Letters from A.R.E., Second of Seven, 17 February 18--

My dear, please excuse me once more while I plea for your compassion.  I have found myself in the most troublesome conditions of which I could not do justice with a mere description à mote.  It does not--and has never--escaped my notice of an attachment that I am sure would only complicate our present situation; however, I dare say that your feelings have not proved themselves false.  On my behalf, I have never doubted my own sincerity; I only wish for you to measure my ma'at with your own heart.  I will await your reply with stifled breath. --A.R.E.

Letters from A.R.E., First of Seven, 23 January 18--

My dear comrade, I cannot find anywhere else to turn; I implore that you excuse me for not remaining true to our once strong truce and law of anonymity in the face of imminent danger.  Even now, I am sure that I am exposing ourselves to even more hostility, as my own safety--recent events have shown--is no longer of importance to any concerned.  Do not misunderstand me, my dear friend, I do not for a moment blame you for my present dilemma.  I take full responsibilities for the consequences of which I have brought upon myself.  
Au Revoir--A.R.E.

Wishing on a Star

   Not every girl can be a princess.  They may wish on a star every night before they bundle under the covers with their favorite stuffed pony, but how many of their wishes ever come true?
   To be admired, respected, to make a difference in the world, those were my wishes when my father named me heir to the throne.
   I guess his advisers had something "less strenuous" in mind.

Eternal Mother, Hathor

   On a starless, rainy night, eight hundred women stood their ground, defending the temple of Hathor against the anger of blood-hungry men.  Each man bore the talisman of Anubis, the god of death.  And every woman was marked with the ankh, the symbol for eternal life.
   The men wanted the women's sons for war and their daughters for love.  The men demanded the children be given into their care.  They claimed that they would provide for their young minds and show them worlds beyond their homeland.  The boys who could not soldier would serve, and the girls who could not bare would please the men with song and dance.  The men insisted that Hathor would be pleased to have her children embody the essence of her godly strengths.
   The women, unfooled, walked backward, chins high, forming a solid barrier to the temple's entrance.
   "You forget one thing," the women said.  "Hathor is also the goddess of motherhood.  And you will never make her children chattel to be abused, cattle to be saddled and stained, or shields in battle.  Her children are her own.  Protected."  
   The women never turned their backs to the men, and as one they shouted as fire rose from the trenches before them, "And you shall never have them!"

A Day in Paradise

   In the middle of the street, steam burst skyward, rattling the manhole cover, whistling like a kettle.  The people on the sidewalks and in the bumper to bumper traffic looked around, hoping someone would answer their question: what is going on?
   A jogger slowed to a stop, took out his earbud, and leaned toward a woman in a black two-piece suit.  "Is that sulfer--?"
   No one expected lava.