The air in the tomb is still and silent as death. I laugh without humour and shiver in the too-cool atmosphere.

I blink slowly, and as my eyes close, sleep and the blessed peace it brings creep up on me, but then I think that it is not sleep, but something more permanent that wishes to claim me. I force my eyes open and let my gaze wander the room.

Now-familiar horror creeps over me as I take in all the sights of wonder and terror - a kings ransom in gold: chairs, jewellery, beds, coin, statues. It all gleams dully in the fading light of the last of the torches. Worse, around me, my friends and colleagues lie, engulfed by the endless sleep, a one-way trip to meet Lord Anubis. Their death is not yet obvious, their beauty remains and it seems they are only napping. This makes it all the more hideous.

A sob escapes me unexpectedly, and echoes around the chamber. I lay my head in my hands, hearing the beads in my hair clink together and I begin to weep in earnest.

I never expected to be here. I never even thought that it was possible. I journeyed to the palace, as did many of my friends, in love with our new boy-king. Though little more than a child, he was strong and wise, the souls of Pharaohs past guiding him. Tutanhkahmun demanded respect from all who saw him, and he gained the admiration of many. Against the wishes of my parents, who begged me not to go, I began work at the palace, my dreams of marriage to the Pharaoh keeping me going during the long, hard days.

My smile now was bitter, and I shook my head, beads again clinking musically. Perhaps Pharaoh had even seen me once or twice. But I doubt he noticed me. He had eyes only for his wife, and well he might, for she was a beautiful girl, and unfortunately too nice to hate.

It is strange, I think, that my love for our king brought me to my death. I do not think it is right that I should have to die because someone despised Pharaoh enough to kill him. Whoever it was did not know me, nor, I doubt, even think about me. This makes me angrier than anything else. Now I am dying, and my murderer did not even think of me, perhaps has never even seen me. How dare he!? The only thing that assuages my anger is knowing that the fair Measurer of Worth will see him for himself and send him to hell.

As my eyes close, and I realise that this time, I have no strength to resist sleep and it's companion, death, I hope that the Measurer or Worth finds me worthy.