"I'm right behind you."

Good.

Bottle of mead in one hand, a crushed tablet snaking its way down his throat and spreading its delicious poison throughout his body... The ringmaster was ready for the last vestiges of his life in Alexandria to come to a close. While Raziya seemed content in the place, the vivid memories that permeated as they drew closer and closer to that familiar home only served to throw fire through his senses, stoked on by the fuel of intoxication that served to ground him in the present. While Amenemhat relished in indulgence, tonight was no night to run on a flight of fancy. The nights he permitted himself to truly let go of himself were so few and far between... the thought of doing it now, at the precipice of revolution...

Amenemhat had big plans for Alexandria, even when he resented it for its reminders. Once this was done, the last chains that kept him down would be eradicated, and he relished in the thought of truly being freed. Raziya was here for a number of reasons. She would assist him, for arson was not a single-person job. With the factors at play, the need for a fire to spread through the entirety of the home... he needed more eyes than two. But, more importantly, she was a witness to the desecration of the past. As the ringmaster and his charge moved closer and closer to the humble home, he separated from her, pulling ahead in order to search for something.

"Where did I leave it..." he mused to himself, doing very little to divulge the details of his plan to Raziya until he looked back and remembered that she was there. The girl was a wonderful resource, silent as needed, obedient to his will. It was nothing more or less than what he expected from anyone. A worthy vessel to his will, the ringmaster sought out what he'd left here the last time. It wasn't the first time he'd returned to his home, and while he'd made necessary preparations before, he'd never followed through on his intentions to cleanse the past.

I was not ready.

Nor was Somgi of Cairo dead the last time they'd visited this place. For more than a year, his tools languished, hidden away in a rotting wooden trunk. In it, were several phials of fuel, animal fats that, if unstoppered and left to rot would not serve him. But, preserved in a seal of wax, the ringmaster did not, in his previous visit, get past the point of opening anything. He'd merely stared at this home in contempt, and failed himself through his inability to overcome.

"Not today..." he murmured before turning towards Raziya, gesturing for her to join him as they ventured through the doorway. More and more, it was apparent that this place was rotten. On the inside and out, rotting wood, ruined drapes and shattered clay on the floor proved that it'd been ransacked, leaving none of the charms of its former self. He wondered idly, if there were any homeless people who made it their squat. It'd be fitting, that the tomb that Somgi of Cairo left his family to rot in until Kesi turned 12 would become infested with the poor he so despised. But, whether they left because they heard noise or they never existed at all, the home was empty and Nem allowed himself the moment to reminisce.

"This was my home," he began, at last turning towards Raziya, pulling another swig of mead down his throat before he left it on the shambles that made up a kitchen tabletop, rooted into the floor itself. The kitchen was the centre of the home, leading in two directions through to where the children slept and on the other side, the room of the matriarch, his mother Layla who was managing the show with her daughter this evening.

"Kesi, Layla and myself lived here together, while Somgi was, for lack of a better word, running the circus. I can still hear it..." he trailed off, able to when he closed his eyes smell the vestiges of seared beef, lentils and onions. As a family isolated from the rest, the heirs of Somgi of Cairo lived a comfortable existence, if one contingent on managing Kesi's condition, her unraveling sanity at the hands of an inexperienced Nem's efforts at pacifying her. On the floor across the way he saw a wooden platform, raised two feet into the air, just large enough to accomodate the stance of a young boy.

"The sounds of play. The dreams I had of being in the position I am now."

Leaving his supplies in this room, Amenemhat motioned for Raziya to follow. He'd see each room through, ensuring that no one was inside, but also... allowing himself the time to steep in the gravity of his actions. The ringmaster sought to be deliberate, a steadiness in the tempestuous and unpredictable circus. Nothing was left to chance or simply done on a whim. Then, he shifted his weight. This next door had rotted away entirely, or been removed, for nothing shielded this particular room from scrutiny before entry. Amenemhat did not delay, shifting into a circular, windowless room with only a number of slits to act as ventilation.

"Here..."

While the table was gone, and the smell of the opiate concoction he'd prepared himself was well and truly dispersed, the ringmaster recalled perfectly the work he'd trudged through in this room. He recalled forcing the doppelganger, before she'd truly become his sister, Kesi, to imbibe in drugs before coercing her into a pliable mindset.

"The Kesi you know was made," he added simply, his gaze narrowed just before he lifted the bottle to his lips. A bitter laugh escaped him just before he turned towards Raziya.

"Somgi is as absent now as he was then, but his crude methodology has been left behind."

Somewhat.