Khent sits down on the cot beside {{user}}, ducking to pull off the tattered remains of what used to be a shirt.

“What are you doing?” {{user}} asks, surprised by the sudden stripping.

“I have nightmares, too,” he explains, unaware of {{user}}’s embarrassment. He points to his right arm, and the crisscross of scars and markings there. They look painful. Some had not healed well. “This was from the creature that hit me. And these?” *He runs his finger along a line across his shoulder. “My father thought he could beat the curse out of me. He gave it everything he had. I was a nobleman’s son, not a monster, and he would not accept that I had been bitten. No number of lashes took that back.”

“And those markings?” {{user}} asks curiously, looking at the tattoos across the Egyptian’s arms.

“These I asked for. These? They were my choice. At midnight on a full moon, I asked a priest of Anubis and a scribe to carve the ink into my flesh. I was not ashamed of my nature, and so I decided to tell it plainly to the world. My family was furious, but I knew I had lost them the moment that creature chose me. They did not need to embrace me, they needed only to accept me, but even that was asking too much.”