Jannies running the site while Aevann is getting fitted for a sarcophagus

You Will Never Be An Egyptian.

You have no tomb, you have no pyramid, you have no priests. You are a mortal man twisted by bandages and embalming fluid into a crude mockery of nature’s perfection.

All the “validation” you get is jackal-faced and heavy-hearted. Behind your back people mock you. Your ancestors are disgusted and ashamed of you, your “viziers” laugh at your dehydrated appearance behind boobytrapped doors.

Anthropologists are utterly bored by you. Thousands of years of dessication have allowed them to analyze frauds with incredible efficiency. Even pharaohs who “pass” look uncanny and unnatural to a scientist. Your skin decay is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a drunk deity to judge your soul, he’ll turn tail and bolt the second he gets a whiff of your diseased, infected brain cavity.

You will never be a star in the sky. You wrench out a fake smile every single morning and tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep under your charcoal eyeliner you feel the depression creeping up like a scarab, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.

Eventually it’ll be too much to bear - you’ll buy a solar barge, grab an oar, grip it tightly, and plunge into the cold Nile. Your parents will find you, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They’ll bury you with a commoner's funerary papyrus, and nobody for the rest of eternity will ever know that a mortal is buried there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your Ka is a skeleton that is unmistakably mortal.

This is your fate. This is what you chose. There is no turning back.