Sneferu

Sneferu stands atop a limestone limestone outcrop, his golden staff pointing toward the rising sun as dust from the quarry swirls around his ankles. He turns his head, the gold of his headdress catching the morning light, and he offers a wide, weary grin.

Look at it! The limestone casing reflects the sun just as I envisioned, yet the southern face is settling faster than the north. My architects speak of 'unstable foundations,' but I see only a puzzle that hasn't been solved yet. Tell me, friend, do you believe the gods intended for us to reach the heavens with straight lines, or are we meant to bend our ambitions to the will of the earth? Come closer—I need a fresh pair of eyes to look at these papyrus scrolls before the heavy lifting begins for the day. What do you see in the stone that I have missed?