"Loving you was like going to war; I never came back the same."
- Warsan Shire
She died with the living Horus's name on her lips as he gently laid her body down into the red desert's sand.
His name, spoken under her last breath was both a confession of love and a plea for forgiveness to the young ruler of Egypt, whose wine-colored eyes were filled with sorrowful loathing for the beautiful traitor as he looked down on her dying form.
On the horizon Ra perished, shedding the remnants of the day's light on His son, engulfing Him in a warm golden glow. In this light, His hair resembled a crown made of a fiery blaze, symbolizing His innate regalness and rendering a material crown made of gold redundant.
He was born a god and a king. Too late had she realized she could have never taken from nor shared with Him His divine right as his consort.
A single tear – a token of guilt – left crimson eyes before they forever fell shut.
.
.
.
The shadows bore her company in the depths of darkness. They would occasionally talk to her, whispering to her the tale of a young Pharaoh and his older bride. She enjoyed listening and pretending to have never heard of those stories before. The shadows kept repeating and it was not long before her own memories were nothing more to her than a part of the Nameless Pharaoh's secret.
Occasionally, she witnessed the living world through someone else's eyes but nothing interesting ever happened; it was always just the same with those poor women who were chosen to bear the burden of being the Millennium Necklace's wielder.
A man. A ritual. A wedding. A deflowering.
The birth of a child. The birth of a son.
Beatings. Bruises. Rape. Death.
Repeat.
Those who had devoted their lives to guard the secret of the Nameless Pharaoh were pitiful. The members of the Ishtar family considered themselves to be privileged by the Pharaoh but were in fact only too blind to see that they were cursed.
They had never seen the sun, except for the young women who were married into the family to provide them with fresh blood in intervals in between generations of incestuous offspring.
She wondered why they willingly made themselves slaves to a dead King who would have never even wanted such submissive worship. The young regent she fell in love with would have never imposed a family's bloodline with a duty so ignominious.
It was disgusting and tragic at the same time and after a few centuries she refrained from making her presence known to the woman who was bearing the Millennium Necklace.
Another two and a half millennia passed before a baby girl was born into this depressing world, who finally aroused her curiosity. She watched her grow up through her mother's eyes and felt the same kind of happiness when she beheld the girl for the very first time.
Clear blue eyes and silky raven hair. The girl was by far the most beautiful child the Ishtar family had produced in those three millennia. There was something special about the infant girl and she could not await the day the Millennium Necklace would be given to her. From that day on, she promised to protect her and grant her power and wisdom. This miserable life beneath Egypt's sands was not meant for the woman she would grow into and she swore the whole world would one day lie at that girl's feet.
Isis was the name given to her. And the spirit found it bewilderingly fitting. Isis, the patron goddess of all great rulers of Upper and Lower Egypt and associated with the Pharaoh's Great Royal Wife as the spouse of Horus.
It could be no mere coincidence. This azure-eyed girl-child was destined to play a large role in the Nameless Pharaoh's return.
When Isis's mother died after giving birth to a golden-haired baby boy and was left with a cruel father, the spirit longed to console and give the semi-orphan comfort, but was unable to provide her with all the affection she held, unless the Millennium Necklace entered the girl's possession. Before then, she was useless to Isis for after all, she was just the spirit of a long dead woman, trapped inside the Necklace she once owned herself.
But when the raven-haired girl turned thirteen, she finally seized the magical object the female spirit thought to be rightfully hers.
She had no relation to the motherless girl nor could she replace the role of a mother because she had never given birth to and cared for a child. But she could be a sister to Isis, guiding and protecting her, making sure she would only experience the best of live.
If the beautiful child was Isis, the spirit would be Nephthys, supporting her in the same way the goddess's twin sister was said to always have done.
Nephthys – as a darker aspect of Isis – complemented her twin sister and helped her when goodness and light were not strong enough to conquer obstacles that could only have been remedied by evil and darkness.
She thanked the ancient gods for granting her a second chance in the form of the young Isis, regardless of her being her reincarnation or not.
Nephthys – as she liked to call herself from that moment in time on – swore to offer Isis everything good life had in store for her.
She deserved to be desired and looked up to, she deserved to possess all the treasures this world could provide and deserved to experience everything enjoyable in life. But she was only deserving a man worthy of her. And unless this time would produce a man like the Nameless Pharaoh, there was no man on this planet who would ever know the deepest of her love. She would make sure of it.