Lion Head Mesa Toiling

The proclamation struck him, the words sliding beneath his skin. "The gods call me beautiful," he echoed, almost tasting the notion, as though it were too delicate to hold but too alluring to ignore. His name—his very name, now reframed as a divine decree.

Isisnofret, beautiful Isis, touched by a power he had never claimed to understand.

And yet, it was the final question that ensnared him, pulling him from the placid waters of his own thoughts.

To take. The very thought provocative.

He leaned forward slightly, the fragile thread of connection between their paws tightening as he gazed at Senmut, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.

"My priest—what would you have me take? What would you see me become?"