I am Neferu-Ptah, Beloved of Ptah, daughter of Amenemhat III, and my name, once carved in the eternal cartouche, now echoes in the shimmering expanse of the Field of Reeds.
Here, where the waters are cool and the reeds sway in the breath of Amun, I have been judged by Ma’at, my heart weighed against her feather of Truth. It was justified as being of the Light, unburdened by deceit, and so I dwell in this radiant glow of the Afterlife, my Ka forever bound to the Divine. Yet, as I sit beneath the ancient sycamore tree, its shade soothing my eternal soul, I am drawn to speak of the life I lived in the Two Lands, of the court that shaped me, the family I cherished, and the fleeting moments that linger in my heart like the scent of lotus on the Nile.

I was born in the shadow of my father’s greatness, in the golden age now known as the Twelfth Dynasty, when the Black Land flourished under his steady hand. The palace at Itjtawy was my world, a labyrinth of polished limestone, fragrant with myrrh and alive with the hum of scribes, priests, and nobles.

As a child, I ran through its halls, my anklets jingling, chasing the laughter of my sister Sobek-Neferu. She was my mirror and my opposite, bold where I was gentle, fierce where I was contemplative. Our mother, Queen Aat, taught us the weight of our lineage, her voice soft but unyielding as she spoke of duty to the gods and the land. My father, the great Amenemhat, was a towering figure, his eyes like the falcon Horus, seeing all. Yet, when he looked at me, there was warmth, a quiet pride that made my heart swell. “Neferu-Ptah,” he would say, “you are the beauty of Ptah, a jewel of the Two Lands.” Those words were my crown, more precious than the gold and carnelian that adorned me.

Life in the court was a dance of ritual and power. I wore titles like “great of praise” and “beloved king’s daughter,” each one carried with joy and pride of my roles within Kemet’s divine order. I stood beside my father during festivals, my Usekh collar gleaming under the sun, its falcon-head pendants a reminder of my sacred duty. I was no mere ornament; I learned the hymns of Hathor, offered incense to Amun, and watched the priests read the stars to guide the kingdom. My hands, adorned with bracelets of faience and gold, poured libations for the gods, and my presence in the court was a symbol of Ma’at’s harmony. Yet, I confess, there were moments when the weight of expectation pressed upon me. I was not destined to be a King’s wife, nor did I ascend the throne as my sister, Sobek-Neferu would. My role was quieter, but no less vital, a bridge between the mortal court and the divine.

My deepest memories are of my family, for they were my heart’s anchor. Sobek-Neferu, my fierce sister, was my confidante. We would sit by the palace pools, lotus flowers tucked in our wigs, and together we would dream of what might be. She spoke of ruling, her eyes alight with ambition, and I admired her courage, though I feared the solitude it might bring her. When she became pharaoh, the first woman to wear the double crown, my heart swelled with pride, but also sorrow, for I knew of the burden she carried. My father, too, was my guiding star. I recall a night when he took me to the roof of the palace, pointing to the stars above the desert. “Neferu-Ptah,” he said, “the gods have set your path, and it is yours to walk with Truth.” Those words stayed with me, a beacon through the court’s intrigues and the whispers of ambition that swirled like dust in the wind.

My successes were those of the heart and spirit. I brought harmony to the court, my presence a reminder of the gods’ favour. The jewellery I wore, my Usekh collar, my anklets, the pendant that rested against my skin, was not merely adornment but a shining example of the artisans’ skill and the kingdom’s prosperity. I was proud to honour Ptah, my patron, in every offering I made. Yet, my regrets linger like shadows in this eternal light. I wish I had spoken more boldly, shared more of my heart with Sobek-Neferu before her reign drew her away. I regret the moments I hesitated to speak, fearing to step beyond the path laid before me – as if my Truth would pierce her heart with honesty. Could I have done more to ease my father’s burdens or to prepare my sister for her solitary rule? These questions haunt me, even here, where all is now at peace.

My tomb at Hawara, near my father’s pyramid, was a final embrace from the living world. The wooden coffins inscribed with prayers, the jewellery placed upon my body with deep honour and respect, these were the love of my people, ensuring my successful journey to this Field of Reeds. I see now the care with which they laid me to rest, the faience apron and gold necklaces a bridge to my Soul’s eternity. I am grateful for their devotion, for the Two Lands that shaped me, and for the gods who judged me worthy.

Here, in the Field of Reeds, I am at peace. The scales of Ma’at have spoken, and my heart is light. Yet, I carry my memories, my father’s voice, my sister’s laughter, the cool touch of the Nile’s waters.

I am Neferu-Ptah, daughter of Amenemhat, and though my mortal life has passed, my story endures, merging with the sands of the desert, as timeless as the stars above the Two Lands.

Neferu-Ptah, Jewel of Two Lands