Who: Osiris, Isis Where: Isis' hotel When: Backdated to when Isis first arrived What: A reunion
Osiris stared up at the hotel Isis was staying at and did his best not to fidget. He was not a fidgety person by nature; he was a being of vegetation, water, and death, none of which were prone to sudden bursts of energy. But this was special occasion, after all. It was the first time he'd seen his wife in...well, he'd honestly lost count of the years. Too long, regardless.
In some ways, he was used to separation from Isis. Once he'd died, Duat had been his domain, not the world of the living. Isis, bright and clever and alive, had not belonged there the way Osiris did. But being used to separation didn't make it any less painful. If there was any good aspect about the slow loss of power that the centuries brought, it was that he was no longer bound to his underworld.
Osiris shook his head. Now was not the time for brooding on the past. He did enough of that as it was. He entered the hotel lobby, glad for the warmth, and dialed Isis' number.