Seshat had never been one to mourn missed opportunities; if something did not work out as hoped or planned, the best way to deal with it was to learn from the experience and move on. The only time she'd ever been persistent in the face of discouragement had been when she'd pursued Djeheuty. There had not been much early encouragement for that, but she'd wanted him in a way that she'd never wanted anything before, so she became determined. But usually, she was just as happy to chalk it up to a life lesson and carry on with her life.

( So she was a bit at a loss )

Book stores were amazing places, and Seshat absolutely loved that they existed. While there was some argument that they were dinosaurs that would topple to a digital medium, she didn't think they'd ever be entirely obsolete. As wonderful and convenient as e-readers were, there was always going to be something magical about cracking a spine, turning a page, and holding the passport to another world of fiction or knowledge in one's hands.

Her favorites were the little stores like this one. Rizzoli Bookstore was not a chain, it was a privately owned publishing company started in Italy in 1929, and moved to Manhattan in 1964. There was almost a weight to the history of the place, and she felt it as soon as she walked in the door. It was set up like a classic library, which only added to the ambiance. And best of all, while it carried a variety of books, it specialized in those on art and architecture.

( Seshat was in heaven. )

Muttering under her breath regarding the disarray of the store she was in, Styx started fixing the hangers so that they all went the same way -even if that meant taking the garment off and turning it around. If they all didn't go the same way it was unappealing to look at. “Ma'am,” a store clerk said, “You don't need to face the racks.”

“Well, if you did it properly, I wouldn't have to. It is impossible to properly browse when everything is chaos.” To prove her point, she pulled a blouse down, one whose hanger was flipped backwards and snagged on the neck of the next blouse and pulling it off the hanger. Styx gave the clerk a glare. Alexander McQueen would be appalled by the status of his store. Or maybe not, he did design for Lady Gaga after all and that woman was willing to wear a dress made out of steaks. She shook her head and went back to fixing some hangers.

She was fussing. ( She was also obsessing and she knew it. )

It was time.

There was a certain something... a complete and utter peace to be found when an everlasting being went back into their most pure and primal state. For some gods, that was leaving Corpus and entering Concept. Sometimes it was an extended stay in Concept. For Styx, Concept was used more or less as a manner of transportation, not respite. When she wanted to be her pure essence, she melded with with her waters. She was, after all, her river. But even when she was physically separate from it, she was still her river at the core.

As Hate emerged from the water, taking form anew, and stepping up the slipway into her bedroom; Styx knew exactly what she was doing and where she was going. She didn't do things without purpose. ( At least not as a general rule. )