History tells us that the great Cleopatra of Egypt took her life by means of a poisonous snake to her breast when she feared Rome’s conquest of her beautiful land.

Unfortunately, I’m here to tell you that history has lied.

In fact the ancient Greek myths of gods and glory would be far more accurate than any story you’ve heard of Egypt’s last Pharaoh.

For indeed, it was not on that night of August 12, 30 BC that she took her life, but rather a millennium later in a land very far from home. Oh, don’t get me wrong, she was bitten by poison that night. But one of a far different variety. One that stole her soul, not life. And one summoned forth from the god’s of her patronage.

Why should you believe me, you wonder. The only reason I can give you, is not that I new her, for she died before I was brought into this world. But I do know her story better than any other. A story that instilled fear in young girls’ hearts for centuries. A story of my mother.

But I suppose I should start from the beginning…