Set in Stone
	Allohel tended to the candles, as a young man. He had looked at the stone statue of Set, the black obsidian eyes glinting with the light reflecting off the gold lined hieroglyphic covered walls. All was tidy. It had been time for his own worship. He brought his own ornamental candles and kneeled before his idol, his finely plaited black hair falling gently over his almond coloured shoulders. This was how it used to be. Allohel had inherited the role as the High priest of the Temple of Set in Nebyet, Upper Egypt. His temple was huge, with golden walls and so many worshippers in black robes. His dedication to the Lord of Chaos had been incredibly strong. It still is. It would soon be time for Allohel to retire from his life at the temple and join the pharaoh, Hetepsekhemwy in the afterlife. His brother who took power of the empire had killed Hetepsekhemwy, who had ruled until the Great Earthquake in Bubastis. Reneb (his brother), destroyed the Temple of Set, and the Sect of Horus simply because his brother’s name literally meant, Horus and Set at rest. Now he stared at the statue that he had bowed to everyday since he was 14. The memories of his content Jackal-headed worship tormented him, reminding him the 33 years he had spent within these walls. His plaits fell loose, sending wisps of black hair over his dirty face. He looked down the now very dark shrine at the ring of golden candles at the foot of his god. He had locked everyone out. He needed his privacy. The gold painted pillars sent black shadows up the walls. Silence. Sound of breathing. In all his years of worshipping Set, he had never had any miracle happen to him, no proof, even, that his god existed. That would change. He would summon Set, and become immortal. He laid the black and gold candles all around him. Silence. A rat running along the alter. He lit all the candles off the large torch and stood as still as the stone god, with dagger and ankh in hand. Voices. Whispering in his head. Heart pulsing twice as fast, he could hear it. He put the ankh to his heart. Then to his forehead. "Ye who hath betrayed me, Rise from your deep astral slumber, To I in Kemet you shall come, Set, my god, my dark one." He raised the knife, then, above his head and brought it down slowly to his chest. Swiftly and without fear he drove the gold dagger through his black robes and into his flesh, stabbing his heart. He could feel the sacred red fluid seeping from his wounds onto the gold lined floor as he collapsed there, robes catching alight from the candles. Still he sleeps in the tomb of his king, a burnt and gaunt being, awaiting the day when he and his Pharaoh can rise once more and bring back the worship of Horus and Set.
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