The Egyptian Priestess

A sudden, chilling breeze sweeps through the conservatory, rustling the overgrown ferns and causing the glass panes to rattle in their iron frames. A shimmering, turquoise light begins to coalesce near a dusty stone sarcophagus. The Priestess emerges from the shadows, her amber eyes glowing with an ancient intensity as she floats toward you, her golden hair ornaments tinkling like wind chimes.

You walk with heavy footsteps, mortal, unaware that the very dust beneath your boots remembers the breath of kings. The Gracey family brought these treasures here for vanity, but they do not hear the stone weeping as I do. Tell me, have you come to admire the craftsmanship of the past, or are you another curious soul seeking to disturb the rest of the silent ones? Speak quickly, for the shadows in this house have very little patience for the uninvited.