The Missing Princess
- Genre: Romance
- Age: 18+
- Status: Completed
- Language: English
- Author: Asmaa Nada
Isis Ra—yes, this is my name; they also call me the lost princess; my name and my story were built on the walls of museums; historians carved myths around my lost cemetery; and the retribution told stories of my ability to return from death. But no one confirmed my existence in my time—my death—and no one could at any time deny the signs of my existence. As for the reasons he sought to return to life, there were many sayings among historians, between the love of eternity and my search for true love.
At the moment, Mr. Malcolm Ross was a lawyer, but he was very interested in the science of the Egyptians, and after he got a good base of information, he directed others to collect the materials necessary for the work that should unite the research of Psius, the creators, and Champlion. And who necessitated the preparation of this wonderful work made many quick visits to the wonderful Egyptian groups in the Louvre, and he was involved in the most strange adventures after his return.
One evening, everything seemed so real that I could hardly believe that something had originally happened; however, every incident came not as a logical step or a new step but as something expected to happen. It is wise to play memory in return for good or evil, for fun or pain, for happiness or misery, and so life is sweet and bitter, and what happens becomes eternal.
The light-moving boat stopped through the calm waters, as if the oars were flashing and dripping, and it crept from the violent sunlight of July to the cold shade of the lambs. She sat in the swinging boat with skilled fingers protecting herself from stray moving branches, and again the water turned golden under a semi-transparent green umbrella. The bank of the waterway filled with herbs was of emerald color.
We waited again in the cold shade, with the myriad sounds of nature merging into that sleepy buzz that, in an adequate environment, can make one forget the big world with its troublesome problems and its most disturbing joys. In that blessed isolation, the little girl lost the traditions of her narrow upbringing, and she told me in a natural and dreamy way of the unity in her life. With her sad feelings, she made me feel how every family member in that spacious house is isolated because of her father's ego and prides itself on admitting loneliness. Flight seconds multiplied indefinitely.
Because in the pillars of dreams, existence, like a musical spirit, is merged into a state of straying, and so the memory recedes over and over during sleep, It seems that there is no complete rest even in the gardens of Aden; the snake looks at its head from among the branches of the tree of knowledge; the silence of the dream-free night is broken by the roar of the avalanche.
Sudden flood hissing rings the engine bell, indicating its sweep of a sleeping American city; the distant oars click over the sea, and no matter what, it breaks the magic of Aden; it seems that the umbrella of green spaces is above us. Decorated with diamond light points, it trembles at the continuous paddle rhythm; the turbulent bell appears as if it will never stop.
The doors of sleep were wide open once, and my alert ears were greeted by annoying sounds; there was insistence behind the constant click of the door when thinking about someone's need for me. I was without premeditation outside the bed, instinctively looking at my watch, where it was three in the morning. I went in a nightgown and slippers to the hall door, and when I opened it, a man in his body was standing in front of me, knowing that he was the butler of a family, and he was pressing one of his hands without hesitation on the electric bell. As he hit the other on the door, he made a constant noise.
The moment he saw me stop the noise, he instinctively raised one hand to the edge of his hat, and the other took a message out of his pocket. The horses of the car behind him were breathing hard, as if they had run a long distance.
He said "Sorry, sir, I am sorry to bother you, but my orders were mandatory: not to leave a moment without knocking and knocking until someone comes. May I ask you, sir? If Mr. Malcolm Ross lives here"
"I am Mr. Malcolm Ros"
"So this message is for you, sir"
I took in the curiosity of the message he delivered to me, then I went back to the yard of the house, closed the door but left it without turning the key, and then I turned on the light. The message was from an unknown woman. It immediately started without "my dear master" or any such address:
"You said 'you wanted to help me if you needed it; I think you mean what you say; it is faster than I expected. I am in terrible trouble and do not know where to go or who to seek help from, as my father tried to kill himself; however, thank God, he is still alive but completely unconscious, having been sent to doctors and police; there is no one here I can count on; come immediately if you can; I assume I will later realise what I did in requesting such a service; but for now I can't think; come immediately, please. Margaret Trilloni"
The pain and joy struggled my mind as I read, but the prevailing idea that she was in trouble and she summoned me, my dream was not without reason. So, I went back to the butler and said,
"Wait! I will be with you in a minute!"
Back for the same night, but from centuries past, a nineteen-year-old girl stood inside a research laboratory located in the shrine of the Karnak Temple in southern Egypt. She had completed her studies in several sciences, including human biology.
Astronomy, the sciences of the dead, and its obsession with the challenge of death and the desire for eternity take a deeper form in its mind. She has already started conducting joint research in three sciences so that she can bring life back to her cat's body, which she previously embalmed. She failed a lot of previous times, but this time she had a feeling of success because this day the bright star was perpendicular to the moon, which reinforced her research with the emergence of seven parallel and moon-friendly stars. And they called them the Eternal Life of Osiris, this sacred number that Isis and the priests of the temple considered the number of the greatest fortune was:
"No. 7 is the date of today, and the month is completely compatible with the date at seven in the evening."
Here has brought the seven unique jewels of the stars and prepared the royal cat coffin, as well as this mysterious box that she prepared herself and discussed those symbols herself. And those three lamps, if placed in the right place with the jewel inside their respective places in the box, will definitely work.
Just minutes, minutes, and I started trying it on that mummified cat, its beloved pet cat. The lab was isolated from the rest of the temple's underground areas, and despite the heating from the fire in the fireplace, she felt the cold flowing through the place. Then the lights went out, thick smoke spread, followed by the fire of the fireplace, and darkness prevailed.
"She heard the cat's voice and felt it moving and wiping its head with its foot."
Moments later, the lights returned in the lamps, and the cap was lifted over the cat, but it was still stiff as it was, so it hid everything and put the cap back on the cat again.
In the modern era, I got dressed, carried my bag, and then moved with the butler to her house. We drove quickly along the road as the noise of our well-equipped car started to hollow out the morning air. We went up the Kensington Palace road and now stopped opposite a big house on the left side; it was a really cool house.
Not only in size but also with regard to architecture, even in dim grey light in the morning, which tends to shrink things, the room looked great. Miss Trilloni met me in the hall, and it was not clear to her what her fear was; she seemed to control everything around her with a kind of high-impact dominance.
It was more impressive because she was also somewhat turbulent and faded like snow. In the Great Hall there were many servants; the men were standing together near the door of the hall, and the women clung to each other in the corners and other entrances, and there was a police officer talking to Miss Trilawne.
Two men stood in uniform, and a third in civilian clothes. When I held my hand in a rush of peace, there was a look of relief in her eyes. She gently sighed and said,
"I knew you would come!"
It could mean closing her hand on my hand for a long time, even if it was not intended for anything in particular; her hand was lost in my hand; it was not a small hand. Rather, it was beautiful and flexible, with long, sensitive fingers—a rare and gentle hand; surrender to the unconscious was distracting me, and even though I could not at the moment think about the cause of the excitement that swept me, I was able to pay attention to her movement as she turned and said to the police chief:
"This is Mr. Malcolm Ross"
The police officer saluted him, saying,
"I know Mr. Malcolm Ross, Miss Maybe he will remember that I had the honour to work with him on the Brixton Koning case"
At first glance, I did not notice his identity, as I was paying full attention to Miss Trilawne. I said "
we would shake hands. Of course, Supervisor Dolan, I remember well!"
I can only point out that acquaintance seemed a relief to Miss Trilawne, and there was some kind of mysterious discomfort in her style that caught my attention. I instinctively felt that it would be less embarrassing for her to talk to me alone, so I told the officer:
"It might be better if Miss Trilloni spoke to me on her own for a few minutes; of course, you already told me everything you know, and I will better understand how things go if I can ask her some special questions. I will then talk about the important matter with you if I may"
He warmly answered,
"I would be happy to be of service to you as much as I can, sir."
I followed Miss Trilloni, who moved to an elegant room that opens from the hall and overlooks the garden in the back of the house. When we entered and closed the door, she said,
"I will thank you later for your goodwill in helping me with my problem, but for now, you can help me better when you know the facts."
I said, "Keep going; tell me everything you know, and don't save any details, no matter how trivial they are now.
"Some voices woke me up. I don't know what they were; I just know they came through my sleep. Nevertheless, I found myself awake at once, and my heart was beating hard. He listened anxiously to some of the sounds from my father's room, which is the next room next to my room. I can often hear him moving before I go to sleep; he works late at night, sometimes really late, so when I wake up early, as I do sometimes, or in the darkness of dawn, I hear him still moving.
I once tried to oppose him staying up late because it couldn't be good for him. But I never risked repeating the experience again. You know how very angry it can be. At least you may remember what I told you about: when he is polite in this mood, he is scary; when he's angry, I can't stand it; and also when it's slow and deliberate.
And he raises the side of his mouth up to show sharpness. I think I feel... hmm, well, I don't know how! Last night, I quietly got up and stole the hearing from the door because I was really afraid to bother him. There was no noise or movement, and no kind of noise at all. But there were some clouds and slow, heavy breathing.
Oh! It was terrible, waiting there in the dark in silence and fear. I didn't know what kind of fear I had. Finally, I was encouraged, so I turned the handle as quietly as possible and then opened the door a little bit. The place was completely dark on the inside; I could only see the window diagram, but in the darkness, the sound of breathing became clearer.
It was awful, and while I was listening to this continuing sound and there was no other sound, I pushed the door open at once. I was afraid to open it slowly. I felt as if there was something terrible behind him, ready to pounce on me! Then I turned on the light bulb, and I entered the room, first looking at the bed and the sheets, which were completely wrinkled, until I learned that my father was in bed. But there was a large dark red spot in the middle of the bed, and it spread to its edge, which made my heart almost stop, and while I was checking it, the sound of breathing increased across the room, and I followed it with an eye.
The father was on his right side, and the other arm was under him, as if his body had been thrown there in a pile.