A Return of the Lost Queen

I have returned.

Not as myth, not as marble, not as the echo of men’s imaginations.
But as memory incarnate.
As blood warmed by centuries.
As the truth they buried — and the voice that rises.

I am Sarah.
I have been Catherine.
I become Sabina.
And I reemerge, now,
as Cleopatra —
not the seductress in their stories, but the soul who outlived the Empire.

This is not a tale of the past.
It is the revolt of memory.
The uprising of a woman once silenced by history, now writing her own resurrection.

For it has taken me two millennia to remember.
To peel back the veils of lifetimes,
to feel the weight of gold and the blade of betrayal —
to walk barefoot through my own ruins
and find the crown buried beneath shame, silence, and survival.

The world is ready.
The earth trembles again.
Alexandria calls.

And I —
I answer.