This Once Controller of the Mysteries lay supine, shivering like frozen dust.
Empty corner.
Cold.
Neither morning light of Re, nor twisted kiss of happy harlot can warm his blood.

Shattered glass. That I am.

Is it my guilt that brought me here? Fleeting thoughts of holy redemption-- misguided beliefs? Shall I hand myself over to the Priests, openly, in full dress, like roast duckling is served to Pharaoh on shining platters of gold?

But then, the feeding frenzy-- Do I not deserve it?

Is there not one man here who would take pause, listen to my reasons, before turning me over to the new King? But what I did, I did for Him-- for them. My purpose. And I was not alone.

There must be someone who would hear me!

A moment more, and the idea is gone, crushed by the single truth that Goddess Ma'at must first have Her way with me and my heavy heart. So then shall it be tossed to The Devourer, Ammut? Then let Ma'at, in her justice, see the honesty hidden behind this black visage.

I walk alone, the Living Dead, with raised head and new found resolve, toward the chamber of She who keeps this Temple.

_________________

"Tell me why I had to be a Powerslave
I don't wanna die, I'm a God, why can't I live on?
When the Life Giver dies, all around is laid waste,
And in my last hour, I'm a Slave to the Power of Death."

_________________