Lion Head Mesa she cries 'cause she's nothing like you, is she like you?

"i made you in my image," ramesses said softly. "i loved your mother satsu," and his voice walked halls of memory, eyes going wide and blank as he looked toward the arched red dome of his throne room.
the part of his mind devoted to court and capture remembered this: a brother, heels drumming, foaming, losing control of his bowels as the poison of a scorned harem wife worked its way through his young body.
how ironic that this! should be!
ramesses stared at makono, at the golden face so like his own, at the kohled eyes and resolute mouth, at the pointed muzzle that held both satsu and seti in its vision.
the priest and nazli forgotten, even as ramesses meant to say that his divinity had brought life to the fallowness of his fellahin. 
that his last prince was surely —
the dark liquid caught his eye and he knew, he knew at once what this must be. what it was. 
ramesses trembled with anger and knowing.
mercy. mercy to only have the four of them here, he supposed.
"will you bury me beside her, makono?"
ramesses was her father once more, the lines of his handsome mouth a tremour of madness and anguish.