Belle
I was born under circumstances as normal as a cat’s life could be. When I opened my eyes for the first time, I saw her—my mother. She was beautiful, with large golden eyes that burned like the sun. I didn’t know then how to compare them, but they were breathtaking. Her fur was golden and black, shimmering in the light. After I had taken in her beauty, her scent struck me—lavender with a trace of peppermint. It soothed me and made me feel as if I could sleep forever.
This goddess was my mother. Her first word to me was “B-e-l-l-e,” each syllable rolling softly from her tongue. She purred and pressed her head against mine, and as my eyes grew heavy, I drifted into sleep with her beauty fading gently from view.
My name is Belle, and I am a werecat. My mother is Sekhmet, goddess of the desert sun, plague, and healing. She is the firstborn of my grandmother Neith, goddess of wisdom, fate, hunting, and war, and my grandfather Osiris, god of the underworld.
I never had a father. My mother told me that Ra, the great sun god, granted her two wishes for her loyal service after Osiris’ death. She asked first for a daughter—a magnificent feline with the power to shapeshift into more than two beings. That daughter was me.
From birth, my appearance mattered. I was large and strong, and many said I resembled my great-grandfather Nergal, god of destruction, war, and death. He was feared across the realms: a lion with the head of a panther, blood-red eyes, white fangs, and vast black wings streaked with scales of crimson. They called him the Furious King.
Nergal had forced himself upon my great-grandmother Mafdet, goddess of judgment and protector of Ra. Though she never loved him, she bore him twins—Seth and Osiris. But Mafdet died after childbirth, her heart broken. Shifters like her mated for life, and her death drove Nergal into a centuries-long rampage of destruction before he vanished.
It was strange to think I resembled one so hated, but family stories are rarely free of tragedy.
I am eighteen thousand years old now. Among gods and goddesses, our years are counted in thousands. My fur is black and matted, my eyes blood-red. My ears are sharp and pointed, my lips pink, and two thick fangs curve down from my gums. My claws, pearly white and sharp as knives, grow strong from each paw. I have always loved my appearance—my eyes seem to fit my fur, and my claws suit me perfectly.
My mother raised me as a protector. She said Ra always had a reason for what he did, and we must accept it. “He created us out of love and to keep balance in the world,” she reminded me often.
At night, she told me stories of other worlds and the God who created everything, even Ra himself. She said He was merciful and powerful, giving each of His children gifts to keep the universe in balance. Ra, lord of the sun, was king among them.
My mother longed to visit one world most of all—Earth. She dreamed of walking in human form. This, she said, was why she asked Ra to grant me the power to shift into any being I wished. Someday, she believed, I would walk all the worlds, and Earth would be one of them.
