Make Egypt Great Again

[raunchel]

Finally having found a bit of time, I've decided to upload what I have so far of this story here. It might be a bit slow, but I hope that you will enjoy it.



Chapter 1: She of the Sedge and the Bee

It’s hot, horribly, awfully hot. It’s not supposed to be this horrible, but it is. The bed I’m on seems to be moving, a bit like a ship in the water, this isn’t normal. Not normal at all. I yawn, stretching myself before opening my eyes. I appear to be in a room, brightly coloured and with beautifully painted walls. Briefly, I rub my eyes, is it just me, or are they a little larger than they should be? I don’t know, but the image becomes clearer. I’m not alone. I see several women, dressed in flowing white dresses. One of them bows towards me, holding a golden goblet. I immediately take it into my hands, grasping for it. I’m so terribly thirsty and hot. It is heavy, heavier than I would have expected, but still I manage to bring it to my mouth, drinking the comforting cool water even if some flows right past my mouth. It doesn’t matter; I’m wet with sweat anyways.

Finally I can think a little more, taking in my surroundings, which still seem to be moving. I don’t recognise this place, not at all. Slowly, I raise myself a little, onto my elbows. Strangely enough, I don’t seem to be wearing my glasses, but can still see clearly. And these strangers, I don’t know any of them, in their long dresses. My eyes wander down, towards myself. There is something wrong. I appear to be wearing what looks like gold. I never wear that; it is gaudy. I’m not a rapper or something. But then I notice, my feet. They are different. My toes aren’t like that. Not at all, I never had such a pedicure, and the arrangement is different too.

Another of the strangers leans towards me, whispering: “Your Holy Majesty, your father wants you to know that we have entered the palace.”

“Thank you,” I mutter, feeling tired and weak. Why is it so awfully hot here? I don’t want to know what it is like outside, in the sun. I notice surprise in the woman, shouldn’t I have thanked her? I don’t know, but my mind starts to race. Where on Earth am I? And what has happened? The last thing I remember was a nice night out, which might have involved a little bit too much in the way of drinks, and I recall going home with someone. She was nice and pretty. The perfect combination. But she wasn’t any of these women, and she also isn’t here. My mind goes to a silly little story I was writing, about a… Oh my God! I know it. I must have been taken to some other time and place. Please, don’t let it be Westeros or anything to do with that awful world.

I will have to find out, I have to know. But how can I do it? I will have to ask carefully, the right questions. But not to these strangers, they seem too much like servants, too surprised even by gratitude. I can’t talk with them. Instead, I slowly sit up, looking at my bare arms. Although, bare is a bit of the wrong word, with all the jewelry around them. The skin is pale, but otherwise looks good, much better than mine. If only because there are no freckles everywhere.

I look down at my dress, it is not gold, there simply are many golden decorations on the purple, the pure purple. I recall it being a very expensive colour in the ancient world, which must almost certainly be where I am. I can’t think of anything more recent where anyone would be called holy majesty. I am obviously travelling with my father, which means that I am either a princess of some sorts, or that I am married to a king. The fact that I am travelling means that I am either on a boat, or on a cart of some kind. Unless I am being carried of course, but that seems a little over the top really. The pilasters or columns in the walls point to something classical, but I can’t quite place it. Of course, being a holy majesty means some sort of claim to divinity, which points to the east.

My thoughts are disturbed however when the motion suddenly stops, and worse still, it feels like the whole world is lowered. Luckily, I wasn’t standing. One of the women heads to what looks like the door, right in front of me, and slightly opens it. I can hear voices, but don’t understand what they are saying. The door is closed again, and she returns to me, bowing: “Your Holy Majesty, we have arrived and your father requests your presence.”

I sit up, and another of them puts sandals on my feet. I really don’t have to do anything at all. A third places something on my head, but I can’t see it very well. What I do see are feathers, along with what looks like golden horns around a golden sphere. I can feel fabric by the sides of my head, but don’t dare to bring my hands up. There has to be a reason to my appearance.

When everything seems ready, I stand up, swaying a little. It remains very warm, and I get the feeling that I might faint. Luckily, I don’t. I walk towards the door, which suddenly opens. It is light, very light and bright, temporarily blinding me. But despite that, I keep walking, even though I am blinking against the sunlight.

After some time I can see again, making out the shapes of people around me. I descend from several steps, from my travelling home. The first thing I see is the colour. The whole place is brightly coloured, depicting human forms, men and women both. The style is familiar, very familiar even. Egyptian. I swallow, I know only a little bit about Egypt, I haven’t even been there. But then, as my vision clears some more, I notice people. All sorts of people. But the most common seem to be men with tall, oval red shields and all too familiar helmets. I swallow, Romans. Other than them there are many others, most of them men.

And right in front of me, a slightly older man, dressed in what seems to be some form of armour, and wearing a crown. A red crown with something white in the middle. And gold of course. He looks more than a little overweight, but I know the crown. I have seen it a depicted a dozen times at least, and strangely enough, I even recall the name. The Pschent. The crown of Upper and Lower Egypt. The crown belonging to the Pharaoh. He turns slightly towards me, extending an arm. I guess that he must be either my father or husband. Whatever happens, it’s better to not offend him too badly, so I take the arm. It feels warm and moist.

I notice a smile, and he speaks: “Finally, after all these years, home again. It feels good doesn’t it?”

“It certainly does,” I reply, feeling shy in front of all these people.

The man leads me into the palace, accompanied by armed men. Most of them Romans. I try to remember what this could be, which Egyptian king worked with the Romans? It has to be one of the Ptolemies, but I can’t remember any in specific. Just that they all had that name. The inside of the palace is beautiful, and I find myself looking at the hieroglyphs, painted onto the walls. Somehow, I notice that I can read them. It makes little sense, but still, more sense than waking up as someone else.

In places, I notice slight damage, but much remains hidden. We reach a grand room, with a pair of golden thrones placed onto a series of steps. The taller of them also happens to be placed one step higher, presumably to show who is the really important one. The fat pharaoh waggles up the steps, surprisingly, he manages to make it to the top. I follow of course. He turns around, and one of the first things to strike me about him are his bulging eyes, closely followed by the fact that he seems to be trembling. He whispers: “Kneel.”

I of course obey, kneeling before the standing king. I don’t know what is supposed to happen now, but luckily he continues talking, now with a more powerful voice: “In the presence of all the gods, of our divine ancestor Osiris or Dionysos, we present our daughter: The great Lady of perfection, who is excellent in counsel. The great one, sacred image of her father, She of the Sedge and the Bee, the goddess Cleopatra who is beloved of her father. She is the Queen of Upper and Lower Egypt, to reign by our side.”

[lordroel]

Mar 23, 2018 16:48:18 GMT raunchel said:

Finally having found a bit of time, I've decided to upload what I have so far of this story here. It might be a bit slow, but I hope that you will enjoy it.



Chapter 1: She of the Sedge and the Bee

It’s hot, horribly, awfully hot. It’s not supposed to be this horrible, but it is. The bed I’m on seems to be moving, a bit like a ship in the water, this isn’t normal. Not normal at all. I yawn, stretching myself before opening my eyes. I appear to be in a room, brightly coloured and with beautifully painted walls. Briefly, I rub my eyes, is it just me, or are they a little larger than they should be? I don’t know, but the image becomes clearer. I’m not alone. I see several women, dressed in flowing white dresses. One of them bows towards me, holding a golden goblet. I immediately take it into my hands, grasping for it. I’m so terribly thirsty and hot. It is heavy, heavier than I would have expected, but still I manage to bring it to my mouth, drinking the comforting cool water even if some flows right past my mouth. It doesn’t matter; I’m wet with sweat anyways.

Finally I can think a little more, taking in my surroundings, which still seem to be moving. I don’t recognise this place, not at all. Slowly, I raise myself a little, onto my elbows. Strangely enough, I don’t seem to be wearing my glasses, but can still see clearly. And these strangers, I don’t know any of them, in their long dresses. My eyes wander down, towards myself. There is something wrong. I appear to be wearing what looks like gold. I never wear that; it is gaudy. I’m not a rapper or something. But then I notice, my feet. They are different. My toes aren’t like that. Not at all, I never had such a pedicure, and the arrangement is different too.

Another of the strangers leans towards me, whispering: “Your Holy Majesty, your father wants you to know that we have entered the palace.”

“Thank you,” I mutter, feeling tired and weak. Why is it so awfully hot here? I don’t want to know what it is like outside, in the sun. I notice surprise in the woman, shouldn’t I have thanked her? I don’t know, but my mind starts to race. Where on Earth am I? And what has happened? The last thing I remember was a nice night out, which might have involved a little bit too much in the way of drinks, and I recall going home with someone. She was nice and pretty. The perfect combination. But she wasn’t any of these women, and she also isn’t here. My mind goes to a silly little story I was writing, about a… Oh my God! I know it. I must have been taken to some other time and place. Please, don’t let it be Westeros or anything to do with that awful world.

I will have to find out, I have to know. But how can I do it? I will have to ask carefully, the right questions. But not to these strangers, they seem too much like servants, too surprised even by gratitude. I can’t talk with them. Instead, I slowly sit up, looking at my bare arms. Although, bare is a bit of the wrong word, with all the jewelry around them. The skin is pale, but otherwise looks good, much better than mine. If only because there are no freckles everywhere.

I look down at my dress, it is not gold, there simply are many golden decorations on the purple, the pure purple. I recall it being a very expensive colour in the ancient world, which must almost certainly be where I am. I can’t think of anything more recent where anyone would be called holy majesty. I am obviously travelling with my father, which means that I am either a princess of some sorts, or that I am married to a king. The fact that I am travelling means that I am either on a boat, or on a cart of some kind. Unless I am being carried of course, but that seems a little over the top really. The pilasters or columns in the walls point to something classical, but I can’t quite place it. Of course, being a holy majesty means some sort of claim to divinity, which points to the east.

My thoughts are disturbed however when the motion suddenly stops, and worse still, it feels like the whole world is lowered. Luckily, I wasn’t standing. One of the women heads to what looks like the door, right in front of me, and slightly opens it. I can hear voices, but don’t understand what they are saying. The door is closed again, and she returns to me, bowing: “Your Holy Majesty, we have arrived and your father requests your presence.”

I sit up, and another of them puts sandals on my feet. I really don’t have to do anything at all. A third places something on my head, but I can’t see it very well. What I do see are feathers, along with what looks like golden horns around a golden sphere. I can feel fabric by the sides of my head, but don’t dare to bring my hands up. There has to be a reason to my appearance.

When everything seems ready, I stand up, swaying a little. It remains very warm, and I get the feeling that I might faint. Luckily, I don’t. I walk towards the door, which suddenly opens. It is light, very light and bright, temporarily blinding me. But despite that, I keep walking, even though I am blinking against the sunlight.

After some time I can see again, making out the shapes of people around me. I descend from several steps, from my travelling home. The first thing I see is the colour. The whole place is brightly coloured, depicting human forms, men and women both. The style is familiar, very familiar even. Egyptian. I swallow, I know only a little bit about Egypt, I haven’t even been there. But then, as my vision clears some more, I notice people. All sorts of people. But the most common seem to be men with tall, oval red shields and all too familiar helmets. I swallow, Romans. Other than them there are many others, most of them men.

And right in front of me, a slightly older man, dressed in what seems to be some form of armour, and wearing a crown. A red crown with something white in the middle. And gold of course. He looks more than a little overweight, but I know the crown. I have seen it a depicted a dozen times at least, and strangely enough, I even recall the name. The Pschent. The crown of Upper and Lower Egypt. The crown belonging to the Pharaoh. He turns slightly towards me, extending an arm. I guess that he must be either my father or husband. Whatever happens, it’s better to not offend him too badly, so I take the arm. It feels warm and moist.

I notice a smile, and he speaks: “Finally, after all these years, home again. It feels good doesn’t it?”

“It certainly does,” I reply, feeling shy in front of all these people.

The man leads me into the palace, accompanied by armed men. Most of them Romans. I try to remember what this could be, which Egyptian king worked with the Romans? It has to be one of the Ptolemies, but I can’t remember any in specific. Just that they all had that name. The inside of the palace is beautiful, and I find myself looking at the hieroglyphs, painted onto the walls. Somehow, I notice that I can read them. It makes little sense, but still, more sense than waking up as someone else.

In places, I notice slight damage, but much remains hidden. We reach a grand room, with a pair of golden thrones placed onto a series of steps. The taller of them also happens to be placed one step higher, presumably to show who is the really important one. The fat pharaoh waggles up the steps, surprisingly, he manages to make it to the top. I follow of course. He turns around, and one of the first things to strike me about him are his bulging eyes, closely followed by the fact that he seems to be trembling. He whispers: “Kneel.”

I of course obey, kneeling before the standing king. I don’t know what is supposed to happen now, but luckily he continues talking, now with a more powerful voice: “In the presence of all the gods, of our divine ancestor Osiris or Dionysos, we present our daughter: The great Lady of perfection, who is excellent in counsel. The great one, sacred image of her father, She of the Sedge and the Bee, the goddess Cleopatra who is beloved of her father. She is the Queen of Upper and Lower Egypt, to reign by our side.”

Nice, not many timelines have Egypt at is base.

[raunchel]

Mar 23, 2018 16:52:54 GMT lordroel said:

Mar 23, 2018 16:48:18 GMT raunchel said:

Finally having found a bit of time, I've decided to upload what I have so far of this story here. It might be a bit slow, but I hope that you will enjoy it.



Chapter 1: She of the Sedge and the Bee

It’s hot, horribly, awfully hot. It’s not supposed to be this horrible, but it is. The bed I’m on seems to be moving, a bit like a ship in the water, this isn’t normal. Not normal at all. I yawn, stretching myself before opening my eyes. I appear to be in a room, brightly coloured and with beautifully painted walls. Briefly, I rub my eyes, is it just me, or are they a little larger than they should be? I don’t know, but the image becomes clearer. I’m not alone. I see several women, dressed in flowing white dresses. One of them bows towards me, holding a golden goblet. I immediately take it into my hands, grasping for it. I’m so terribly thirsty and hot. It is heavy, heavier than I would have expected, but still I manage to bring it to my mouth, drinking the comforting cool water even if some flows right past my mouth. It doesn’t matter; I’m wet with sweat anyways.

Finally I can think a little more, taking in my surroundings, which still seem to be moving. I don’t recognise this place, not at all. Slowly, I raise myself a little, onto my elbows. Strangely enough, I don’t seem to be wearing my glasses, but can still see clearly. And these strangers, I don’t know any of them, in their long dresses. My eyes wander down, towards myself. There is something wrong. I appear to be wearing what looks like gold. I never wear that; it is gaudy. I’m not a rapper or something. But then I notice, my feet. They are different. My toes aren’t like that. Not at all, I never had such a pedicure, and the arrangement is different too.

Another of the strangers leans towards me, whispering: “Your Holy Majesty, your father wants you to know that we have entered the palace.”

“Thank you,” I mutter, feeling tired and weak. Why is it so awfully hot here? I don’t want to know what it is like outside, in the sun. I notice surprise in the woman, shouldn’t I have thanked her? I don’t know, but my mind starts to race. Where on Earth am I? And what has happened? The last thing I remember was a nice night out, which might have involved a little bit too much in the way of drinks, and I recall going home with someone. She was nice and pretty. The perfect combination. But she wasn’t any of these women, and she also isn’t here. My mind goes to a silly little story I was writing, about a… Oh my God! I know it. I must have been taken to some other time and place. Please, don’t let it be Westeros or anything to do with that awful world.

I will have to find out, I have to know. But how can I do it? I will have to ask carefully, the right questions. But not to these strangers, they seem too much like servants, too surprised even by gratitude. I can’t talk with them. Instead, I slowly sit up, looking at my bare arms. Although, bare is a bit of the wrong word, with all the jewelry around them. The skin is pale, but otherwise looks good, much better than mine. If only because there are no freckles everywhere.

I look down at my dress, it is not gold, there simply are many golden decorations on the purple, the pure purple. I recall it being a very expensive colour in the ancient world, which must almost certainly be where I am. I can’t think of anything more recent where anyone would be called holy majesty. I am obviously travelling with my father, which means that I am either a princess of some sorts, or that I am married to a king. The fact that I am travelling means that I am either on a boat, or on a cart of some kind. Unless I am being carried of course, but that seems a little over the top really. The pilasters or columns in the walls point to something classical, but I can’t quite place it. Of course, being a holy majesty means some sort of claim to divinity, which points to the east.

My thoughts are disturbed however when the motion suddenly stops, and worse still, it feels like the whole world is lowered. Luckily, I wasn’t standing. One of the women heads to what looks like the door, right in front of me, and slightly opens it. I can hear voices, but don’t understand what they are saying. The door is closed again, and she returns to me, bowing: “Your Holy Majesty, we have arrived and your father requests your presence.”

I sit up, and another of them puts sandals on my feet. I really don’t have to do anything at all. A third places something on my head, but I can’t see it very well. What I do see are feathers, along with what looks like golden horns around a golden sphere. I can feel fabric by the sides of my head, but don’t dare to bring my hands up. There has to be a reason to my appearance.

When everything seems ready, I stand up, swaying a little. It remains very warm, and I get the feeling that I might faint. Luckily, I don’t. I walk towards the door, which suddenly opens. It is light, very light and bright, temporarily blinding me. But despite that, I keep walking, even though I am blinking against the sunlight.

After some time I can see again, making out the shapes of people around me. I descend from several steps, from my travelling home. The first thing I see is the colour. The whole place is brightly coloured, depicting human forms, men and women both. The style is familiar, very familiar even. Egyptian. I swallow, I know only a little bit about Egypt, I haven’t even been there. But then, as my vision clears some more, I notice people. All sorts of people. But the most common seem to be men with tall, oval red shields and all too familiar helmets. I swallow, Romans. Other than them there are many others, most of them men.

And right in front of me, a slightly older man, dressed in what seems to be some form of armour, and wearing a crown. A red crown with something white in the middle. And gold of course. He looks more than a little overweight, but I know the crown. I have seen it a depicted a dozen times at least, and strangely enough, I even recall the name. The Pschent. The crown of Upper and Lower Egypt. The crown belonging to the Pharaoh. He turns slightly towards me, extending an arm. I guess that he must be either my father or husband. Whatever happens, it’s better to not offend him too badly, so I take the arm. It feels warm and moist.

I notice a smile, and he speaks: “Finally, after all these years, home again. It feels good doesn’t it?”

“It certainly does,” I reply, feeling shy in front of all these people.

The man leads me into the palace, accompanied by armed men. Most of them Romans. I try to remember what this could be, which Egyptian king worked with the Romans? It has to be one of the Ptolemies, but I can’t remember any in specific. Just that they all had that name. The inside of the palace is beautiful, and I find myself looking at the hieroglyphs, painted onto the walls. Somehow, I notice that I can read them. It makes little sense, but still, more sense than waking up as someone else.

In places, I notice slight damage, but much remains hidden. We reach a grand room, with a pair of golden thrones placed onto a series of steps. The taller of them also happens to be placed one step higher, presumably to show who is the really important one. The fat pharaoh waggles up the steps, surprisingly, he manages to make it to the top. I follow of course. He turns around, and one of the first things to strike me about him are his bulging eyes, closely followed by the fact that he seems to be trembling. He whispers: “Kneel.”

I of course obey, kneeling before the standing king. I don’t know what is supposed to happen now, but luckily he continues talking, now with a more powerful voice: “In the presence of all the gods, of our divine ancestor Osiris or Dionysos, we present our daughter: The great Lady of perfection, who is excellent in counsel. The great one, sacred image of her father, She of the Sedge and the Bee, the goddess Cleopatra who is beloved of her father. She is the Queen of Upper and Lower Egypt, to reign by our side.”

Nice, not many timelines have Egypt at is base.

Thank you. For me, it is the ideal way to combine my interest in Ancient Egypt, Hellenism, and antiquity in general.

[lordroel]

Mar 23, 2018 16:59:14 GMT raunchel said:

Mar 23, 2018 16:52:54 GMT lordroel said:

Nice, not many timelines have Egypt at is base.

Thank you. For me, it is the ideal way to combine my interest in Ancient Egypt, Hellenism, and antiquity in general.

A always admired Ancient Egypt. so keep it going.

[stevep]

Great. I remember seeing it on another site but seem to have lost trace of it somewhere. Quite a challenge for the central character, simply in surviving let alone managing to change anything significantly.

[raunchel]

Mar 24, 2018 12:04:14 GMT stevep said:

Great. I remember seeing it on another site but seem to have lost trace of it somewhere. Quite a challenge for the central character, simply in surviving let alone managing to change anything significantly.

I also used to post it elsewhere (and still do), but right now I'm trying to overcome a bit of a writer's block.

[raunchel]

Chapter 2: Epiphaneia

After the brief coronation, I sit on the smaller throne, next to the Pharaoh. I suppress a shudder, recalling something about incest in the dynasties ruling Egypt. Unfortunately, I can’t recall the details of it, but as far as I know, it was mostly between brothers and sisters. But I can’t be sure. I should really have read more about this. In front of me, I see dozens of people, perhaps even hundreds. All of them standing. I can easily pick out Roman soldiers, even I know their dress, and from what I can see, all of them are officers. One of the most notable of them is a broad-faced young man with curly dark blonde hair. I can almost feel him looking at me, a look I know all too well but certainly do not like. Not at all.

He stands with the other Roman officers, who mostly look at my father or at each other. Aside from them, there are a few men in what looks like more Greek military garb, and then there is a whole bunch of men who seem more like civilians. A fair few of them are in fact rather tall, with small heads and smooth faces. There is something eerie about them, but they seem important.

“Bring in the prisoners!”, the Pharaoh almost shouts, and a little later side doors open. Armed men, Romans soldiers, push in well-dressed men and women. I see a smile form on my father’s face, a smile that I don’t find myself liking. I don’t like this situation at all, something is wrong with all this. There are dozens of them, all of them seemingly important people, judging by their clothes. People step away from them, as they are driven forwards, connected to each other by ropes. Behind them walks a man dressed as an Egyptian, armed with what looks like an axe, he is flanked by two younger men.

“Put their heads at our feet.”, he commands. The soldiers force the first of the prisoners to the ground, in a row in front of the throne and the axeman prepares himself, raising the weapon. I don’t want to look; I shouldn’t look; but I do look. I can’t take my eyes away as the weapon swings down at the kneeling man, and I see his head falling to the ground. He was bald and small-headed. But now he is no more. I see the blood gushing from the neck, and feel cold in my whole body. But it’s not the cold that I would welcome. It is one of horror. I look on with wide eyes, not saying a word, not even breathing anymore as one of the young men takes the head, and walks to the throne. He kneels, placing the head in front of the first step. I look into the dead eyes, feeling distant tears well up.

To stop myself from doing anything, I grasp the sides of my throne, holding them with strength. I can’t show anything, I might be seen as one of them. Another has his turn, he looks up to the king, begging: “Please, Holy Majesty, I did not belong to them! I swear it on the tombs of my forefathers. I had nothing to do with this! Please!”

But to no avail. One of the men pushes him down, and again the axe swings, and a second head falls. It rolls away, almost in a comical manner, but I don’t laugh. I can’t. I only look on as the boy races after it, before delivering it to the throne. I suppress a shiver at the sight, but again, I keep looking. I don’t want to, I try forcing myself to look at the back wall, at the murals and statues worked into it. It is beautiful, but my eyes are drawn downwards, back to the sight at my feet where a third victim, a rather old woman is forced to her knees. She shouts: “You are no Pharaoh! The gods despise you! You betrayed them to these barbarians!”

The axe comes down again, and a third head joins the others. More and more follow, and I see all of them, dying, placed at my feet. I glance sideways, seeing my father. He smiles, this gives him joy. I don’t know what to think of this, but I feel fear, true fear. This man is mad. I feel something clenching at my throat, but remain still, I can’t move, I can’t run like I would want to. All I see are the heads, more and more of them. More prisoners are led into the throne room, with clear fear on their eyes. Some go bravely, others have to be forced. But all of them die. There are shouts and screams, but nothing helps, it seems as though they only give pleasure to the Pharaoh.

I see soldiers carrying away the bodies of the dead, removing them, but leaving a trace of blood. So much blood. The smell alone is sickening, it is overwhelming. The court keeps its distance, physically away from the slaughter in front of them. I can understand it, if the city was just retaken, I wouldn’t want to be associated in any way with those who are murdered. The Romans stand in their gaggle, looking on passively. They are used to this sort of thing, while I am not. I don’t even want to be.

Finally, one of them approaches the throne and the king, whispering in such a way that I can hear it: “Your Majesty, this should be enough slaughter for the day, wouldn’t you agree? We can’t drown your palace in blood, and the foremost of your enemies were the first led into this place. Simply put the rest to work somewhere, to show some mercy.”

Another man falls in the meantime, while my father remains silent. Oh how I hope that he will just agree to this, that he will stop this. The Pharaoh smiles: “We have decided to extend mercy. These prisoners will not die. They will go to the mines in the Dodekaskoinos instead. But one will not go. Bring in the great prisoner.”

The relief on the faces in front of me is all too clear, but then one prisoner is dragged in, she is dressed in gold and purple, like myself, but her hair is different. It is thin and patchy, almost as though she is balding. She looks like my father, she has the same bulging eyes and appears sweaty. I wonder who she is, but the Pharaoh speaks again.

“Berenice. Daughter of our divine flesh paired with that of the goddess Cleopatra, our sister. You have revolted against your own father, you have betrayed your siblings and your gods. For that, there can be only one punishment. But, our heart remains filled with tender feelings., I see the look on her face, and it is all too clear that this is a lie, “and so, we will not have you, the murderess of your own mother, suffer the tortures that accompany the punishment you deserve. Instead, I will merely have your life taken.”

My sister. She’s my own sister and this madman is going to kill her. Just like all these other people, and for what? The princess looks at me when she replies: “Cleopatra, if you have any wisdom in you, you will kill this traitor with your own hands. He sold all of us to foreigners, he destroyed the kingdom for his own vanity. This lute-player is no true king, no heir of our great forefathers. He is nothing, and soon, when his foreign men are gone, the people will rise up again. Avenge my mortal flesh, sister. Be a goddess like I am.”

I look at her, with wide eyes. I don’t say a word, it would be madness. In a way, I agree with her. I think. My father is a madman, unsuited for the throne. But he is the one in power now, and I think that I am more than a little afraid. The king however interrupts her words: “Silence! Or we will inflict horrors on you that you can scarcely imagine. Bring us her head.”

Berenice is forced to her knees, her head held in place for the axe. But still she shouts: “I curse you, all of you who murder my divine body!”

And then the axe comes down, severing her head. The boy again takes it, but this time, he does not place it with the others. On his knees, he wobbles up the throne, never looking up, but holding out the head with his hands. I watch it approach, bile rising in my throat. I don’t want this, I want it all to stop.

Finally, he reaches the king, who gladly takes the head, turning it around in his hands. The sight is ghastly, but then he turns to face me. “Cleopatra, our divine daughter, I grant this to you as a gift, so you may always know that justice will protect you.”

Hardly noticing what I’m doing, I extend my hands, and the bloody head is placed in them. I don’t want to look at it, but I have to. I mutter: “Thank you.”

[lordroel]

Mar 24, 2018 13:11:39 GMT raunchel said:

Mar 24, 2018 12:04:14 GMT stevep said:

Great. I remember seeing it on another site but seem to have lost trace of it somewhere. Quite a challenge for the central character, simply in surviving let alone managing to change anything significantly.

I also used to post it elsewhere (and still do), but right now I'm trying to overcome a bit of a writer's block.

I hope it is not a bad case of writer's block and that you will overcome it.

[stevep]

Mar 24, 2018 13:56:41 GMT lordroel said:

Mar 24, 2018 13:11:39 GMT raunchel said:

I also used to post it elsewhere (and still do), but right now I'm trying to overcome a bit of a writer's block.

I hope it is not a bad case of writer's block and that you will overcome it.

  I will definitely second that.

[James G]

Mar 24, 2018 13:12:30 GMT raunchel said:

Chapter 2: Epiphaneia

After the brief coronation, I sit on the smaller throne, next to the Pharaoh. I suppress a shudder, recalling something about incest in the dynasties ruling Egypt. Unfortunately, I can’t recall the details of it, but as far as I know, it was mostly between brothers and sisters. But I can’t be sure. I should really have read more about this. In front of me, I see dozens of people, perhaps even hundreds. All of them standing. I can easily pick out Roman soldiers, even I know their dress, and from what I can see, all of them are officers. One of the most notable of them is a broad-faced young man with curly dark blonde hair. I can almost feel him looking at me, a look I know all too well but certainly do not like. Not at all.

He stands with the other Roman officers, who mostly look at my father or at each other. Aside from them, there are a few men in what looks like more Greek military garb, and then there is a whole bunch of men who seem more like civilians. A fair few of them are in fact rather tall, with small heads and smooth faces. There is something eerie about them, but they seem important.

“Bring in the prisoners!”, the Pharaoh almost shouts, and a little later side doors open. Armed men, Romans soldiers, push in well-dressed men and women. I see a smile form on my father’s face, a smile that I don’t find myself liking. I don’t like this situation at all, something is wrong with all this. There are dozens of them, all of them seemingly important people, judging by their clothes. People step away from them, as they are driven forwards, connected to each other by ropes. Behind them walks a man dressed as an Egyptian, armed with what looks like an axe, he is flanked by two younger men.

“Put their heads at our feet.”, he commands. The soldiers force the first of the prisoners to the ground, in a row in front of the throne and the axeman prepares himself, raising the weapon. I don’t want to look; I shouldn’t look; but I do look. I can’t take my eyes away as the weapon swings down at the kneeling man, and I see his head falling to the ground. He was bald and small-headed. But now he is no more. I see the blood gushing from the neck, and feel cold in my whole body. But it’s not the cold that I would welcome. It is one of horror. I look on with wide eyes, not saying a word, not even breathing anymore as one of the young men takes the head, and walks to the throne. He kneels, placing the head in front of the first step. I look into the dead eyes, feeling distant tears well up.

To stop myself from doing anything, I grasp the sides of my throne, holding them with strength. I can’t show anything, I might be seen as one of them. Another has his turn, he looks up to the king, begging: “Please, Holy Majesty, I did not belong to them! I swear it on the tombs of my forefathers. I had nothing to do with this! Please!”

But to no avail. One of the men pushes him down, and again the axe swings, and a second head falls. It rolls away, almost in a comical manner, but I don’t laugh. I can’t. I only look on as the boy races after it, before delivering it to the throne. I suppress a shiver at the sight, but again, I keep looking. I don’t want to, I try forcing myself to look at the back wall, at the murals and statues worked into it. It is beautiful, but my eyes are drawn downwards, back to the sight at my feet where a third victim, a rather old woman is forced to her knees. She shouts: “You are no Pharaoh! The gods despise you! You betrayed them to these barbarians!”

The axe comes down again, and a third head joins the others. More and more follow, and I see all of them, dying, placed at my feet. I glance sideways, seeing my father. He smiles, this gives him joy. I don’t know what to think of this, but I feel fear, true fear. This man is mad. I feel something clenching at my throat, but remain still, I can’t move, I can’t run like I would want to. All I see are the heads, more and more of them. More prisoners are led into the throne room, with clear fear on their eyes. Some go bravely, others have to be forced. But all of them die. There are shouts and screams, but nothing helps, it seems as though they only give pleasure to the Pharaoh.

I see soldiers carrying away the bodies of the dead, removing them, but leaving a trace of blood. So much blood. The smell alone is sickening, it is overwhelming. The court keeps its distance, physically away from the slaughter in front of them. I can understand it, if the city was just retaken, I wouldn’t want to be associated in any way with those who are murdered. The Romans stand in their gaggle, looking on passively. They are used to this sort of thing, while I am not. I don’t even want to be.

Finally, one of them approaches the throne and the king, whispering in such a way that I can hear it: “Your Majesty, this should be enough slaughter for the day, wouldn’t you agree? We can’t drown your palace in blood, and the foremost of your enemies were the first led into this place. Simply put the rest to work somewhere, to show some mercy.”

Another man falls in the meantime, while my father remains silent. Oh how I hope that he will just agree to this, that he will stop this. The Pharaoh smiles: “We have decided to extend mercy. These prisoners will not die. They will go to the mines in the Dodekaskoinos instead. But one will not go. Bring in the great prisoner.”

The relief on the faces in front of me is all too clear, but then one prisoner is dragged in, she is dressed in gold and purple, like myself, but her hair is different. It is thin and patchy, almost as though she is balding. She looks like my father, she has the same bulging eyes and appears sweaty. I wonder who she is, but the Pharaoh speaks again.

“Berenice. Daughter of our divine flesh paired with that of the goddess Cleopatra, our sister. You have revolted against your own father, you have betrayed your siblings and your gods. For that, there can be only one punishment. But, our heart remains filled with tender feelings., I see the look on her face, and it is all too clear that this is a lie, “and so, we will not have you, the murderess of your own mother, suffer the tortures that accompany the punishment you deserve. Instead, I will merely have your life taken.”

My sister. She’s my own sister and this madman is going to kill her. Just like all these other people, and for what? The princess looks at me when she replies: “Cleopatra, if you have any wisdom in you, you will kill this traitor with your own hands. He sold all of us to foreigners, he destroyed the kingdom for his own vanity. This lute-player is no true king, no heir of our great forefathers. He is nothing, and soon, when his foreign men are gone, the people will rise up again. Avenge my mortal flesh, sister. Be a goddess like I am.”

I look at her, with wide eyes. I don’t say a word, it would be madness. In a way, I agree with her. I think. My father is a madman, unsuited for the throne. But he is the one in power now, and I think that I am more than a little afraid. The king however interrupts her words: “Silence! Or we will inflict horrors on you that you can scarcely imagine. Bring us her head.”

Berenice is forced to her knees, her head held in place for the axe. But still she shouts: “I curse you, all of you who murder my divine body!”

And then the axe comes down, severing her head. The boy again takes it, but this time, he does not place it with the others. On his knees, he wobbles up the throne, never looking up, but holding out the head with his hands. I watch it approach, bile rising in my throat. I don’t want this, I want it all to stop.

Finally, he reaches the king, who gladly takes the head, turning it around in his hands. The sight is ghastly, but then he turns to face me. “Cleopatra, our divine daughter, I grant this to you as a gift, so you may always know that justice will protect you.”

Hardly noticing what I’m doing, I extend my hands, and the bloody head is placed in them. I don’t want to look at it, but I have to. I mutter: “Thank you.”

Well isn't that a barrel of laughs!
I get the feeling I know who the Roman officer with the eyes might be.

[lordroel]

Mar 24, 2018 18:24:20 GMT James G said:

I get the feeling I know who the Roman officer with the eyes might be.

Please no spoilers.

[raunchel]

Mar 24, 2018 18:24:20 GMT James G said:

Mar 24, 2018 13:12:30 GMT raunchel said:

Chapter 2: Epiphaneia

After the brief coronation, I sit on the smaller throne, next to the Pharaoh. I suppress a shudder, recalling something about incest in the dynasties ruling Egypt. Unfortunately, I can’t recall the details of it, but as far as I know, it was mostly between brothers and sisters. But I can’t be sure. I should really have read more about this. In front of me, I see dozens of people, perhaps even hundreds. All of them standing. I can easily pick out Roman soldiers, even I know their dress, and from what I can see, all of them are officers. One of the most notable of them is a broad-faced young man with curly dark blonde hair. I can almost feel him looking at me, a look I know all too well but certainly do not like. Not at all.

He stands with the other Roman officers, who mostly look at my father or at each other. Aside from them, there are a few men in what looks like more Greek military garb, and then there is a whole bunch of men who seem more like civilians. A fair few of them are in fact rather tall, with small heads and smooth faces. There is something eerie about them, but they seem important.

“Bring in the prisoners!”, the Pharaoh almost shouts, and a little later side doors open. Armed men, Romans soldiers, push in well-dressed men and women. I see a smile form on my father’s face, a smile that I don’t find myself liking. I don’t like this situation at all, something is wrong with all this. There are dozens of them, all of them seemingly important people, judging by their clothes. People step away from them, as they are driven forwards, connected to each other by ropes. Behind them walks a man dressed as an Egyptian, armed with what looks like an axe, he is flanked by two younger men.

“Put their heads at our feet.”, he commands. The soldiers force the first of the prisoners to the ground, in a row in front of the throne and the axeman prepares himself, raising the weapon. I don’t want to look; I shouldn’t look; but I do look. I can’t take my eyes away as the weapon swings down at the kneeling man, and I see his head falling to the ground. He was bald and small-headed. But now he is no more. I see the blood gushing from the neck, and feel cold in my whole body. But it’s not the cold that I would welcome. It is one of horror. I look on with wide eyes, not saying a word, not even breathing anymore as one of the young men takes the head, and walks to the throne. He kneels, placing the head in front of the first step. I look into the dead eyes, feeling distant tears well up.

To stop myself from doing anything, I grasp the sides of my throne, holding them with strength. I can’t show anything, I might be seen as one of them. Another has his turn, he looks up to the king, begging: “Please, Holy Majesty, I did not belong to them! I swear it on the tombs of my forefathers. I had nothing to do with this! Please!”

But to no avail. One of the men pushes him down, and again the axe swings, and a second head falls. It rolls away, almost in a comical manner, but I don’t laugh. I can’t. I only look on as the boy races after it, before delivering it to the throne. I suppress a shiver at the sight, but again, I keep looking. I don’t want to, I try forcing myself to look at the back wall, at the murals and statues worked into it. It is beautiful, but my eyes are drawn downwards, back to the sight at my feet where a third victim, a rather old woman is forced to her knees. She shouts: “You are no Pharaoh! The gods despise you! You betrayed them to these barbarians!”

The axe comes down again, and a third head joins the others. More and more follow, and I see all of them, dying, placed at my feet. I glance sideways, seeing my father. He smiles, this gives him joy. I don’t know what to think of this, but I feel fear, true fear. This man is mad. I feel something clenching at my throat, but remain still, I can’t move, I can’t run like I would want to. All I see are the heads, more and more of them. More prisoners are led into the throne room, with clear fear on their eyes. Some go bravely, others have to be forced. But all of them die. There are shouts and screams, but nothing helps, it seems as though they only give pleasure to the Pharaoh.

I see soldiers carrying away the bodies of the dead, removing them, but leaving a trace of blood. So much blood. The smell alone is sickening, it is overwhelming. The court keeps its distance, physically away from the slaughter in front of them. I can understand it, if the city was just retaken, I wouldn’t want to be associated in any way with those who are murdered. The Romans stand in their gaggle, looking on passively. They are used to this sort of thing, while I am not. I don’t even want to be.

Finally, one of them approaches the throne and the king, whispering in such a way that I can hear it: “Your Majesty, this should be enough slaughter for the day, wouldn’t you agree? We can’t drown your palace in blood, and the foremost of your enemies were the first led into this place. Simply put the rest to work somewhere, to show some mercy.”

Another man falls in the meantime, while my father remains silent. Oh how I hope that he will just agree to this, that he will stop this. The Pharaoh smiles: “We have decided to extend mercy. These prisoners will not die. They will go to the mines in the Dodekaskoinos instead. But one will not go. Bring in the great prisoner.”

The relief on the faces in front of me is all too clear, but then one prisoner is dragged in, she is dressed in gold and purple, like myself, but her hair is different. It is thin and patchy, almost as though she is balding. She looks like my father, she has the same bulging eyes and appears sweaty. I wonder who she is, but the Pharaoh speaks again.

“Berenice. Daughter of our divine flesh paired with that of the goddess Cleopatra, our sister. You have revolted against your own father, you have betrayed your siblings and your gods. For that, there can be only one punishment. But, our heart remains filled with tender feelings., I see the look on her face, and it is all too clear that this is a lie, “and so, we will not have you, the murderess of your own mother, suffer the tortures that accompany the punishment you deserve. Instead, I will merely have your life taken.”

My sister. She’s my own sister and this madman is going to kill her. Just like all these other people, and for what? The princess looks at me when she replies: “Cleopatra, if you have any wisdom in you, you will kill this traitor with your own hands. He sold all of us to foreigners, he destroyed the kingdom for his own vanity. This lute-player is no true king, no heir of our great forefathers. He is nothing, and soon, when his foreign men are gone, the people will rise up again. Avenge my mortal flesh, sister. Be a goddess like I am.”

I look at her, with wide eyes. I don’t say a word, it would be madness. In a way, I agree with her. I think. My father is a madman, unsuited for the throne. But he is the one in power now, and I think that I am more than a little afraid. The king however interrupts her words: “Silence! Or we will inflict horrors on you that you can scarcely imagine. Bring us her head.”

Berenice is forced to her knees, her head held in place for the axe. But still she shouts: “I curse you, all of you who murder my divine body!”

And then the axe comes down, severing her head. The boy again takes it, but this time, he does not place it with the others. On his knees, he wobbles up the throne, never looking up, but holding out the head with his hands. I watch it approach, bile rising in my throat. I don’t want this, I want it all to stop.

Finally, he reaches the king, who gladly takes the head, turning it around in his hands. The sight is ghastly, but then he turns to face me. “Cleopatra, our divine daughter, I grant this to you as a gift, so you may always know that justice will protect you.”

Hardly noticing what I’m doing, I extend my hands, and the bloody head is placed in them. I don’t want to look at it, but I have to. I mutter: “Thank you.”

Well isn't that a barrel of laughs!
I get the feeling I know who the Roman officer with the eyes might be.

Well, a rather famous Roman had his first military experience serving under Aulus Gabinius...

[stevep]

Mar 26, 2018 19:05:04 GMT raunchel said:

Mar 24, 2018 18:24:20 GMT James G said:

Well isn't that a barrel of laughs!
I get the feeling I know who the Roman officer with the eyes might be.

Well, a rather famous Roman had his first military experience serving under Aulus Gabinius...

  Well the old cat killer got the better of me and I was slightly surprised to learn it was my 2nd guess.

[raunchel]

Chapter 3: In the Purple

The rest of the day passed me in a blur, the petitions, the proclamations. I hardly saw a thing, only poor Berenice’s head, held in my bloody hands. When the court session was finally over, a servant took it from me and I was escorted through these hallways, which should dazzle me with their beauty. But I hardly notice, I only see the blood on my hands.

I don’t know where I’m going, I hardly even know where I am now. I only know that this is the palace. Luckily, I don’t have to walk, I am being carried. In a way, I know that it should make me feel bad, but it fails to do so. I don’t really find it all that unpleasant, I don’t even feel sorry for the carriers. Their walking has a soothing effect, a bit like being on a boat. One of the aspects of being queen that I could like, but soon enough my thoughts wander back to what I just saw.

As I leave the terrible scene behind, I finally manage to get some sort of order into my thoughts, to evaluate my situation. I am a queen, the daughter of a madman who just murdered one of his children, and got away with it. I was basically installed by the Romans, but I don’t know who in specific. What I do know however is that they are the ones who are really in charge, their army took the city, their army captured Berenice. Apparently, Berenice overthrow our father, and our mother died sometime in between. Either killed by her, or from another cause. There is no reason to not blame an enemy for such a thing. She called on me to overthrow the Pharaoh, I think that it would be a good thing, but I don’t dare to. He would murder me.

Instead, I have to think. I have to find out more before I can make a true plan. And most importantly, I have to avoid being brutally murdered. I see armed bald men standing by what looks like a gate, it is opened, and my chair is put down. Four bald men emerge, just like the guards they are tall and have small heads; they pick me up, and carry me through the doorway. It almost seems to be a different world. It is more colourful, even if there is less gold. And, strangely enough, the servants are different as well. More women, and the only men I see have these strangely small, bald heads and long legs. Most of them also seem to be rather fat, except for the carriers of course.

People bow as I pass them, but there is a wariness about them. It makes sense, I think. This palace was just taken by an army, and lots of people, people they might very well know, have been murdered. Finally, I am put down again, and girls approach, they seem shocked. After a few moments I understand, my hands are bloody, as are my clothes. It is downright sickening. They bow: “Holy Majesty, your bath is ready.“

I see one of the women who accompanied me before, looking on from a distance. She presumably is the one giving the instructions here. As I step down, I see a woman who walked behind me all the time. She carries the head on a plate. Immediately, I feel the colour drain from my face again. She bows as well: “Holy Majesty, where should I place this?”

I swallow. I have to say something. But what? If I say that she should take it away, my father could be offended, and I would end up like my sister. But I don’t want it around me all the time; that would drive me crazy. More crazy than I already am that is. These two feelings struggle with each other, but I have to reply, even if it is with a quivering voice. “Stay with me.”

I follow the girls, I could use a bath. Not a warm one though; even though the palace is cool, I still feel warm. But I want to wash, I want to keep washing until there isn’t a hint of all this left on me. I want this blood off my hands. It’s not that it’s blood that sickens me, it’s the memory of what caused it all to flow. I normally wouldn’t believe in curses, I am a scientist, but this is different. I mean, I also can’t explain how I ended up here. Somehow, I am afraid of that as well, but those thoughts are again drowned by the memory of what happened. All the blood.

The bath is not a simple tub, it’s more like a swimming pool. I can see mosaics on the bottom, I guess that they represent goddesses, but I see something else as well. My own reflection. I can’t see much, but I look thin, very thin even. And I can see that I have a round face. The girls remove my clothes, and I gladly step into the water. It’s lukewarm at best, and I find that I like it. Somehow, a hot bath would have been horrible. The water smells of flowers, and I can see red spreading away from me, diffusing away from me. It is an oddly hypnotic sight, and I feel a silly smile on my face.

I force it away. I have to be a strong queen, not a weak one. For a moment, I close my eyes, to think, to let it all flow away. But then it all changes. I feel a touch, on my back. My eyes flare open and I look back, seeing one of the girls. She bows her head: “Holy Majesty? Did I do wrong?”

She is with me, in the water, wearing her long white dress. I feel myself blushing: “Not at all, please, continue. But first tell me, what is your name?”

Her eyes widen, shocked by being spoken to like this. I’m messing up, I should be a cold and harsh queen. Not a friendly one. Not to the staff at least. “Apama, Holy Majesty”

“Have you been here for a long time, Apama?”, I ask, I have to know more. And perhaps this can even be a good thing.

“Yes, divine majesty. I was taken here as a child.”

“And where did you come from?”

“Dioscurias, Holy Majesty. It lies in Colchis.”, she replies softly. Unfortunately, I know neither of those names. Admitting it however could be a mistake, for all I know, it’s the name of a region just outside the city. I should have paid more attention to ancient geography. I might have heard of Colchis before, but wouldn’t know where it would have been. I guess that I can’t really ask about it, that would give away that I know nothing at all. And added to that, it might be painful for her to be reminded of her hometown.

It feels strange, to have someone wash me, but at least I can treat Apama as an actual human being. I can feel myself reacting to her touch, but I can’t. It would be dangerous. And worse, it would be wrong to use my position like that. Instead I just ask: “And how long have you been here?”

“Ten years, Holy Majesty”, she replies, sounding shy. I guess her to be about sixteen or so, so she must have come here as a child. I want to ask about her parents, but I can’t. Something might have happened to them. Or rather, it probably has. The touch on my back feels wonderful, and I feel a tingle spread through my body. The water is amazing, and no trace of the blood remains, diluted away. But in my mind I can still feel it sticking to my fingers.

I feel the sponge moving towards my front, and see Apama in the water with me. She is pretty, she has large dark eyes and black hair tied into a bun. She just wears what appears to be some sort of bikini of some white cloth. I don’t want to look at her, afraid that my eyes might betray something. There are so many questions, but so few that I can actually ask. “Do you have much experience with this?”

“No, Holy Majesty, I do not. Do I displease you?”, it seems like there actually is a hint of fear in her when she gives her answer.

“Not at all, you are doing very well. I was simply curious if you had ever done this before.”, strangely enough, I even see sadness in her poise. Not in her eyes, she keeps them averted, constantly looking down and never stopping her work. Some understanding dawns, she was here already. She must have served Berenice. Almost all the servants here did. Everyone who was even moderately important was taken to the throne room, and the most important of those were murdered. Apama’s predecessor must have been among them. Perhaps she even was her mother. I have to be more careful with what I ask. “Do you have many tasks?”

“My task is to wash you, Holy Majesty. There are no others.”, Apama seems a little calmer now, even as her hands move lower. I look down at myself, I am not at all like I would have imagined the famous Cleopatra. But then again, it could be that there were several, all the kings did have the same name, so why not the queens? It might be an earlier period then. I am thin, skinny even. My skin is pale, stretched around bones and perhaps a little muscle. If I am honest, I have to say that I am far from beautiful, but perhaps it is because I seem to still be a teenager. I look back on those days with dread.

“And I am glad that you do it well. It feels good to be here again.”, she finishes, submerging herself in the water to wash my lower legs and feet. The urge to embrace her is there, she is pretty, but it would be absolutely wrong. When she comes up again, she grasps for air. I don’t really know what to do, so I offer a smile and a few words. “Thank you for your help.”

I look behind me, seeing two other girls standing there with what looks like towels. I suppress a sigh, I will have to submit to it, and leave my nice cool bath behind. It’s strange, normally I always preferred hot baths. But the idea of hotness or warmth alone is something I find abhorrent now. It must be this awful weather. I walk up the steps that go into the bath, leaving Apama behind. She is pretty, and I hope that she will be there again. Even if it is wrong to have people do this for me.

And then I see it again. The poor woman still holding the plate with Berenice’s head. It seems like she is looking at me, but that’s impossible. I feel my stomach clenching, I have to find a way out of this all. The drying is tender, much more so than my usual experience when others dry me. But that might just be my luck. They seem to take extraordinary care with my hair, but still, what I see shocks me. There is a fair bit of hair in the towel, thin blonde hair. More than there should be, and more than there was before. I swallow, they weren’t rough. Perhaps I hadn’t washed in some time, as we travelled?

Afterwards I am dressed, again in purple and gold, even if the patterns are different. The clothes are nice and soft, and relatively cool too. The crown isn’t placed back on my head, in its place, there is a much simpler and lighter diadem. I stifle a yawn, feeling more and more tired from the day. But I don’t want to sleep, I know that I will have nightmares. I need to find something to do.

[lordroel]

Sorry raunchel but i could not resist seeing the title of this thread.