"I've not spent much time around them," Nephthys admitted with a small shake of her head, "so I could tell you nothing further than that they exist." Perhaps this Temple of Set worshiped his darkness, perhaps they searched for his light. Nephthys knew only that she had quickly grown uncomfortable in their presence and had to leave.
His laugh was a familiar thing, and to Nephthys it conjured up the scent of the air moments before a storm struck, the crackle of static that made her skin hum. It was the same way she felt when he touched her. A shiver ran through Nephthys at the thought and she picked up her glass, draining it.