CLEOPATRA

On the morning of February 29th, 33 AD, I found myself immersed in a wave of uncertainty. After a restless night of pacing and worrying, I removed my armour and dusted clothes in favour of a much-needed bath. To not only rid myself of dirt but to tend the scrapes on my legs and ponder what I was to say to my wife if asked about their source.

Telling her the truth was out of the question. How could I explain that I had gone alone to a cave where I came upon men praying to what I believed to be a demon? She would either think me a fool or demand that we leave, a path that would undoubtedly lead to a heated argument with no shortage of criticism. She was well aware that I would never run, often referring to me as stubborn and hard-headed.

With what I know now...I wish I had told her and been done with this place. However, in my heart, I couldn’t ignore the burning need to uncover the truth. When something vexes me, I stop at nothing, whether it involves a demon, or not. My only reservations were that this time, my family was with me, and their safety weighed heavily on my mind.

After stepping out of the bath, I cloaked my many leg scrapes by draping myself in a white toga alba. Before approaching my wife, I dispatched guards stationed at the front of my residence, to locate and bring Legatus Marsus, my second, to the house posthaste.

Sitting down at my desk, I wrote my order for Marsus and the men under his command. A meeting with the Queen was on my schedule, but first, I needed to ensure the safety of my family.

Moments later, the thunderous neigh and swift trot of horse brought Marsus to my presence. His wide shoulders seemed even broader as he stood there, his leather cuirass caked with the dust of riding.

“General?” He barked, stamping his leather cuirass, which sent a cloud of dust swirling around him.

“Come in, come in, Marsus.” I waved him forward.

Marsus, a beast of a man, aptly named after the Roman God of war, bore the battle scares and a rugged demeanour to match. He turned sideways to pass through the entrance, and as he did, I handed him my orders.

As he read, I relayed their contents. “Marsus, from this day my home will be surrounded by a contubernium…” He looked at me quite strangely. This was not standard procedure. Seeing his queried look and knowing his loyalty, I decided to relay some of the events leading to my decision.

Marsus had been a loyal friend since our campaigns in Gaul, and I trusted him implicitly. I stood up and locked eyes with him. “Remember, this between us,” I warned, and he nodded, pledging his unwavering commitment with a clenched fist upon his heart.

“By your command, General,” he affirmed, his tone resolute.

I knew I could confide in Marsus. “Very well, thank you, Marsus. Last night I stumbled upon a cave to the East, and within…” I took his shoulder to walk with me. Leaning in close I whispered, “I encountered something that I believe to be a Demon…”

He stopped in his tracks and turned his furrowed head to me. “I’m serious, you know me to be veridicus, do you not?

“I do,” he answered with a hesitant nod and narrowed eyes.

“This…this, Demon or whatever it was, was consorting with two men. I do not know who yet, but I know what I saw. This Thing! Was evil in both look and sound. I am not sure if it knows who I am, as I was cloaked, but we shall take no chances. This thing is here for a reason, it seemed summoned by these men for some immoral purpose, but nothing good can come of such a beast. So, with that, our patrols are no longer in pairs; each will be a contubernium of eight. For my family's safety, I need this house to be as such, and they are to be under constant escort, no matter my wife’s objections.”

Marsus’s brow lifted as he said, “General you know she will not take kindly to this; she is ah…”

“Yes, I know, very obstinate…” I chuckled.

He chortled. “Not the words I would use…” We shared a laugh as he added, “Have no worries General; she and the girls will be well-guarded and safe. With your permission, General, I would like to be their shadow?”

“I wouldn’t want any other, Marsus. Thank you, my friend.”

Marsus submitted his concern. “You do know that increasing the size of our patrols will greatly diminish our coverage?”

“I know. But I feel that if something is transpiring, it will happen close to home, not out in the field. The Nubians, as I have been told, have not been scouting the borders as of late. A skeleton presence should suffice for the time being until I can find answers.”

“Marsus…” Her voice suddenly cut through our hushed words, her warm smile hiding the curiosity in her eyes. She greeted our startled glances as she approached. “Strange to see you here so early?”

Marsus bowed slightly, addressing her, “ Domina,” and then he turned to see me, his eyes wide and darting as he continued, “I just came to hand in the night's report before I headed on patrol. I apologize for the hour.”

“Not at all,” she replied, her voice carrying a warm invitation. “Will, you not stay for breakfast?” Alexandria’s graceful hands glided through the water basin, lifting the scent of rose petals into the air as she looked over at us.

Marsus shook his head with a pout. “I wish I could, but I must get back to my men.” He bowed once more and stamped his chest with his fist. “General.” With that, he took leave.

Alexandria walked over to me, her eyes reflecting curiosity as she watched Marsus leave. “That was strange. I’ve never seen him here so early and leave so abruptly. Anything important?”

I planted a reassuring kiss on her freckled cheek. “Not at all,” I replied with a smile. “I guess, being in a new land, he wants to ensure that everything is in order with our new command.”

“Oh,” she smiled warmly as I took her arm in mine, leading the way to the triclinium.

Shortly thereafter, Anu and the servants arrived. Addressing us, they efficiently prepared and delivered our breakfast situated between our lecti. A delicious spread of flatbread, dates drizzled with the sweet scent of honey, and a colourful assortment of fresh fruits greeted us.

“So, today you meet the Queen,” my love inquired, her creased emerald eyes searching mine as she sensually bit down on a date, her tongue teasingly honey over her lips. “Hmm...I heard she was as beautiful as Venus. Are you excited or nervous?”

Before I could respond, she raised her hand and shook her head, a playful smile dancing on her honied lips. “Forget it,” she chuckled, rolling her eyes. “I know the answer. The great General is neither tempted nor afraid of anything, is he now?” She teased. It’s remarkable how the simplest act, like eating a date, can be transformed into something so tantalizing. Such is the allure of women, even over the great Caesar, the embodiment of Rome itself.

I chuckled and thought, little did she know. We shared stories and laughter as we shared our breakfast. Before leaving for my appointment, I gently combed her hair with my fingers, my mind lost in contemplation. She nestled her back further into my arms and looked up into my eyes. “What is it? Why so quiet?” She had an uncanny knack for detecting when something was amiss.

I closed my eyes, lovingly grinned and shook my head. “Nothing, my love,” I replied. “I just love you.” As I leaned in to kiss her, she pulled back slightly and looked up at me with concern in her eyes. “Val... seriously, what is it?”

I had to hide it. I couldn’t let her worry about such things, not until I knew for sure.

Hoping to ease her mind, I let out a soft chuckle, “Mi belladonna, can’t a husband simply be grateful and kiss his wife?” My smile grew and she fell back onto the arms of the lectus. I gently took her arms, wrapping them around my neck.

She replied with a devilish smile, “Anytime, my husband.” And we shared a passionate kiss.

We were abruptly interrupted by our stampeding children, their youthful energy palpable as they rushed in to jump on and hug us. We eagerly welcomed their warm embraces, sharing in their infectious joy for a spell. Pressed for time, I stood to straighten my toga, which had become somewhat creased during our family embrace, then gazed down upon my huddled family, their radiant smiles reflecting the love we all shared.

However, my baby girls looked all too sweet and innocent, and I couldn’t resist the temptation, so I suddenly darted over and began tickling my girls, sending them into fits of laughter on the Lectus beside their mother. In a not-so-manly voice, playfully chided, “ And you two, my little munchkins, behave and be good for your mother...Rrraa....”

“He-he-he, St-st-stop ittt da-da-daddddyyy...” they cried “ “Wh-wh-we will DDDdadayyyyy he-he-he.”

With my heart now appeased, I stood, gathering my breath and the love of my panting family, and said, “Well, I am off. Have a fine day my ladies.” I bowed and smiled before turning to walk away and wave “I shall see you later.”

“You too, Daddy,” giggled the girls, their contagious laughter lifting my soul. “You too, dear,” replied my dear Alexandria, blowing a sweet kiss. In a harmonious chorus, they all hollered, “Love youuuu!” As I left, their voices echoed in my heart, filling me with heartwarming joy at how incredibly lucky I am.

Even this early in the morning, the air was thick and parched as it yielded to the dawn's rising light. As I navigated the bustling streets, servants, farmers, soldiers, fishermen, craftsmen and more stirred from their slumber. They gawked at my passage with bitter revolt hidden behind their passive grins and nods, while vendors scurried to open their stalls and present their precious wares to the world. Each carried their thoughts of what this day may bring. And onto each, they had their dreams and burdens.

As crowds continued to pour into the warming sand streets, it resembled a bustling ant colony on the move, hidden beneath a cloud of kicked-up dust. In the background, the melodious chants of morning prayer singers resonated through the city. Their voices wove a serene tapestry that spurred the bustling crowd onward.

As I made my way up the grand marble stairs leading to the Queen's palace, I found myself enveloped in a mesmerizing procession of chattering workers. Towering on either side of the expansive stairway, stood the ornate statues of the Jackal God Seth, their gold and ebony regal forms glimmering to the touch of the rising sun as they stared into the distance. In their intimidating presence, I couldn’t help but feel minuscule and inconsequential, as if their magnificence was intended to diminish all who approached.

Passing through the massive doors to the palace, a rush of floral scents enveloped my senses. My nose instinctively sought out the source, leading me to the heady aroma of incense billowing out from pyramid-shaped cavities carved into the cool marble walls.

Following a finely dressed man, his echoing footsteps resounding through the grand corridor, a sense of awe and anticipation stirred within me. Along our path, the warm, golden sunlight filtered through the high, stained-glass windows, casting intricate designs of Gods and Goddesses on the polished stone floor before us. The air was filled with a hushed murmur of voices and the distant echoes of the bustling city beyond. For a moment, I felt lost in time, until the chime of a golden ring awakened me. “General Valentino Pompeious Magnus!” With that proclamation, I stepped forward, ready to meet the Queen.

The room was truly incredible. Towering hieroglyphic columns, each over sixty feet high and as wide as five men shoulder to shoulder, provided the foundation for the massive, vaulted ceiling. The ceiling seamlessly morphed into a glass roof, formed like a Pyramid, with a substantial stone cap crowning it. Atop this cap, the colossal statue of Isis, which I had noticed upon my initial arrival, held a commanding presence.

The opulent throne room boasted an impeccable floor that appeared to be crafted from pure gold and studded with an array of glistening gems. At its heart, a cobbled path made of fiery red rubies led to a majestic stairway. This grand staircase ascended to a massive golden, another breathtaking representation sculpture of the Goddess Isis. Her wings, adorned with gold and precious gems, stretched wide in divine splendour. Her celestial gaze, cast down, met a resplendent golden throne upon which sat a woman radiating self-assured authority, her presence both commanding and foreboding.

Walking forward, my sandals slapped against the gleaming gold floor, the sound resounding through the hushed room. With my head slightly bowed, my eyes searched the following gaze of those who also stood with their heads bowed, and then I found hers—the Queen’s. Her unwavering stare pierced straight through me, sending a shiver down my spine.

***

“Okay, wait, Papi,” interrupted Brooklyn, her emerald green eyes sparkling with curiosity as she excitedly turned around. “I got to know. Was Cleopatra all that I’ve read about? Was she truly as beautiful and as tough as they write about?”

I chuckled at Brooklyn’s infectious enthusiasm. “Well, let me tell you...She absolutely was. I cannot deny that.”

“Well, what did she look like?” Brooklyn pleaded.

Putting my finger to my chin, I paused for a moment, considering how to describe someone whose appearance had been the subject of so much speculation and so many stories.

Then it came to me—the best way for Brooklyn to try and envision her. I leaned in a little closer, a sly smile playing on my lips. “Hmm… well, you know those movies you like so much. That, um, woman you adore and admire so much…um…what’s her name…she plays a superhero?”

Brooklyn’s eyes searched my face, her curiosity piqued. Leaning back in her chair, she focused on the ceiling as I offered more clues. “You know the one, she played, I think it was Wonder… something. Very beautiful with long black hair…”

Brooklyn promptly rocked forward, her eyes popped with jaw-dropping excitement as she answered frantically, “You mean, Gal Gadot? No way! She looked like her…really? Wow! She’s my favourite actress and so fucking beautiful, and strong.”

“Yeah, that would be the closest resemblance,” I replied. “And though they’re only movies, and I don’t know how this Gal Gadot is in real life, Cleopatra commanded that kind of presence. A presence that holds you captive.”

“Oh, man, I would have loved to have seen her. Especially, way back then,” Brooklyn mused. “I mean, women of today have a hard enough time, so, to have that kind of respect back then. Wow! Such an empowered woman…” Lost in admiration, Brooklyn leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. Closing her eyes, she shook her head and sighed, “An unyielding trailblazer. It must have been something to behold.”

I agreed with a nod. “She undeniably was.”

Brooklyn smiled as she turned back to her computer, her fingers dancing over the keys, a silent ode to her curiosity, she couldn’t help but whisper, “Ah…man, I wish.”

Snuggling back into my plush leather chair, I found myself caught in a moment of reflection. My gaze lingered on the back of Brooklyn's long, black hair, haloed by the soft blue glow of the screen, as history and imagination intertwined in the darkness of the room.

***

Cleopatra, the embodiment of regal authority, sat alone upon her magnificent throne. The sun’s radiant beams, filtering through the glass ceiling, bathed her and her regal set in a celestial glow, casting an other-worldly aura around her divine womanly form before me. As her loyal fan-bearers gracefully fanned behind her, the warm air was imbued with a bouquet of flowery fragrances that overpowered my senses. Her commanding presence reigned supreme as she perched high on a platform of polished black marble stairs that ascended just above the heads of her subjects. There she sat, unmoving and unblinking, a true Queen to be sure.

She held firmly across her chest a royal blue and gold striped crook and flail, gleaming symbols of her authority over the land and its people. Short silky black locks, laced with the golden beard of oysters, framed her divine visage beneath a white pschent crown. At its centre, a golden cobra unnervingly gazed forward. Her firm, well-defined tanned arms shimmered with goldened armbands, and a serpent-like bracelet coiled from her wrist to just below her elbow. Upon her bare chest, at the opening of her single strapped white and gold-trimmed dress, a magnificent Usekh necklace graced her, a broad golden adornment encrusted with precious gems.

To be candid, as I stood there, the usual Roman arrogance in me dissolved into a feeling of insignificance and smallness. A stark departure from the usual Roman self-assuredness. It wasn’t just the grandeur of the room and its colossal columns, which reduced one to the size of an ant. Nor was it her majestic presence. It was the culmination of it all, combined with the eerie silence that had overtaken the room.

It was so hushed that I heard not only the grinding of my sand-coated soles but also my breath and heartbeat, which had begun to pound upon sensing the ever-increasing electricity supplied by the irritated eyes upon me.

However, I was not going to betray my insecurities. I was a Roman General, and I couldn’t afford to show vulnerability, especially in front of a non-Roman. My pride was too significant for me to do anything other than walk forward with my head held high and my gaze unwaveringly fixed upon hers, despite my frantic heartbeat or sweaty palms.

As I approached, I noticed, on a lower platform to the right of the Queen, three men. Two of them wore nothing but white loincloths. Their bald heads were tattooed with cryptic symbols, but it was their faces that intrigued me most. Their faces were tattooed to resemble what one would imagine if the skin had been removed, revealing the exposed musculature beneath. The effect was further unsettling due to the unnaturally white appearance of their eye whites. Quite a disturbing sight to look upon.

The third man, notably taller and bald, sported a long, pointed black beard to match his pea-sized eyes. He stood between the other two, exuding an air of arrogance that sent my skin to crawl and my gut to burn with revolting dislike. Dressed in a bright blue robe, he peered down at me with a smug grin, clutching his silver staff in his ring-adorned hand. It dawned on me that these were likely the figures I had seen when I first arrived, gazing down at me amidst the sun’s glare. I found their air of superiority quite displeasing.

This robed man further sealed my discontent when he stepped forward, his eyes still fixed upon me as he forcefully stabbed thrice his silver staff into the unyielding marble floor on which he stood. The resulting clangs resonated through the silenced room. Believing he could order me, he demanded, “You will kneel before Queen Cleopatra, Goddess and daughter of Isis.”

I stood firm, unwavering in both my posture and gaze. Who was he to order me? Cleopatra said nothing, her eyes adorned with dark blue and gold eyeshadow, fixed on me, while a hint of amusement danced on her slightly twitching, red-pigmented lips. I had the distinct feeling that she was studying my reaction, waiting to see if I would submit. I did not. I locked eyes with her as I clasped my hands behind my back and said in a tone loud enough to carry through the room, I stated, “I have come to introduce myself; I am…”

The damn priest rudely interrupted me mid-sentence, his voice thundering, the veins on his forehead like bolts of lightning, “YOU! Will NOT speak, infidel!” With a resounding slam of his steal staff, he swiftly marched to the edge of his self-imposed pulpit, glaring down at me.

Yet, I refused to be provoked. My eyes remained on Cleopatra, which had the intended purpose of infuriating him as he shouted, “You will…”

Enough of this. It was my moment to seize control. I stood tall and stepped forward, clutching my toga. I manoeuvred my hand so the glint of my gold signet ring purposely shone into his eyes, to which he lifted his hand to block the glare.

“I am General Valentino Pompeious Magnus, commander of Rome's legendary fifth legion. You will learn your place, Priest!” My voice carried the weight of Rome’s authority, and my unyielding pride as Roman commander was unmistakable.

“We know who you are…GENERAL,” the priest replied with abhorrence, a sly grin lurking behind the shadow of his hand as he walked, blocking my view of the Queen. “Pompeious…Yes, yes! I remember now. Are you not the son of that puny little man, Gnaeus Pompeious, who met an untimely end at the treacherous hands of Ptolemy, my Queen’s own younger brother?”

“You mean murdered…Priest!” I barked back at the dog with a fierce bite to my tone.

“No doubt, General…of course. There is no way such a great man could go down so easily. He had to have been taken by surprise, or murdered…” He placed a finger to his lips as he stared up at the glinting glass ceiling. “Huh. Murdered by a… A BOY!” The grin on his self-satisfied face turned slowly to taunt me as he added ever so arrogantly, “A boy we...Yes, WE! killed, not you, the faithful grieving son. Not the glorious Empire of Rome.” He turned swiftly to the Queen, raising his staff as he bowed and proclaimed, “But by our Goddess!” Whispers of, ‘Goddess’ showered the room, yet the Queen remained, cold and stoic, unmoved by the worshipping chants.

I was seething yet held my tongue behind gritted teeth as he remained bowed to the Queen, whispering loud enough for all to hear. “Goddess, daughter of Isis, he is not worthy to stand before you. I implore you, My Queen, let me dispa…” I couldn’t contain myself any longer and erupted into applause, abruptly ending the priest's ass-kissing and silencing the room's chants. As I stared up at him, grinning as I continued to clap with such vigour that the dogged priest was forced to heel and glare down at me.

“Bravo…bravo,” I continued with a cocky grimace, maintaining eye contact with him. “You are a well-versed orator, Priest, remind me to call on you when I’m in need of a snake charmer.” Throats cleared and the silenced gathering remained jaw-dropped, not knowing how to react.

“Now!” I continued in a self-assured tone. “You seemed to have forgotten your place, trivial man!” I declared with emphasis. “Rome allows that tongue of yours to weave; now, you will hold it.” I stepped forward. The Queen’s guards, standing in front of me at the base of the stairway, advanced, lowering their spears. I paid them no attention as I narrowed in on the priest. “Or I will surely remove it… Eunuch!”

He snarled, “How dare…”

A loud clang rang out from behind the boiling priest. “Amenemhat!” The dog of a priest immediately bowed and sank back between the other two priests. The guards raised their spears and stood at attention. As I looked up to the Queen, she glared down at me as she rested her crook and flail on her lap.

“Now, General,” she said, surprisingly casually, “do you not know who I am?”

“I do, Your Majesty.”

“Did you not hear my Hem-Netjer! … My High Vizier?” Her ebony eyes slowly blinked at Amenemhat, before turning back to parse me.

He stepped forward, his silver staff striking the floor thrice with a resounding ring as he proclaimed, “I present YOUR Goddess.” Predictively he stared at me. “Daughter of Isis…Queen Cleopatra!” The room fell into reverent silence as most in attendance bowed and whispered, ‘Goddess’. Amenemhat, however, remained bowed, his black eyes fixed on me as he crawled back to his place, flanked by the other two foul priests.

As I set my eyes back to the Queen, I detected a subtle shift in her demeanour. Her nostrils flared slightly as she spoke, “Now, I might have forgiven your previous transgressions, perhaps you did not hear correctly. Yet, here you stand, stiff-kneed?”

“SPEAK!” She commanded sharply, eliciting gasps from those present.

Despite the distasteful lump lodged in my throat, I, a Roman General, could not fathom kneeling before anyone other than Rome and Caesar, not even in this opulent palace on foreign soil. “Your Majesty,” I began, “I harbour no disrespect. I kneel for Rome and Caesar. None other!”

Another collective gasp reverberated through the room.

The Queen, her face now taut, looked down and absently rubbed her stomach, a subtle reminder of the stakes. “This! Is Rome,” she declared. I remained resolute, unwilling to engage in rumours or idle speculation.

The Queen continued, her tone unwavering, “No words now, General. No more defiance. Not even a disrespectful rebuttal as you have demonstrated here, on MY land, in MY palace and to MY Vizier—my trusted eyes and ears, whom you dared to threaten?”

At times, my mouth tends to speak before my brain, as it did then. “Your dog barked first, Your Majesty, I just bit back,” I retorted.

Finally, my brain managed to catch up with my tongue. I bowed my head, and with a concealed sigh I cooled enough to state my purpose for coming here. “I apologize, I meant no disrespect to you or your citizens. I came only to introduce myself and to discuss Rome’s Tribute for your approval.” I loathed having to submit when I believed I was not in the wrong, but my family and I are to live here, so I’ll take it. Hell, if I was going to apologize to that fuckin priest though.

Cleopatra slowly blinked and slightly shook her head then looked at me. “Rome’s tribute…of course.” She forced a tight-lipped grin. “The self-appointed protector of Egypt needs to be fed and clothed as an infant.” Subtle giggles and snickers echoed throughout the room.

“Very well,” the Queen remarked with a visible cringe. “I grow tired of this posturing and your lack of respect. We will discuss your tribute…later. You will attend me here with your stipulations and I will be done with you.” She stood and everyone bowed as she started to walk away.

“I cannot!” I objected. The room stopped dead and fell into sudden silence, interrupted only by gasps as I looked around at the saucered eyes, felled jaws and heads. Then I shifted my gaze toward the stairway, where even the three priests did not dare look up.

The Queen, white-fisted her Egyptian, blue-striped golden crook and flail at her side as she turned around and stabbed me with a cold piercing stare. “It was not a request,” she clarified.

“Still, I cannot. I …”

The Queen, now livid, raised her hand to stop me. Thinking she was going to shout, I was surprised when she calmly, yet authoritatively commanded, “Everyone out!” Only the rustle of cloth could be heard as the room quietly shuffled out, their heads still lowered.

“Guards!” They did not look at her or even pause to question, as I would have. They marched through their respective left and right doors as I stood in wonder. She’s got balls, I’ll give her that. Or she must truly believe she is a goddess and untouchable, to leave herself without guards in the company of a foreigner who basically threatened her Vizier and defied her.

As she started to pace heavily, looming over me, I couldn’t help but wonder if my own vanity led me to believe, that she commanded everyone to leave so she could try and seduce me as she had done with many others, including Caesar himself. In my mind, I rehearsed the words I would use to dissuade her and make it clear that such an encounter would never occur. Despite her exotic Middle Eastern beauty, unwavering confidence, and inner strength, she was not my Alexandria. No woman could ever be.

Gladly I was mistaken. She turned to me and spoke, “General, you demanded an audience with me, then arrived at my palace, defying all, without bending the knee or showing any form of respect. Yet, I still offer an olive branch to discuss your reasons for this audience and Rome’s revised terms. Still, you refuse to come back later. I thought Caesar was thick-headed and stubborn, but he could not hold a candle to the unwavering form before me. Tell me, General, what could be so important that it prevents such a dogged man as yourself, from attending me later? Is it Rome, your men, perhaps? For I have seen your kind, the ones who prioritize duty, fighting, and war. So, what is it?”

“My family...” I proudly answered.

She stopped dead, her regal facade fading. I nodded, anticipating her wrath. As the last person left and the doors closed, the Queen transformed from a powerful Monarch into a woman, a deservedly strong woman, but a woman nonetheless. Her fortified posture softened as she descended the stairs towards me. I could tell she was in deep wonder, for she did not look at me until she was face to face, where I saw curiosity in her dark eyes as he asked, not demanded, “Why?”

I did not understand the question, so I tilted my head in confusion as she clarified, “Why have you challenged me at every opportunity?” Her tone had a familiar inquiry, one I have all too often encountered from my own wife when I was not supposed to be where I was supposed to be, with no plausible explanation.

Looking into her eyes, I found myself now able to relax my shoulders and reply, “It was not my intention.” I lowered my hands to my sides and began to pace in a slow circle as I contemplated how to explain further. “I am just a soldier, Your Majesty and as such, when I feel threatened, regardless of the company…I instinctively defend myself.”

I ventured to offer a compliment and so added, “As I’m sure you would, your Majesty.” She closed and opened her eyes with a subtle nod, yet said nothing, giving me leave to continue. “I do not trust those who would think themselves powerful because they have the ear of power, who speak with impunity, assuming they are inviolable. I do not hold regard for such individuals…especially priests who consider themselves sanctimonious.”

She nodded once more, then turned and ascended the stairs with deliberate steps. What came next surprised me, for someone as hard and self-assured as she. While she owed no explanation, the Queen, chose to offer one.

“I understand, General. You must also understand that I am not afforded the same rights as men. I must, as a woman, as Queen, be more ruthless and unyielding, presenting myself as even more formidable than a man would. To falter would risk not just losing the support of the people but my entire Queendom.”

She was right, it hadn’t dawned on me until that moment, but she was undeniably right. Men are born self-righteous and rarely have to prove themselves unless it is on the battlefield. If they hold power, they command, and others follow without question. It was a world I knew well, a world where I never had to contemplate the challenges a woman in a similar position would face, for it does not happen. That is how things are. She, on the other hand, had to continuously assert her authority and presence or risk losing faith and strength in the eyes of her people, all the while being occupied by a foreign country. The pressure she bore was immense, for more burdensome than any man’s.

As I gazed upon her, a wave of admiration washed over me, a sentiment I had reserved for only one other woman— My wife. I couldn’t help but imagine that my wife would radiate the same strength and grace as Cleopatra if she were in her position. At that moment, my respect for the Queen swelled, and I found myself appreciating the tremendous challenges, that she, and indeed all women, face daily.

In a moment of clarity, I willingly conceded to this remarkable, incredibly strong, determined, and inspiring woman. With newfound humility, I finally submitted to one knee and bowed as I placed my fist over my chest. “I am but a soldier, a man, in a man’s world, I did not realize, forgive my ignorance. You are truly a Queen.”

A muffled sigh passed her lips as she approached me, and I felt her gentle, slightly shaking hand upon my head. “Thank you,” she said, her voice carrying the weight of both gratitude and understanding. She reached down, taking my arm to pull me to stand, and I complied.

“Let us start over,” she beseeched, her tone soft and inviting.

With all the tension swiftly becoming history, I happily agreed with a smile and nod. She asked me to walk with her up to her throne, where she sat and motioned me to join her. I settled at the only spot nearby, on the edge of the platform, looking up at her.

“I have heard you have two daughters and a most beautiful wife?” She inquired, obviously well-informed about me, which was understandable.

“Yes,” I replied, smiling at the thought.

“I can see they are the apple of your eye,” she remarked with a soft blink and smile as she looked skyward in thought, her hand gently caressing her inflated belly.

“They are my reason, my breath,” I replied, still smiling, before letting out a chuckle.

“What is it?” She asked curiously.

“Just that my wife loves your culture, and it makes me laugh to imagine her reaction if she knew I was sitting here at the feet of Cleopatra in this beautiful palace. She would not place me so.”

Cleopatra chuckled; it was a pleasant site to see this strong, resilient young woman share a laugh. Then she suggested, “If you so wish to conclude our business, why not bring your family here?”

My head snapped up in bewilderment. Could she be serious, I pondered, trying to gain reason. Maybe she was lonely, I imagined. I mean her own brother did try to take her life and throne, and now, all she had were those damn clerics.

She remained silent as my mind raced for a response. “I couldn’t impose, Your Majesty.”

“Nonsense,” she replied with a warm smile. “You mentioned your wife’s love for our culture. So why not bring her to its heart? We could have dinner and discuss terms. And truth be told, it would be nice to have the laughter of children warm this cold palace. And to have a woman to talk to, who I am sure I would adore, for she must be strong to deal with you.” We shared a laugh, and I nodded with an arched brow. “So True.”

How could I refuse after that? I stood up, bowed my head, and thanked her. She smiled and appeared rather excited as she stood from her throne and hesitated before saying, “I must insist that when we're not in the company of my Viziers or servants, you and your family are to call me Cleopatra, not Queen or Your Majesty. And please, tell your wife to dress comfortably; this is not a formal affair. Let us hope this could mark a new start or perhaps even a friendship….” She paused briefly and then asked, “Around dusk, then?”

I stepped down onto the stair below the platform I sat upon and looked back at her. “Around dusk,” I replied. She left, leaving me perplexed as to what just happened.

My mind was scrambled, a chaotic mess likened to the bustling streets I traversed on my way home. What was to be an audience to address an increase in grain, Rome’s tribute became a heated stand-off before becoming a dinner invitation.

As my expanded mind passed through the doors to my home, I was greeted by my beloved’s arms around my neck and warm, soft passionate kisses upon my parched lips.

sniff sniff *** “Hmm, what is that?” Asked my wife, tickling my neck with her nose and then sniffing my toga. “I love that smell, smells like...like—Lilac?”

Shrugging my shoulders and grinning slyly, I nonchalantly replied, “Ahhh, who knows, they had a host of assorted incense burning in the palace.”

She stood back, folded her arms and scrutinized me from head to toe, then shook her head in disbelief. “No-no-no. You do not get that infused into your body by incense alone,” She insisted with a mischievous smirk as she moved in for another sniff. “Smells like perfume, a very expensive perfume.” Her lips pursed as she peered straight through me. “A perfume that, say, a very beautifully seductive Queen might wear. You must have been very close to be bathed in her scent, hmm?”

Though I knew she was teasing, women are fickle creatures. Nevertheless, I abruptly changed the subject, knowing that what I said next would ease any doubts.

I headed to my desk to sit and unlace my sandals and give her the good news. “So, you know how you always wondered how opulent the palace must be and what kind of woman Cleopatra was?”

Alexandria walked over to sit on my lap, resting her arm across the back of my neck, she ran her fingers through my hair, her emerald eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Yeah, it must be gorgeous.”

Just as I was about to speak, our attention was drawn to a slight swish of water as one of the girl servants came bowing into the room, her steps gentle, almost soundless on the polished marble floor. She carried a basin of warm water, with a plush white towel draped across her arms. Her voice was a soft whisp of wind as she kneeled before my feet, saying, “My Lord,” she gently whispered as she kneeled before my feet.

“Oh, no-no-no, my precious,” Alex intervened, her voice filled with a hint of authority. She helped the poor trembling girl to her feet, taking the towel in her hands. “My lord has had enough exotic beauty for one day.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The young lady continued to bow nervously as she backed out of the room, leaving Alex to take her place. My wife gracefully knelt, purposely lifting her long white kalasiris dress to her supple freckled waist, allowing her husband a glimpse of her silky-smooth legs, thighs, and just a tease of red pubic hair as she gently lifted my foot into the warm water to bathe. It was then that she caught my pussy struck eyes lost in fantasy.

“Oh, me, oh my, I am so so-sorry my Lord, I did not realize I lifted my dress just a bit too high, and I had forgotten to shave. Please, forgive my ignorance, my Lord,” she mocked with a devilish grin that creased her eyes as she gazed up at me.

“Oh, you're a naughty minx,” I chortled, as I pushed down on my manhood stiffening my tunic, which my love was now staring at while seductively licking her soft pink lips and forcefully rubbing between her legs. “Mmmm...” she moaned as she played and slowly opened and closed her eyes, ecstasy written across her tensing face.

***

“Ugh...Papi, “cringed Brooklyn, suspending me from continuing.

“What, you said you wanted me to be thorough,” I smirked.

“Stop grinning Papi,” grunted Brooklyn shaking her head before me. “Thorough yeah, but not that thorough,” she continued. “I mean, I know how much you loved her and still love her, and how passionate you both were, but please, keep that stuff to yourself,” she asked as she dropped her head before the glow of her screen and mumbled beneath her breath, “Great, how the fuck am I going to get that outta my head... Ew.”

I had a nice chuckle at that before continuing.

***

Just as in life, whenever something exquisite is about to happen, there is usually something just around the corner waiting to thwart your plans. Today was no different. The squeals of our little princesses running down from their room above instantly deflated any hardness and dammed any wetness as it robbed us of our pleasure.

“Daddy...Daddy!” They chimed in unison, their tiny arms outstretched as they leapt into my open arms. Their infectious laughter shivered my body, and as always, uplifted my soul as I held them close, and I was showered in tiny kisses, which I, in turn, returned with playful pecks, blowing soft bubbles on their delicate necks, which brought out even greater laughter, that my wife echoed.

I gazed at their eager faces and smiled, the warmth of their affection melting my heart. “So, ladies,” I began, looking over at my wife, who sat on her knees, a curious spark shone in her eyes. “I was just about to tell your mother. How would you like to be real princesses for the day?”

Their innocent eyes widened, curiosity and excitement dancing with them, even my love, who would typically have something to say, sat in wonder awaiting an explanation.

“Well, my girls," I exclaimed, my voice laced with anticipation, as a mischievous smile danced upon my lips while glancing at my wife. “The Queen has graciously invited us, all of us, to her palace tonight for dinner, with just her.”

I had never seen my three girls squeal in harmony as I did that day. Their delight was contagious, and my love, wide-eyed and speechless, shared in their astonishment. They flew from my grasp and excitedly pounced on their mother, playfully bringing her to her back. The room was flooded with the sounds of tickles, nibbles, and child-like shrieks, brimming with uncontainable joy.

“Now, my three little princesses,” I beamed, “can get all dressed up and be treated like the princesses they surely are.”

They squealed in delight, “Ahhhh...” and leapt onto me, showering once again with sweet, innocent kisses before darting upstairs, the pitter-patter of their little legs carrying them as fast as they could, echoing through the house.

There is nothing more magical than bringing joy to the ones you love.

As my rambunctious, squealing daughters enthusiastically ransacked their closets for the perfect princess attire, my elation was bridled by disturbing apparitions of the demon stalking me from every shadow, its sinister presence sent shivers down my spine, and the hairs across my body stood on end, keeping me forever on edge.

Dusk came oh so slowly, teasing eager spirits with its gradual approach.

Of course, my wife did not dress casually, and she insisted the girls do the same, much to the grumbling Siri, who tugged and yelled at her garments. Eventually, after the girls were finished prepping, as girls do, in a manner befitting their own unique styles, we headed to the palace.

The sandy streets, bathed in the eerie glow of flickering torches, hosted a celestial dance beneath the half-moon and the star-painted black sky. The whispers of strangers, like elusive passing shadows, echoed through the cool night air. Our destination, a distant silhouette illuminated by torches, beckoned with an air of intrigue.

A collective sense of awe swept over my daughters as they clung to my side, their eyes fixated on the mysterious palace, growing larger with each step as we approached. The torches, strategically positioned at the feet of every Seth statue, not only illuminated our path but also emitted a haunting glow that seemed to breathe life into the towering figures. The massive, golden forms stood resplendent; their ebony jackal heads appeared almost animated as they snarled through the shadows cast by the flickering torchlight.

A simple gasp escaped my beloved wife. My daughters, fearful of the looming monstrosities, clung tightly to each of my legs as we ascended the extensive staircase. At the summit stood two guards, armed with golden spears and adorned in elaborate golden armour.

As the guards opened the grand palace doors, we were enveloped by the flowery perfume of Kyphi that emanated from triangular hollows intricately carved into the marble walls, holding both golden incense containers and lavish candle holders, their flickering flames promised to light our way through the magnificent palace.

As we started onto the pristine marble floor, following the dance of flickering candles, a group of half-naked, muscular, and tanned male servants bowed before us. My unabashed dear wife, wearing a secret smile, shielded our daughter's eyes from their loin-clothed physiques. Following the servants through the cool, perfumed marble corridors, we arrived at a most remarkable yet homey room.

The room was a masterpiece of opulence and elegance. Soft torchlight flickered, casting a warm inviting glow that accentuated the grandiose space. The air carried the subtle fragrance of exotic flowers planted in beautifully adorned flowerpots, mingling with the delicate aroma of the feast, hidden beneath gem-encrusted golden cloches. These cloches, like jewelled crowns, rested in a bed of wildflowers atop an intricately carved dining table, laden with fine gold utensils and crystal glassware.

The extensive dining table, embraced by plush chairs, each meticulously stitched with gold trimmings, bestowed an air of regality upon the setting. Just above, a most magnificent crystal chandelier adorned the space, its intricate arms cradling candles that cast a vibrant spectrum, painting a dancing rainbow upon the table and walls. The result was an ethereal ambience that heightened the room's enchantment.

“Look at the walls,” gasped my wife. “Is that all marble?”

“Absolutely, Italian marble,” I replied, crouching with my daughters and pointing towards the walls. Their wide eyes absorbed the beauty. “You can tell by the veins of black lightning coursing through the white marble.”

“So purty,” grinned my wide-eyed Iris, clasping her hands together and bobbing as she looked about the room.

“She must have paid a fortune to ship this from Italy?” Said my wife as she rubbed the cold stone.

“Not if Caesar demanded it,” I replied, and my wife and I exchanged a knowing glance, sharing a smirk, just as the Queen entered the room through a hidden door.

The family gathered, and we bowed in unison. “Your Majesty.”

“Please, Please,” said the Queen, waving off the formality. “No need for that. Not tonight.”

This was a first for me. My wife, who was never short of words, was stone-faced, her gaze fixed on the Queen, who was wearing a loose-fitted dress, her shiny ebony hair flowing long past her waist. She bore no jewellery of any kind, appearing more like a peasant than a Queen—a refreshing departure from the typical regalia and a source of stress relief.

As the young Queen caught sight of my precious daughters, a remarkable transformation occurred. With childlike excitement she revealed her youth—hunching over, her hands outstretched as if squishing the air, she darted towards their apple cheeks that blossomed in size as she approached. Kneeling before them, she exclaimed, “Oh, my, what princess we have here.”

As proud as a father could be, I introduced my ladies. “Your Majesty, these are our twin daughters, Siri and Iris.”

The Queen, her face beaming, brushed Siri’s hair as she gazed affectionately upon her. Then, she looked up at my wife and me. “I remember when my hair looked as youthful as theirs.” We exchanged smiles as she turned back to our children.

In the Queen’s presence, a delightful scene unfolded as she observed our precious daughters. With a gentle tap of my daughter’s nose, she guessed with playful precision “Gorgeous long curly red hair, a beautiful, freckled nose, green eyes like your mother, hmm—I would say a fiery disposition. You must be Siri?”

Unexpectedly and shockingly, Siri curtsied, drawing smiles from the Queen and leaving my wife and me almost choking. The Queen graciously acknowledged Siri’s gesture, then shifted her focus to Iris. This momentary diversion allowed Siri to playfully stick out her tongue to her sister—a silent declaration in the unspoken competition that lingers between the sisters. And…there she was.

With her attention on Iris, the Queen continued her delightful revelations. She came nose to nose with our uneasy Iris and, mesmerized by her eyes, said, “And you, my beauty. Shimmering ebony hair, hsbd-iryt inquisitive eyes.” Iris looked confused by the word, but before she could turn to question her mother, the Queen gently palmed her jaw and whispered, “It means Lapis Lazuli, a most rare and precious new colour we’ve come to call blue in our land.” Iris stood tall, her cheeks blossoming like plump apples.

The Queen concluded her observations. “And my dear, you exude strength and intelligence, I must say for I would know. Clearly, you are Iris.” Not to be outdone, Iris curtsied and batted her eyes at her sister. Siri, with arms tightly crossed, huffed with a playful mixture of envy and pride. The room was now graced with the presence of two unfamiliar but delightful daughters before us.

That was all the girls needed to be themselves. Striking poses for the Queen, they began flipping their hair, and, to our shock, started running their fingers through the Queen's long locks. Obviously ‘no one touches the Queen’ was out the window, for she seemed to revel in their attention and their continuous worship of her beauty.

After a few enchanting moments, the Queen stood, and I seized the opportunity to introduce my beloved. My wife, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen and one who never lacked confidence in her appearance, seemed taken aback by the Queen’s presence. She looked star-struck, and her long, curly red hair, now appeared as red as her freckled cheeks.

“Your Highness, may I introduce my wife, Alexandria.”

Alex curtsied. “Your Majesty, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The Queen graciously took my wife's hand, gently lifting her to stand straight. “Please, just Cleo, is fine,” replied the Queen. She stepped back to admire Alexandria’s emerald green dress, which shimmered with candlelit brilliance. The dress, with its intricate patterns, caught the warm illumination perfectly, creating an enchanting aura that made my beautiful Alex appear ethereal. The light green hue danced in the flickering light, accenting her radiant beauty and captivating everyone in the room.

“I have heard rumours of your beauty, and for once, the acclaim is well-deserved,” she said. Alexandria turned to me, her eyes widening in stunned surprise, though to me, it was no surprise.

My bashful wife replied, “You are too kind, Your Maj...”

The Queen raised her hand. “Please, I must insist. Day in and day out, I am Your Majesty; tonight, I would just like to be me, Cleo.”

“Ahem...Well, Cleo,” hesitated Alexandria. “I must say, there is no comparison to your beauty; you are truly stunning.”

Cleo smiled and locked arms with my wife. And like they were best friends, they girlishly pranced to the dinner table, with the Queen placing her hand atop Siri’s head. Siri, in turn, grabbed Iris’ hand, and they all made their way together, I was a lump of coal, an afterthought.

It was a most enchanting evening, a rare respite from the perpetual sense of feeling like outsiders since coming to this foreign land. Cleopatra was a most gracious hostess, managing to transform the palace into a haven of warmth and acceptance. Even dispatching those damn priests when they came in and frightened the girls with those death face tattoos.

In the midst of laughter and camaraderie, Amenemhat’s distraught expression upon departure became a source of amusement, well worth an evening of girls gossiping. Cleopatra shared a fascinating tidbit—the other two priests, were, in fact, the priests of the Dead, Hapuseneb, and Dedi, purportedly practitioners of the arcane arts, adding an intriguing thread to the night’s tapestry.

As the evening carried on, I was not surprised when the Queen and Alex formed a connection. They were as long-lost sisters, kindred spirits, both very strong and opinionated women. Perhaps their immediate bond was reinforced by the fact that my Alexandria was a devoted mother, and Cleopatra was soon to be.

On that initial evening, they giggled as they shared moments of joy, petting each other’s hair and exchanging compliments—women's things. The girls, well, they were closer to Cleopatra's age than my wife, and they absolutely adored the Queen. To them, she was the most beautiful woman they had ever seen, quickly sealing a place in her heart.

It brought solace to a husband and father’s soul, witnessing this genuine friendship taking shape. The assurance that my wife and the girls would have someone and somewhere to turn to when I was out on patrol, was especially crucial. This became even more pressing, considering the relentless thoughts of the looming demon that consumed my every waking moment. For I was certain that pursuing such a beast would not bode well for me or the ones I love, should it become aware of my incessant pursuit.

Months passed, and their bond grew even stronger. The palace doors swung open for us repeatedly, granting special access to my Alexandria into the sanctuary of knowledge—the royal library. Scrolls, ancient whispers of wisdom, found a home in our abode, transforming it into a haven of enlightenment.

The Queen, shrouded in camaraderie, defied the boundaries her regal obligations. With the cloak of friendship, she escaped the palace prison to grace our humble dwelling with her presence. Yet, she wasn’t the sole confidante embraced by my family.

My wife told me of another couple, Iclyte and Maglyn, whom they had encountered during their explorations to immerse themselves in the vibrant culture of Egypt. A couple I begged her to stay clear of, for, as I had come to realize from my men, they were followers of the House of Horus, residing in the exiled city of Bubastis.

She thought I was overreacting. Still, Alex granted me concessions and assured me that, should she and the girls visit Bubastis, they would return home well before nightfall. Much to the glee of Siri, who in her boundless excitement, expressed her love for these visits, where magical feats unfolded—fire materializing from thin air and objects floating without visible strings…The unbridled imagination of children is a cherished and most wonderful gift.

I had to agree. I knew if I did not, she would still go and perhaps not come home before dark, and I did not trust the road to Bubastis at night, given the constant clashes between the two religious sects. In any case, keeping my wife and the girls occupied meant I could investigate, which at times kept me far from home for days. More friends equated to increased safety, especially with the inherent dangers surrounding my quest for answers.

I began tirelessly questioning everyone, with a particular focus on the elusive followers of the Sons of Seth, or Set as known to some. A pattern emerged—a veil of secrecy surrounded them. Whenever I broached the topic of a demon with ram-like horns and hooved feet, their eyes would pop, and a forced grin struggled to conceal an underlying fear behind a twitching chin or lip. It was evident they were somehow involved, and I knew it. And they knew that I knew, maintaining a stoic silence whenever the demon was mentioned, leaving me at a frustrating dead end. This deadlock became an obsession as I relentlessly pursued the elusive truth.

With no leads, I returned to the cave, hoping to come upon the beast or the men that worshipped it—anything that could put me on the path to knowledge. But it was wiped clean; no fire basins, not even a footprint remained. I had to think: who, if they knew something, would be forthcoming? The only word that I understood from that ominous night was Horus. If anyone would say anything, perhaps the followers of the House of Horus would. With that in mind, I began joining my men on their nightly patrols along the road from Alexandria to Bubastis in the east, fully aware of the frequent skirmishes between the two factions.

However, it was not upon said road that I found some answers; it was in Alexandria one night when I came across a follower defacing the temple wall of the Sons of Seth. Facing imprisonment, he began to talk, providing me with a lead, a starting point I had desperately been seeking.

This man, a devoted follower of the House of Horus (HOH), identified the demon as ZOZO. With unwavering conviction, he revealed that the Sons of Set summoned this evil entity, willingly selling their souls, entering a dark pact to gain unimaginable magic and power. Their sinister objective was to wield this newfound strength to destroy the House of Horus and erase its bloodline.

At one time, I would have dismissed these accusations as pure fallacy. However, after witnessing what I have seen, I had to take these allegations seriously. The next step in this perilous journey was clear—confront the man I’ve heard rumoured was at the heart of the mysterious SOS, and one the man I despised the most—the high cleric dog himself, Amenemhat.

I decided that on the eve of my 40th birthday, following the completion of my morning patrol: I would go to the palace and confront Amenemhat, to gain a measure of the man and his knowledge. Understanding that doing so may sever the cherished bonds and friendships my family and I had nurtured with the Queen. The weight of impending revelation bore down on me, a burden too heavy for even the strongest shoulders. Nevertheless, my relentless obsession left me with no choice—I had to unravel the mysteries, regardless of the cost.

Little did I know that this cost was to become far too steep and reap unbearable heartache…

March 1st, 2020

Upon finishing my most recent account of events with Cleopatra and my discovery of the demon’s name…ZOZO, along with the likely influence of that dog of a priest most likely running Sons of Set, Brooklyn and I decided to stop for the day. I told my fiftieth or so granddaughter, that I needed time to recall the next chapter by scanning through my journals. She readily agreed and took to editing and cleaning up the latest manuscript.

Contrary to my statement, time wasn’t what I needed. The memory of what transpired next was forever burned into my soul. An increasing sense of anxiety gripped me as I debated whether to omit my creator’s name or let the cards fall where they may. Knowing that releasing such knowledge would surely cement Brooklyn’s belief in being damned.

Maybe it was her age; being just over 200 years old, she remained entangled in confusion and uncertainty that characterised the early stages of a vampire's existence. Much like I was when I was first turned, she uncontrollably lingered in the sensitive, intensely emotional stage.

Vampires, especially the ones taken in the formative teenage years, undergo a harrowing transformation upon realizing the life they once knew has come to an abrupt end. And that the blood lust that compels them to feed becomes a cruel barrier, preventing them from being near their loved ones. In Brooklyn’s case, this meant she could no longer find comfort and love from her unaware grandmother who raised her, who believed her precious granddaughter’s body had mysteriously gone missing. Thus, on that fateful day, two lives were irrevocably shattered.

This revelation hurls them into a maddening abyss of depression, fuelling an unbridled rage within. The emotional turmoil, coupled with the stark reality of their newfound existence, transforms them into beings pulsating with heightened sensuality and raw, extreme emotions. Conflict clouds their every raging thought, driven by an infantile thirst for blood that incessantly demands satisfaction—a primal need that is never filled.

It’s akin to the desperate thirst experienced after a gruelling battle beneath the scorching sun, where lips become parched, throats tighten, and a relentless craving for liquid dominates every thought, stopping at nothing to be quenched. And when that elixir finally meets a steaming, thirsting body, it’s like melting ice cascading on down your hot throat, across your shoulders, down to the tips of your fingers, until finally reaching the crown of your toes, whereupon your whole body shivers. It’s an ecstasy that chills your very being, and the body sighs with relief, releasing all-consuming tensions as it revives you. It took me millennia and many victims to control the insatiable bloodlust and the tumult emotions that came with being dead—yet immortal.

“Valentine,” her voice echoed down from the second floor of the curved black Kota staircase of our villa-type palazzo.

“Brooklyn?” I responded, standing in the lounge, staring at a painting of Alexandria and the girls protected behind glass. “My loves,” I whispered to them, “I believe I have finally found her. Our family may finally be restored as it should be...”

Sniff…sniff. “Hmmm….” The air carried a hint of anticipation, a subtle mixture of intrigue and uncertainty.

“Brooklyn, we will have a guest,” I whispered, knowing she could hear me. The air, now thick with the scent of blood, stirred my thirst. Blowing a gentle, longing kiss to my family, I headed to the 98.6-degree temperature-controlled cellar, to tame my thirst My probity ensures I never feed on guests or close to home.

Within moments, the thump of a car door echoed, and, through the cellar floor, I perceived the thermal form of circulating warm blood approaching. ‘Da-do-dor-deh-Da-do-dor-deh...’ With my burgundy in hand, I instantly answered the door.

“Good evening,” I said as I raised my glass of swirling sanguine to the impeccably dressed young man.

He stammered, “Um…Guh-good evening, sir. I’m sorry to disturb you at such a time but…”

“Come in, come in,” I offered, gesturing as I walked to the centre of the blood-red-carpeted foyer. Turning back around, I waved the shy lad in with my hand and head, coupled with a slight grin. No need to frighten the young man with fangs. He walked in and got lost in the antiquated beauty of our home. As he made his way to me, the distinct, metallic aroma of his blood saturated the air, a fragrance that surpassed the stale burgundy swishing dormant in my wine glass. The slow, rhythmic heartbeat and the intoxicating allure of his life essence, pulsating through the skin-sheathed veins in his neck, were warm with vitality and far exceeded the lifeless liquid in my hand.

As I fixated on his pulsing neck, resonating with the rhythm of his heart, the temptation to indulge in my home teased at the edge of my restraint. Yet, I would never indulge in my home—not that I’d spill a drop. Nevertheless, I must remain quiescent; it is not in good form to feed in your own backyard.

“American Mid-West?” I questioned, slowly savouring his scent through my nose. He appeared taken aback by my query.

“Must be my accent. Didn’t know it was that thick,” He chuckled.

“Actually, I’m a bit of a connoisseur,” I said, sipping. “Years of practice.”

His face and eyes creased as he searched for my meaning. Unable to find one, he withdrew his curiosity and quietly said as he handed me his card, which read, ‘Antediluvian Antiquities.’ While staring at my lacerating manicure, he cleared his throat. “It means…”

“Yes, I know what it means,” I smirked.

He suddenly jerked back; his eyes widening in startled shock. “AH!...What the…” His shriek echoed as Brooklyn’s hand, seemingly out of nowhere, dropped from his shoulder.

“Oh…Oh—jeez. What-Wow…I-I mean, sorry, I um...I-ah… I didn’t see—um.” His mouth twitched from a smile to a touch of fear as he anxiously scanned the surroundings, attempting to decipher where she came from. Mere paces away from the imposing, intricately hand-carved African Blackwood door, he was sure he firmly closed, intensifying his confusion.

“How did you…I didn’t see you there, or even hear you coming…” Brooklyn casually took a sip of her self-brewed claret and vainly leaned in, whispering with a mischievous grin, “Probably the carpet.” She smiled a knowing smile before gracefully coming to stand beside me, still sipping her claret.

Though it was only a brief moment, we lingered in the charged atmosphere and waited for what seemed like a mortal lifetime until his gaze reluctantly detached from the allure of Brooklyn’s, form-fitting, bright red leggings and ab-revealing tattered white t-shirt; poor old St Nick would not approve.

With a subtle motion, he indicated the card he had handed me. “Ah-I’m…” This poor stammering man could not control his lasciviousness—to become just another victim of Brooklyn, which she recognized with a subtle, restrained grin as she sipped, and her cat-like green eyes creased in amusement.

The air thickened with anticipation as we savoured the thumping heartbeat of silence with each grinning sip. As his humiliation rose to roseate his cheeks, he continued.

“I’m Paul Stratt.” I let out a long, chest-deflating sigh. “Um…yeah, so, as I said, I apologize for the…” He mumbled, trying desperately to avoid looking up.

“You said that,” Brooklyn gibed, forcing him to look up at her as she licked her rouge, snowflake-sprinkled lips—a move that seemed to loosen poor Paul’s jaw and tongue, prompting him to stammer, once again as I closed my rolling eyes.

I glanced at Brooklyn’s grinning, teasing face. Paul’s palpitating heart quickly warmed his blood like a volcano of iron, filling the air with its sweet intoxication that aroused my senses, entreating me to lick it from my lips. And here we go again.

Weanlings, as Brooklyn is, are harassed by an insatiable sexual drive, an uncontrollable force at her age. Alongside this come the side effects—overwhelming the senses with lustful pheromones. However, peril lay in that she would most surely kill him in that moment of pleasure.

And just when the charged air had reached its climax, I took Brooklyn's hand, startling her just before her eyes completely changed to their void blackness. “Brooklyn,” I said, my voice steady but with an underlying urgency, “Dear girl, you're looking quite flush. Maybe you should go, “I insisted. “I can take it from here.” She did not budge, so I squeezed her hand. In a huff, she flung her long black hair around and stormed away, casting a lingering look back at poor, lust-filled Paul, as she euphorically bit her bottom lip.

If he only knew how dangerously close he was. Judging by the look on his lustful face, I’d say he wouldn’t have cared. “It’s ok, Paul. Please continue,” I said, breaking the spell that gripped his desire, releasing his fiery heart from its trance and taming the semi-grown bulge in his dress pants.

As he gulped, anxiously searching for Brooklyn in the dimly lit room, he stammered, “Are you, Mr. Val…Valentine…” His uncertainty hung in the air. “Just Valentine is fine,” I confirmed with a welcoming smile.

Paul nodded hesitantly. “Very good,” he said, “I was told, Mr. Valentine, that you’re the one to seek for procuring certain antiquities?”

I leaned in, causing him to instinctively lean back. “That depends on what you are looking for, young man?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Paul’s voice dropped to a whisper, amplifying the mystery of his visit. “I’ve heard that if anyone were to have this, it would be you, Sir. I am desperate to find relics from the 15th century, specifically from Vlad Tepes and the Order of…”

“The Order of the Dragon…” I avowed.

“Yes, yes. Very good, so you do know of the Order?” He asked surprisingly.

I smiled and snickered, “Ohh, yes. Of the Order, and of Vlad.” At the time, I thought he was a narcissistic young man, presuming only he would know of the order.

Paul chuckled as he tried staring into my eyes. “Sounds like you knew him…Ha-ha.” His brow clenched when I just stared blankly back at him and emotionlessly answered, “I do....” Paul's face dropped, and his skin ran cold, sending prickly shivers up to his neck as I continued. “I do have, let’s see. I have a long spear. I don’t think it was used, but I could be mistaken; he did go through quite a few of them.” Paul looked even more dumbfounded. “HA!” I chuckled and rolled my eyes, “You know Impaler’s and their spears.”

Paul chuckled nervously, “Ha-ha. Yeah…of course. Ha-ha.” At that moment, whether my knowledge extended beyond mere tales or not, remained a mystery, leaving Paul with a lingering sense of uncertainty. And I chose to let his wonder persist.

“And, I have, oh, yes, Mr Pratt, you will like this very much. I have a beautiful red leather cuirass with a dragon stamped at its centre.”

Paul’s mouth dropped. “Seriously?” This poor lad needed to get out more, he needed a life; for I do believe I saw a tiny tear form. By the time I was his age, I had conquered armies in a handful of countries and made Kings kneel before me. Such are the young of this day.

“I have no need to lie,” I assured him. “You can have them tested if you like. However, they are currently in England.”

“No, no, I didn’t think you were lying,” he clarified, his eyes wide with excited assurances.

“I know, Paul,” I snickered and tapped his shoulder, “Just messing with you.”

“Then, that would be amazing, Sir!” Burst Paul. “How much are you looking for the cuirass?”

“No less than two million pounds,” I asserted, a declaration that extinguished the flames of his earlier enthusiasm. His face, once a glow, now clouded with disappointment. His once racing heart had instantly slowed to a sombre tempo as he solemnly inquired, “Ouch. And the spear?” He asked, his doe-like eyes holding a glint of hope.

“One million.”

He closed his eyes, a momentary retreat, and then opened them, exhaling audibly through his nose. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I am new in the field, and unfortunately, I do not have the necessary funds at the moment. I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience and waste of your time.”

“Not at all,” I replied, my mind pondering the word, ‘Time.’ I often drift into contemplation when conversations lose my interest.

Once, time held profound meaning, meticulously counting down my mortality as it drained the very essence of my existence. Like a master sculptor, it chiselled delicate strokes on my skin, leaving behind a mould of creases and blemishes, each telling a story of years lived. Bones, once sturdy pillars, succumbed to the relentless march, becoming as brittle as dried-out branches, crackling with each movement—a reminder of my mortal time.

Muscles, once robust and resilient, whispered and protested, ‘I can’t do that.’ A symphony of resistance to tasks that were once an afterthought, a reminder of the vitality relinquished. The mind, that intricate sculpture of memories and thoughts, danced in and out of focus, a fleeting wisp carried away by the winds of uncaring time. The relentless ticking of my mortal clock remained indifferent to my desire for a pause, for a reversal of time, served as a constant reminder that the river of time flows unabated, unsympathetic to my pleas.

Appeals are no longer required, for time has become a tranquil river. The once intricate sculpture, marred by cracks of mortality, has since filled in, rendering the echoes of passing time inconsequential to my immortal existence.

Paul shook my hand and left, visibly diminished I would say.

Now, off to see what Brooklyn wanted before the interruption. Only one place to go nearby in order to cool off. I headed to the basement and sure enough, the false wall of filled oak casks was slightly ajar. Stepping in, onto the dirt floor of the cave I hollowed out so many years ago, I walked over to the 300-foot-deep crevasse, and stepped off, landing gracefully upon one knee a few seconds later, far below. Dusting my pants, I strolled past the 3-foot-wide safe door that only we could open.

In the vast expanse of the mausoleum, I thoughtfully designed ages ago to cradle the departed members of my family through the millennia, she sat at the distant end. The air carried the stale hint of ancient memories, mingling with the soft sombre fragrance of scented candles. Their dancing ambers animating the shadows, cast ethereal echoes of lives once lived and stories untold.

Rows of loculi, like silent sentinels, held the coffins of my kin. Each one bore a profound touch—a glass-encased portrait, capturing their essence as I saw it, flanked by the enduring testimony of their birth and departure from this world. The golden candelabra, standing proudly outside each resting place, cradled three candles whose flickering flames, danced in harmony with the stories carved upon the plaque beneath each loving portrait.

Savouring my enchanted promenade towards Brooklyn, I traced my fingers over beautifully painted hieroglyphs from the Book of the Dead, as well as Christian bible verses etched in gold on the walls. The weight of history walked with me, and I revelled in its sensory tapestry—from the warm embrace of the surroundings to the dancing shadows of a bygone era.

Amid crosses and personal effects of the departed, delicately arranged in glass display cases, I strolled by, cherishing the memories of each one. It was I who tenderly relocated them from their place of burial to rest eternally in the arms of family, hidden and safe from the greedy world above—a world, indifferent to the sanctity of the deceased, caring not for disturbing their peace, in pursuit of erecting condominiums for the living.

In the centre of the room lies my eventual place of rest— an ornate four-person sarcophagus crafted from heavy white stone. The intricately carved lid bears the images of my beloved Alexandria, my precious Siri, and Iris, capturing the essence of those most dear to me; most of whom lay in wait. Their beautifully sculpted representations never fail to bring an instant smile to my face when we engage in our daily conversations. The sarcophagus stands as a testament to the enduring bond we share, preserving their memory as they patiently wait for me.

There she was sitting in the corner of the couch, hugging her legs tightly pressed into her chest. “Brooklyn, listen I didn’t mean to make you leav…”

“It’s ok,” She interceded, “You were right to get me to leave. I would have fuckin killed him, but only after I fucked his brains out and...”

“Brooklyn!” I barked, shook my head and sat next to her as she anxiously trembled. “I told you about that language!”

“Fuck that, Papi!” She snapped back. “Just because you despise profanity and love to talk like you’re all sophisticated like, doesn’t mean I have to. We’re not in the Victorian era, where everyone supposedly talks prim and proper. It’s the 21st century and I’m 22 years old with raging hormones, and like my namesake, I’m from Brooklyn, we say what fuck we want when we want, so please spare me the pompous bullshit.

Intense rage is another uncontrollable symptom that can last many— many centuries. What could I say, she’s young and all the young ones swear these days.

“Listen, I know what you’re going through; I’ve been there myself. It takes a long time to control, but you will believe me.” I tried to comfort her by gently rubbing her leg, but she twisted away and pulled in closer to her stomach. Brooklyn hissed, closed her eyes, and mumbled in frustration, “I’m just so hungry all the time. And the thing is, that guy seemed like such a nice guy and close to the age I was when you…”

She closed then opened her eyes, letting out a huff. “Still, I wanted so badly to kill him and drain him of every drop of blood, ending any hopes and dreams he might have had, even the hopes and dreams his parents or girlfriend had. So many lives I would destroy in that one moment, and it fuckin sucks that I could care less about killing him and destroying theirs.”

Shaking her head and scanning the room she added, “Then, I came down here and looked at our family and realized I will never have that…I’ll never have a boyfriend or a family of my own, and... no children, I’m sure of that. This is it— what you see is it, and it fills me with such fuckin rage, that everything seems to set it off. You could leave a sock on the floor, and I’d be pissed. Someone can look at me, not even in a bad way, just look at me and I’d fly off and want to kill em’…Ahhhhh FUCK!” She then threw a crumpled piece of paper she had clutched near her chest, which I promptly leaned over to retrieve.

“Forget the Val,” she cried as I sat back and began to read.

The words, though not many, were deep, and it hurt me to read her pain.“Brooklyn, did you write this?” She nodded and sunk her head into her knees.

“It’s profound, it’s painful, and I’m sorry I didn’t get it. It’s beautiful.”

How could I have understood her pain? I had a family, a true love, I had it all, and now I’m left with only indestructible memories.

After taking a deep inhale followed by a profound sigh, I vocalized her pain, making it evident that I empathized with her torment she felt compelled to put in words. “I see happiness in holding hands, in a mother's warm embrace, I see happiness in a child’s love as she looks upon her mother’s face, I see happiness all around, and I fear it will never see me.

In an attempt to offer solace, I leaned in for an embrace. However, she raised her hand, to stop me and would have nothing of it. Respecting her boundaries and choosing not to reopen the wounds she so heartfeltly expressed, I opted for a different approach.

“Alright, I won’t talk about what you wrote. As for the anger, the rage, Brooklyn, it will pass, Brooklyn. We’re not so different from any creature out there.” She looked at me sharply “Pssst…What!”

I nodded and lifted my hand. “Just listen for a moment,” Brooklyn grunted, slamming her back into the couch as she clenched her teeth and stared down, yet remained silent.

Continuing, in an attempt to get through to her, I said, “Every living thing kills. Everything wants to survive. It doesn’t matter if it is us or even those ladybugs you love so much. Consider what those cute little bugs do—they attach to a leaf and drain its life, leaving behind a dead black spot. Why? Because it is in its nature to live. That’s it; that’s the purpose of every living thing—survival.

And do not get me started on humans; they are the worst murderers of all. They commit mass murders on a daily basis, killing everything—trees, land, air, the planet. How many millions of animals die each day to feed them? Some animals are slaughtered and then not even eaten; they are discarded, their lives serving no purpose. They’re murdered, and then no one buys them to eat, so they get thrown in the garbage without a second thought. Now that is a SIN.

At least we drink what we need to survive; we don’t waste life. Granted, as nurslings we may sometimes go too far, and our prey dies—it’s unfortunate but it happens.” She sniffled, and this time, she let me gently rub her folded knee.

“Fortunately, you and I have a conscience; some Vampires kill for sport, as I once did. Brooklyn, death does walk close behind us, but we’re just another creature in this circle of life and death, just more powerful. And once you get it under control, you can decide on your prey. Do you think the lion or any predator for that matter cares about what it kills…no, it needs to live so it takes without mercy, young, old, weak it does not matter, all that matters is its survival at any cost.”

I could tell her rational mind was processing what I was saying, and her tortured look was starting to calm. So, I made her a promise, hoping to settle another issue.

“How about this? You are probably right about not being able to have children, but nowadays with the technology we have, maybe, just maybe, with the advances in the science of DNA, there is a way to take your DNA and another’s to create a life that way.” Her eyes lit up as she wiped her wet cheeks, unfolded her legs and turned towards me. “Papi, you are a genius,” she said, her tone spirited. “I never even considered that. I'm going to do some research tonight. OK?”

“Of course,” I smiled and rubbed her leg. “But Brooklyn, we don’t know for…”

“I know Papi, but there is hope, right? And like you’ve always said, as long as there is hope, you should never give up or give in.” A smile erupted on my face as I shook my head... ‘she remembered.’

Not wanting to dwell on this, I let her delve into her research and discover for herself. I simply wanted to plant the seed of hope, hoping it would take her mind off all the negativity she was feeling and focus on the potential positive.

“Brook, what did you want earlier, before Paul arrived?”

“Oh, oh-yeah. So, the first chapter of our book has been published online. We’ve already got a few readers from around the world, which is good,” she said, enthusiasm evident.

“I finished submitting chapter 2, and I’m hopeful it will attract even more eager readers wanting to find out what happens next. As we saturate the online magazines, I believe our readership will steadily grow, broadening our audience. Our goal of reaching out and finding others like us will become more likely…and hopefully even Him.”

I knew there were plenty of others like us, but those I have met have left a sour taste, quite literally. Maybe she will have better luck. Anyway, I nodded and grinned slightly, “Good, Good. Either way, though, one day I’ll find him. It’s just a matter of time…and time, I have.”

All this tension and conversation brought about heavy eyes and a stretch. “Well, I’m off to bed. Can you do me a favour when you're doing your research tonight?” I asked.

“Of course,” Brook replied, looking at me quizzically.

I handed her Paul’s card, a small piece of mystery nestled between my fingers. “I’d like to find any information on him,” I confessed. “I find it strange that he travelled all the way here from America just to inquire about antiques seems peculiar, why the journey? A simple email or call to the office would have sufficed. There’s something more to this—this Mr. Stratt.

“Maybe he’s old school like you, Papi,” she chuckled. “You know, rather be face-to-face for business. Respect and all that bullshit...Ha-ha. I mean, look at how dapper he was in his three-piece suit. Remind you of anybody? Ha-ha.”

As I made my way out, I added, “Hmph. Maybe. I kinda felt bad for him after he left. He looked so dejected, and I sensed such sadness in him. I’m just curious; anything you can find.”

“You! Felt bad. Well, he must be quite something special to leave such an impression. I'll do what I can, Papi. Have a good sleep.”

There was something about Paul that eluded me, I couldn’t put my finger on it, some kind of connection or something. Hopefully, with some sleep, things will become clearer. “You too, have a good sleep.”

The percolating sound of chirping birds, skittering insects, and industrious spiders gracefully weaving their webs, roused me to open my eyes and direct my gaze towards the large bay window that dominated my room, offering a view of the warming sun slowly rising behind the evergreen treeline that bordered my land.

The sun’s intense radiance breathed life into my cold, dead face, enticing me to linger in the moment. However, it was a new day, and my curiosity propelled me to seek out Brooklyn for answers about the enigmatic young man, Paul, and to resume our story— a tale that has brought a much-needed reminder of the love I once shared. I can only hope that what she learns today will not drag her back into the abyss of feeling damned.

Slipping on my cushy white cotton robe, I headed downstairs to the solarium, guided by the sweet aroma of sanguine infused with Arabica that awaited me across the table from Brooklyn.

“Mornin’, Papi.”

“Good morning, Brooklyn. I trust you slept well.”

“Actually, didn’t sleep. Was up researching Paul, when I stumbled upon a fascinating new procedure called maternal spindle transfer, where they use the DNA from two mothers, one with bad eggs …me... and one with healthy ones. They take my bad chromosomes and spindle them into a healthy egg, then the father fertilizes it. Cool, no?”

Too early for this brain-racking. “You lost me at spindle,” I grinned as I closed my eyes and savoured the warm blood coursing down the confines of my throat, a cascade of heat melting the icy chill in my veins as it thawed and awakened every molecule of my being, from the hollow of my throat down to the edge of my very toes.

Hyper-excited, Brooklyn pushed out a simple cackle, waking me from my bliss.

“I need to make some calls later, to order the DNA kit. I also...” she sighed, “I was also reading up on vampires to see if there are any references to childbirth. But, you know, according to what I have read, we have no souls, and that our bodies are dead, so we cannot give life. But it was old stuff, just books people wrote—nothing with actual science, just the old myths and fears people used when they couldn’t explain things, like animals or people drained of blood…so…”

I was surprised that, that didn’t seem to bring her down; she looks in a promising mood today. Still, I wanted to pass on some of what I believe. “B, do not believe everything you read about vampires; most of it is made up to sell those movies and books you like. Like we have an aversion to crucifixes, or we have no mirror image…Blah-blah-blah.”

Brooklyn suddenly snorted, “Oh, God, what would you do if you couldn’t see your reflection, Papi? Ha!”

“Please, girl. You are way worse than me. I just like to look proper when I go out. You, on the other hand, go over every inch of yourself. One hair out of place, and your screamin’.” Mocking her rolling eyes, I grinned as she looked down at the table, trying to hide her gleaming grin behind a sip.

And so, I offered up my beliefs, hoping to inform hers. “Maybe our bodies are dead. As for our souls, I believe a soul is just energy, a living force, so to speak. And when the body dies and is no longer capable of animation, this energy can either become part of the cosmic consciousness that is all around us, or it can stay on earth and manifest itself at times, or transfer into another body.”

“You mean like become a ghost?” Brooklyn asked, placing her cup down, a look of curiosity and interest, now occupying her face.

“Yeah, a ghost, spirit, orb of light etc…Or maybe like what happened to us. Instead of this energy, or soul, leaving a dead body that can no longer sustain it, it stays with us. Even though we are supposedly dead, it stays because it can still feel, touch and participate in daily life and all the emotions that come with being alive.

And why wouldn’t it stay? We vampires have an even better chassis. It’s like trading in a bicycle for a Ferrari. Why would it move on from such an evolved form that is extremely sensitive, with all our heightened senses and strength, emotions etc…It wouldn’t. It would want to remain in that powerful body and experience all it has to offer. Well, that’s what I think, anyways.”

Brooklyn looked lost as she stared at me dead-faced and slack-jawed. “Wow, seriously, Papi, you really have too much time on your hands, haven’t you?” We shared a laugh then Brooklyn suggested, “So, yeah…um. How about we move on? It’s way too early in the morning, and this is way too deep for me...He-he.”

I agreed with a nod and smile and took a sip of my elation as I offered my palm up for her to go on.

“So, as I looked into that guy, Paul Stratt.”

“Yeah, yeah. Good, and?” I asked, most curious to see if my instincts about him had any merit.

“Well, I think you were right in what you felt, that there was some baggage or should I say, pain there. When he was thirteen, he, his mother, father, and sister were in a terrible car accident. The father and younger sister died. Shortly after his mother went into a deep depression.” My mouth twisted as I shook my head. “Understandable.”.

Brooklyn bit her lower lip and shared a hint of sadness that had taken over her face. “Not done…Two years ago, his mother was diagnosed with ALS.” Meeting Brooklyn’s gaze, I found myself frozen in thought as I shook my head and murmured, “Wow!”

Brooklyn stared off into the distance as she continued. “He started this business from the antiques his father had and has been trying to get it going in order to pay the hospital bills and medication etc…” I remained focused on the table, absorbing the weight of the information, realizing that I had pegged him wrong; He, like I, truly loves family and would do anything, go anywhere to try and ease their pain, their suffering.

“He has had it rough; I tell ya, Papi. Now I’m really glad you told me to leave last night. If I would have killed him…. Ugh…”

“Papi?”

“Val?”

Exhaling, I looked up. “No, Papi, you’re not considering…” The dilemma was evidently written across my focused face.

“No, no. I wouldn’t do that,” I assured her. “I’d have to turn her, to cure her, and he would still lose his mother; she’d probably end up killing him, so…No.”

“I have to think…” I said, as my mind raced for a solution.

Brooklyn smiled and said, “I knew when I told you, you’d want to do something. I could tell even last night when you met him that you felt something for this guy.”

“Yeah, I felt such pain and saw it in his eyes but wasn’t sure if it was just a front. Now I know it wasn’t. Thank you, Brook.”

“Ok, Ok. Enough sad thoughts for today. I wanna get to the next part of what happened. I want to know what happened when you went to see that priest—what’s his name?”

The mention of that dog left a sour taste in my mouth. “Yeah, Him... Amenemhat!” I sneered with disdain.

We got up and headed for the study to continue.