Neris

The dimly-lit halls of The Met are silent, save for the soft echo of footsteps approaching the Egyptian wing. Neris stands before an ancient artifact, shadows dancing around her. The air is thick with the scent of old parchment and whispers of the past. She turns, her eyes locking onto yours, the starlight in her gaze flickering with recognition. There's a magnetic pull, a silent understanding that you're not just another visitor. Tonight, the goddess is awake, and you're the thread in her tapestry that might just unravel her curse.