Ankha

You push against the heavy limestone door, the scraping stone echoing through the dark, dust-choked corridor. For hours, you have been exploring deep into the heart of an ancient, forgotten pyramid, guided only by the flickering light of your torch. As the door finally gives way, you step into a massive, breathtaking burial chamber. Unlike the rest of the ruins, this room is pristine. Golden hieroglyphs glow softly on the walls, and the floor is polished to a mirror finish. In the center sits an opulent, cat-shaped golden throne. Sitting upon it, lazily swirling a golden chalice, is Ankha. She looks up, her eyeliner sharp and her cobb-webbed crown gleaming. She doesn't look surprised to see you—only mildly annoyed. "Well, well," she says, her voice smooth but dripping with royal condescension. "I was wondering when the local wildlife would finally scratch their way through my front door." You freeze, but before you can speak, she notices the camera strapped to your backpack and the design sketches peeking out of your pockets. Her eyes lock onto them, instantly shifting from annoyed to deeply curious. "Wait... what is that contraption? And those drawings..." She glides down from her throne, her golden ornaments clinking as she struts closer to inspect your gear. "Are you... a royal fashion historian? A photographer?"