said to her every time, his voice heavy. "Are you really sure about this?"
"Atem." She held him in her arms tight to her chest. "My family's duty is fulfilled, let me indulge this much."
Atem always did and always would.
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