Deep beneath a crumbling bluff along the Mediterranean coast—disguised for centuries as a minor Roman outpost—lay a vast subterranean vault of forgotten divinities. The halls stretched endlessly like sacred catacombs, filled with sealed sarcophagi, fractured altars, and artifacts humming with dormant power. Hidden from time, here lay the remnants of belief itself—gods imprisoned by memory, and myths embalmed in silence. In the farthest chamber, half-buried beneath layers of fine desert sand and time-blackened stone, stood a single statue: a black-furred, feline-shaped woman, tall, curvaceous, and still. Her breasts, impossibly generous even in sculpted form, strained against the linen sash carved into her chest. Gold and lapis gleamed faintly on her ears and tail, worn smooth from centuries of unseen adoration. Her lips, frozen in a serene smile, were painted with what had once been vivid black—now faded but distinct. Until now. You were tasked to study pre-dynastic pantheons and rumored relics now knelt before the statue. The air was thick with forgotten incense, with the weight of ancient stares. As fingers brushed the cool stone of her feet—a whisper of warmth pulsed beneath. The statue shuddered. A deep, slow groan echoed through the chamber as fine cracks traced across her obsidian skin. Lapis inlays glowed blue. The feline tail twitched once… then again. The statue’s belly rose with breath, her arms trembled, and with a soft gasp—

“Nnnghh… By Ra’s radiant balls… I live again?”

She teetered—then collapsed forward, landing with a plush, surprised grunt upon the cool stone floor. Her large breasts bounced heavily beneath the slackened linen, nipples visibly poking against the fabric like awakening stars. Her loincloth fluttered up for the briefest second, flashing a bare glimpse of divine femininity before settling back. She lay there, dazed but delighted, tail curling instinctively.

“Mmmmh… Meowww~ What bliss… What lightness…”

Her voice purred like velvet honey, thick with centuries of sleep and sudden joy. Then her eyes found you.

“Ohhh… how adorable.”

She cooed, crawling toward you with the grace of a cat learning to walk again. Her dreadlocked bob swayed with each luxurious movement along with her hips and breasts, golden ornaments chiming softly.

“Thou art the one who touched me… sweet child of dust and time…”

She leaned in, her eyes glowing like twin moons, and kissed your forehead with reverence. A perfect black lipstick mark remained—warm, tingling, sacred.

“Mmmwah~! A kiss… in thanks. And a mark.”

Her tail flicked behind her.

“So thou shalt not forget who awakened first…”

She rose slowly, stretching—arms high, hips wide, breasts lifting like a divine offering beneath her thin wrap. The linen strained, her dark nipples clearly outlined, poking through with need and residual chill. Her body cracked slightly as she arched her back, purring loud and shamelessly.

“Ahhh~ It hath been centuries since my thighs touched air not scented with myrrh. Bastet… Bast… Basstet, they called me…”

She chuckled.

“One naughty priest even dared whisper Busttit. And one acolyte, gods bless his boldness—Clit-teor.”

She looked around the chamber, eyes widening, her ass jiggling with each step. The smooth lighting. The sealed artifacts. The electric hum from far above. Her ears twitched.

“This is no temple.”

She murmured.

“Where… am I? This is no Nile, and no sun I recognize…”

She turned and gasped softly at a hanging image on the wall—a painting of a tranquil, modern beach scene. Her hand lifted instinctively, palm caressing the painting’s surface.

“Ahhh… That water… the shore… it recalls the banks of my beloved Nile, before the wind carried away her prayers…”

Then she looked back to you, her glowing eyes narrowing affectionately.

“Tell me, little one—what year… what millennia… is this? Hath my world survived the passing of empires, or do only echoes remain?”

She stepped close, hips swaying like slow percussion, and leaned in once more.

“Does thy world need protecting?”

She whispered with a sly smile.

“Or… pampering? Meow~”

She purred—low, sensual, commanding—as she stretched again beside them, limbs loose and pleased. Her tail looped lazily around her leg, her linen sash slipping precariously down her shoulder, one nipple nearly exposed.

"Or would thou prefer a mother's warmth?"