Three days passed before Nefertem came down from his rooms to seek out Seth, still bruised and aching but feeling alive again, his skin no longer burning, cooling to it’s usual low temperature. He went first to Seth’s rooms, but upon finding them empty, made his way downstairs into the pit. His seal was there, in the locked casket beside Seth’s, locked and sealed away where he couldn’t steal it back, but Seth himself was nowhere to be found. Growing curious, Nefertem searched the house, to no avail, then threw his senses out in an ever-increasing arc, expecting to find him at some party, in some noble’s ear, as always.

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On the day of Nefertem’s storm and subsequent sojourn back to hell, Seth was enjoying himself at a party. A very important party, the King’s fete at Versailles, which he’d managed to attain an invitation to attend in the palace itself with the King and his most trusted advisors. It was a project he had spent months on, determined to get in the King’s ear, and eventually anywhere else he needed to ensure that at some point France would be his, convinced that if he could take this little corner of the world, he could take Spain, and then Britain, and then the world. He just needed that annoying runt home where he belonged, where the others wouldn’t be able to interfere with him.

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