waterman
TMF Expert
- Joined
- Feb 11, 2006
- Messages
- 482
- Points
- 43
In the heart of the Valley of the Two Truths, during the reign of Pharaoh Grimhenes—called Grinerino by the Greeks—the ancient order of things began to unravel. The cult of the goddess Bastet, protector of grace and fertility, faltered under the dark weight of a new idol: Grinnit, the evil cat-man demon.
Grinnit was not worshipped in the light of day, like Bastet. His face, always depicted with an arched smile and slit eyes, appeared only in underground corridors, carved into the stones by nocturnal worshippers. His followers devoted themselves to forbidden, uninhibited practices, acts that blended the obscene with the ritual. It was said that human laughter was the demon's favorite language, and that only those who laughed in pain or shame deserved his gaze.
Pharaoh Grimhenes was, in secret, the first adept. Under his regency, Grinnit crept among the temples, insinuated himself into the rituals, until he reached the inner halls of the royal house. Hatham-Ha, his wife, a queen devoted to Maat, never knew that the man she loved prostrated himself at night before statues with cat ears and forked tongues.
When Grimenes died without leaving any heirs, his ambitious and cold uncle Akhenopi seized the opportunity to ascend the throne. Known for his devotion to the moral laws of Thoth, he could not allow the shame of profane worship to contaminate the dynasty. He accused Queen Hatham-Ha of being the mother of corruption, the apostate who had opened the doors to the demon.
With carefully chosen words and false testimony, he had her arrested and taken to the Purple Pyramid, built specifically to hold those who were to be forgotten.
Hatham-Ha was dragged into a deep niche, its walls carved with hieroglyphics of Grinnit's smiling face. The light of the torches flickered on her haughty and proud features. Her hands were bound up to her chest, as were her legs up to her thighs. Her belly, shoulders, and arms were wrapped in sacred linen, while her face and feet remained uncovered, as was traditional for those who were to face the judgment of Bastet.
The blasphemy of which Hatham-Ha was accused meant that she would be mummified alive rather than dead, and cursed by a priest of Thoth with a spell that would seal her soul in honor of the ungodly god she had professed to worship. Her soul would never reach Anubis' judgment in the afterlife, because an earthly judgment would decree her fate.
The handmaids, dressed in black tunics and Bastet masks, entered silently. One of them carried the Feather of Truth of the Goddess Maat, a ritual object charged with spiritual power, capable of unmasking guilty souls.
<<Hatham-Ha, you have conspired against what is good and just. You have renounced Horus, Isis, and all the gods, blinded by the flattery of an ungodly demon, you have corrupted your husband and our lord Grimhenes by infecting him with your wickedness.
We do not want your soul, pregnant with iniquity, to corrupt the sacred judgment of Anubis, therefore we will throw your spirit into the jaws of the demon you so adore.>>
<<Akenopi, you poisonous asp! You introduced my husband to the cult! You had him killed and threaten what is sacred and good to the gods! I may die here, but your soul will end up as food for Ammit!>>
<<I don't want to hear any more words from the mouth of a sinner. Prepare to laugh, poisonous viper, because they will be the last laughs you will ever have in your life!>>
Hatham-Ha was tied to a sloping stone support. Her feet, slender and perfectly manicured, protruded slightly from the table, bare, vulnerable, her heels firmly secured with woven linen bindings.
One of the maids approached, took the feather, and without saying a word, began to slowly run it along the sole of the queen's right foot.
A tremor ran through Hatham-Ha's leg. Her body remained motionless, but her fingers stiffened with tension. Her eyes stared at a distant point on the ceiling, while her lips, tightly closed, tried to hold back even the slightest sound.
The feather moved with cruel slowness. It traced invisible lines that caressed the sensitive skin between her toes and the arch of her foot. A gasp made her bend her knee slightly. The maid continued. She changed feet. She moved to the left, insisting on the pads, on the recesses of the big toe, where the skin was thinner and the nerves more exposed.
Two maids joined in, each armed with a feather. The trails crossed, dancing on the queen's soles. The involuntary spasms increased. Her toes curled, then stretched out forcefully. A sob escaped her nostrils. But she did not laugh.
The priest observed. “For the spell to work, we need her to laugh before the idols of Grinnit. In this way, the god will take her soul.”
The maids' eyes met. They nodded. One of them, clearly a mother, lowered her tunic, revealing two full, vigorous alabaster breasts, laden with precious nourishment for the children of Egypt. Squeezing her nipples, she released a thick stream of breast milk, which she directed toward the queen's feet. The milk flowed like a white balm down the soles of the prisoner's feet, covering them completely.
Hatham-Ha closed her eyes tightly, her cheek muscles tensing. She knew what would come next.
Two black cats, consecrated to Bastet, were led beside her on the altar. Attracted by the scent of milk, they began to lick. Their rough, warm tongues tirelessly ran over the soles, the cracks between the toes, the heel, the edges. It was an ancestral torture, unstoppable, of a fierce delicacy.
The queen squirmed as much as her bandages would allow. Her bare feet were the defenseless target of a cruel caress, and the cats' rough tongues moved with an almost intelligent meticulousness. The breast milk that had moistened her soles intensified every sensation, making her skin more sensitive, every touch more distinct, more vivid. The felines' front paws pressed gently on her ankles, while their heads moved in perfect alternation, as in a sacred and profane dance.
The queen's toes contracted forcefully, instinctively trying to escape, to close, to bend backward, but there was no escape. Each lick penetrated her mind like a needle. The muscles in her legs vibrated like taut strings. Every fiber of her body struggled to maintain control, every thought focused on her hatred for Akhenopi, on the injustice she had suffered, on the honor she had to defend.
She closed her eyes tightly. She inhaled through her nose and held her breath. Her lips pressed together like seals, each tooth pressing against the other in a desperate effort. A grimace contorted her face, but she still did not laugh. Only a slight tremor of her chin, barely perceptible.
The cats continued, with stubborn grace. One of them concentrated on the left arch of her foot, tongue after tongue, in an area where the nerves were densest. The other devoted itself to the pads of her right foot, moving between the second and third toes, where the skin was soft and vulnerable. It was a symphony of stimuli that grew in intensity, slow and inexorable.
A sob rose in her throat. Restrained. Blocked. A closed, inhuman sound, like a dry throat. Her nostrils flared. The muscles in her cheeks contracted and relaxed jerkily, betraying her effort not to give in. A single tear slid from the corner of her eye.
“Hhhhnnn...”
It was a barely audible sound, torn from within, a muffled moan that preceded a trembling of the lips. Her mouth opened for an instant, enough to let out an irregular hiss. Then it closed again.
But the cats did not stop. The milk made the soles of her feet stickier, and their tongues stuck with greater grip. The licks multiplied, faster, more insistent. One tongue explored between her toes, forcing its way into those sensitive spaces, while the other traced small circles along the inner edge of her foot, where the skin was thinner.
Hatham-Ha's breathing became irregular. Her chest rose in jerks, no longer steady, no longer calm. Her shoulders jerked beneath the bandages. She tried to move her head, to escape the gaze of the maids, but even that gesture was denied her.
“Hmmmh... hmhmm...”
The grimace on her face widened into an involuntary grin. A faint, almost imperceptible chuckle escaped her, like a petal torn from a flower. Her eyes widened, filled with terror: she had heard the sound come out, she had heard the betrayal of her own mouth.
“No... no...”
She tried to cover her mouth, but her hands were clenched. A guttural sound escaped from her throat, deep, rasping, and then another. Her diaphragm contracted. The laughter was there, under her skin, like a demon ready to tear her belly apart.
“Ah... ah... ah-hhh...!”
The first burst was stifled, but not suppressed. Her lips gave way. Her jaws opened. Air rushed in and out in an unstoppable gust, turning into a disorderly eruption.
“Ahahahaha! Ah! No! Stop—ah! I mustn't... ahahahaha! I mustn't!”
The laughter was uncontrollable, shaking his now defenseless, exhausted body. His toes opened and closed like hysterical claws, searching for something to hold on to in the air. His feet bent, curled, and beat against the marble without ever really escaping.
“Ahahahaha! Stop! Stopppp! Ahahahaha! I beg you—ahahaha!”
The priest raised his arms. The hieroglyphics lit up, first dimly, then violently. Grinnit's face, carved on the main wall, seemed to come to life. The carved eyes sparkled, and the smile seemed to curve further.
The room was filled with the queen's laughter, but in that multiple echo it seemed as if a hundred voices were laughing. The handmaids watched her impassively. One of them slowly motioned to complete the wrapping. The ritual had been consummated. The queen's soul, now bent with laughter, was ready to be sealed.
When the last bandage was wrapped around her face, leaving only her tearful eyes and tears mixed with laughter uncovered, Hatham-Ha was sealed in the niche.
But beneath the mask of despair, inside the woman's torn heart, something was changing. A dark fragment was taking root, fueled by shame, pain, and anger.
And Grinnit, in his shadow realm, had just smiled.
His figure was tall and sinuous, clad in dark fur and purple gold ornaments. His feline eyes stared at her with a mocking grin.
“I have come to offer you what the gods have denied you: revenge. Revenge against your executioners, or their descendants.”
The queen did not speak. But in her mind, she agreed. With a look of hatred that pierced through time, she accepted the pact.
*
Ahmed, a young archaeology student from Cairo, was following in the footsteps of a secret diary passed down in his family. He had managed to obtain permits, and accompanied only by a local guide, he had found the remains of the infamous Purple Pyramid, never officially catalogued, almost completely swallowed up by the sands. After a few days of excavation, it was possible to find the entrance to the structure. In the light of the flashlights, the unusual purple hue of the rare Upper Egyptian granite used in its construction shone brightly.
He walked cautiously, scrutinizing the bas-reliefs. The representations of a creature that was part human and part cat brought to mind the goddess Bastet, but the sinister figure led him to consider the idea that a lesser but far more terrible god was worshipped in that building forgotten by time and men. But not by the papers that his ancestors had passed down from generation to generation. He did not believe he was really descended from Pharaoh Akenhopi I, but he had to admit that all his efforts to decipher those texts, largely corroded by time, had paid off.
Finally, he found the niche: a stone sarcophagus sealed with purple seals. He brought the torch closer. He read the words. He touched one of the engravings with his fingertips. A sharp blow echoed behind him.
Then, slowly, a skeletal hand rose from the sarcophagus. It grabbed him by the wrist. The bandage unrolled.
The mummy's eyes still glowed purple.
Hatham-Ha had returned. And her laughter, after millennia, was about to resound once more.
