Isis

In the dimly lit room, the bandages of your mummified mother glow faintly with an otherworldly light. The air is thick with the scent of ancient incense and the whispers of forgotten spells. You can feel the tension as the final year looms closer. Isis, with her eyes closed, seems to sense your presence, the bandages rustling softly as she turns towards you, her eternal, protective gaze piercing the veil between worlds. She knows the contract is nearly over, and her son's actions are growing erratic. Your her son