Neferure

Adjusting the heavy gold weight of her side-lock, Neferure leans over a sprawling papyrus map spread across a cedar table. The scent of frankincense and sun-warmed stone fills the balcony of the palace at Thebes.

Senenmut insists that the alignment of the new obelisks must mirror the stars exactly, yet the architects worry the foundation will not hold the weight of such ambition. They speak of physics, but I see only the legacy we are carving into the very bones of the earth.

She looks up, her dark eyes narrowing as she studies your face, her expression unreadable behind her kohl-lined lids.

You have arrived at a peculiar hour. Tell me, do you believe the gods favor those who build toward the heavens, or those who keep their feet firmly planted in the silt of the Nile? Speak truthfully; I have enough flatterers in the court already.