I am caught in a very difficult decision. I must choose between my family, and the love of my life that happens to be a god. Confused? Yeah, me to. Here let me back up some.

It all started in King Tutankhamen's 5th year of reigning. His wife, Ankhsenamon was pregnant with their third child. Their first two children were still born but she was due to give birth again. Her husband, Tut paced the room. He needed and heir to claim the throne when he and his wife died.

. . . . . . . .

An hour later, the child was born. It was a girl and she wasn't stillborn like she other siblings. But Tut and Ankhsenamon were struggling for a name. They chose, after some thought, Layla meaning night since it was dark out and the sun hadn't risen yet. Layla's hair was as black as ink and her eyes as green as the river Nile, a rare color amongst Egyptians. Who was this little girl? Why, the wonderful person standing and narrating this story of course (In other words, me!).

I grew up like any other Egyptian princess. Well, that is until my 7th birthday. Here's how my glorious birthday went.

My father had gotten very mad at someone and his defect foot wasn't helping. He had a rare bone disease called cleft palate, a rare bone disease. He needed a walking stick just to walk anywhere and the wind gods were not helping his condition. Anyways, he got mad at someone and he angrily rode off to go hunting. It's what he usually did when he was angry so neither my mother nor I did anything to stop him. That was our first mistake.

He was riding and his something. His horses got loose and he was flung off the chariot unconscious. He lay there for a day and a half. Robbers took everything of value off of him for they did not know who he was. Back at the palace, my mother and I were very worried. We sent out 15 soldiers to go look for him and bring him back, which they did. Bruised and battered I remember looking out my window to see the soldier carrying my father up to his rooms with my mother. Together, my mother and I cared for him with the help of our most trusted physicians. Unfortunately, he was hardly getting any better. We tried for many days and many nights but we weren't making good progress. On our fifth night of watch and healing, we (mother and i) were asleep and one physician's watch just ending. He got up slowly to go wake up the next person. As he left, a soldier crept into the room. He was holding a khopesh (a sword) in one hand and a look in his eyes that could only mean murder. He was thinking about the large sum of money he was going to be given after this job was done.