Isis seeks the lost, the lonely, the broken-hearted; those with guns to their heads and razors at their wrists. Before the bullet plows through skull, before the cut is deep enough to empty the vein, she envelops them in soothing mental murmurs. You’re safe, it’s over, time to rest now.
Some struggle, most succumb gladly. She takes away their fears, and self-loathing, rocks them gently in her mental cradle. Eventually they sleep, letting Isis inhabit their bodies, look through their eyes.
Isis gets to keep the lives people throw away, unless someone asks for theirs back.
So far, nobody has.
