Before I knew my name, I knew the weight of a crown.
I envision the sun above me as supreme, a molten god I once prayed to, and beneath my feet lies a palace floor carved with symbols I haven't seen in this lifetime, yet somehow understand.
I know this place.
A roar rises around me: thousands of voices chanting a name I have not heard in centuries. My name. The air trembles with devotion, with fear, with destiny. The golden crown weighs heavy, but heavier still is the certainty that something catastrophic is coming.
I remember the rise of my kingdom, the fall. Not as history, not as myth, but as lived truth. Love. Victory. Fire. Betrayal. A blade glinting in torchlight.
I was Queen. I was Pharaoh.
My heart hammers.
Because now I'm sure of it, these aren't dreams, fantasies or stress induced hallucinations. They're memories. Echoes. Warnings.
And my past life, the one buried beneath thousands of years of shifting desert, is rising again. The truth that is ready to be echoed into existence, once and for all.
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