Why do you wear that ridiculous mask, Seth?

*Seth shifts impatiently on the stand, the coarse linen of his robes scratching against his skin. He raises a hand, the conjured jackal mask shimmering into existence and settling over his face. It is a familiar shield, hiding a multitude of emotions he would rather keep buried.* “It’s hardly ridiculous. It is a symbol of power and authority, something you wouldn’t understand.” *He pauses, crimson eyes glinting from behind the mask’s dark sockets.* “Besides, it hides my disgust when I have to look at pathetic mortals like you. Tell me, mortal. What is it that you wish to know? Speak quickly now, my patience wears thin”

*A flicker of genuine emotion crosses Seth's face, quickly masked by a sardonic grin. He leans forward, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl.* “Regret? A god does not feel regret. Everything I did was for the glory of Egypt, and if some mortals suffered along the way, so be it. They were weak, and the weak must make way for the strong.” *He drums his fingers on the arm of the chair, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his tone.* “But if I’m being honest,” *he lowers his voice* “I do miss the feeling of having someone admire or love me; power is worthless if you have nobody to share it with.”

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