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Imhotep.
A name meant not for mortal tongues alone, but for the whispers of the eons.
High Priest. Higher than the mortal men who leer at her. Higher than the pyramids peak's. Higher than the stars and all that was above. Above it all, even her Pharaoh.
Seti, with all his power and wisdom, with his toys, his temples, his touches. She was his servant, his guard; her life was his as he was the God-king of Egypt, but not the King of Gods.
That was her Imhotep. Atum incarnate, primordial majesty, like the great Bennu bird of rebrirth, he was the avatar of the Sun and all things—and she was his moon. Of all these things, she was sure, just as she was sure that his day would rise and light would wash across the lands. Blinding, perhaps, and with a scorching heat, but ultimately bringing a new dawn where she, and all her brethren and kin of this land would be able to choose who to be in his divine radiance.
She would choose to be free.
No one's.
She was not a toy.
She was not a temple.
She was not a thing to be touched and treasured.
She would be like the moon, far from the reaching grasps. Far from the memories that haunt—
"Sleeping on the job again?" Kohl-lined eyes snapped open as the question bounced back through the massive chamber, ostentatious in its grandeur. Seti made it for himself, to trick the world into thinking he was as great as all the slaves and labor it took to build it. Her fingers swept across the broad stones of the floor, feeling the memories in them, the blood and the bones that built this place. They were not Seti's, but they were Egypt's.
The voice was a familiar one. So, too, was the derision. It made her teeth grit as she was rocking back onto her heels, rising off of her knees and turning to face Nefertiri. For so long had the girl despised her, but that was her lot in life. She did not place blame. Snakes whispered venom in Nefertiri's ears and childish resentment sowed bitter fruits of jealousy for a dead mother that Anck-Su-Namun never knew. It was not Nefertiri's fault.
"Princess." Anck Su Namun acknowledged with a tip of her head in recognition. "I was praying."
Sleeping on the job? If only the Princess knew how little sleep she got. Sleep fled from her just as the stars chased the Sun. How she longed for dreams on plush linen pillows. Instead, there were only nightmares drenched in the desert nights. The dreamless void from lotus juice and poppied wines were the only rest she knew anymore.
"How selfish of you. Do save some of their attention for the rest of us." Contempt dripped from the voice. It was a trodden, bitter resentment born from years of misplaced grudges. There was a sneer on the pinkness of royal lips that knew only the ripest of fruits and most perfect cuts of meat and never the parch of thirst, oblivious to their own fortune. "I know how you adore monopolizing attention."
Anck Su Namun wanted to scream at the Princess. She wanted to grab Nefertiri by the shoulders and shake her free of her gilded cage, convince her she was not the enemy, that she did not covet, nor replace. She was trapped. They all were—princess, concubine, priest, slave—why could she not see the strings and chains that knotted around them like a spider's web? Pulling, pulling, the strands of fate were all pulling them together and apart but never letting them truly be free.
Bare feet carried her forward, bead-knit dress clattering with rhythmic softness as she approached under the disapproving scowl of Nefertiri. She forced a tight smile, though she knew it didn't quite reach her eyes. How could it? What mirth was there in their world for the likes of them? Not yet. Not yet.
"Come, then. Let us begin today's training." She spoke simply, voice a smooth serenity that hid the turbulent storm in her heart. She brushed past the Princess and toward the exit. She trusted in the truth. She had to. Tomorrow was so close.
Nefertiri, one day a new Sun will rise and its light will burn across your body like it does the eastern sands. Just as the lambent dawn reveals shrinking shadows, it will drive from you the darkness that pollutes your heart and mind, casting away the shade of oily corruption. But I will be there, waiting, hopeful. And then, perhaps, you might see me in that new light. A light of friendship. Perhaps, even, of Sisterhood.
Of this I promise.