Nephthys only ever wants to see the night.
The dark, soothing blanket that reminds her of when her mother used to dance in the halls of their home, all rich ebony skin and pearly white teeth and bright eyes.
Before she left.
Before the animal who used to be her brother looked down on it all with gnashing teeth,
A rabid jackel of a man who craves the chaos and loves disorder.
Before she was left to tend to the bodies left behind in the streets of her violent, destitute neighborhood,
To be the one who grieves for those who have no one to grieve for them because there is no one else left besides her, the dead, and the dying.
She never gets to see it anymore, because she has work to do and money to earn and be wasted,
But every once in a while, as her brother goes down to gamble on a sunlit boat and fight off old gods of the town for money that will disappear into a bottle soon enough,
Nephthys braids her hair and dons a ratty white dress,
And walks down the pier to dip her toes into the endless sparkling lake,
And lets herself forget, for just a few hours,
Sitting with the only love she has left, the sky over her and the earth underneath,
What the taste of death is like.