Meet Arsinoe

The Ghost in the Garden

They tell you that history is written by the victors. They forget to mention that it is also written by the men who stayed home while the women bled.

I was born a Princess of Egypt, a daughter of the Ptolemies, a sister to the woman who would charm Emperors and break empires. But today, my hands are stained not with royal ink, but with the juice of crushed feverfew and the damp soil of a magical volcano on a lonely side of a forgotten island.

I am Arsinoe, and I am a ghost.

When my mother was removed—that cold, clinical palace word for stolen—I learned that safety is an illusion. I spent years trying to be the perfect princess, the perfect shadow to my sister, Cleopatra. But while she studied the art of the throne, I was in the garden, learning the language of the Gods from a woman who knew that a sprig of dried lavender holds more truth than a golden scepter.

I thought that by losing my title, I was losing my soul. I thought that without the crown, I was nothing. And yet, I wanted nothing more than that something.

I am not the only one who survived the wreckage of our dynasty. My sister Berenike is here, too—though she carries her scars differently. Where I sought the silence of the garden to heal, Berenike still carries the fire of the throne in her veins. Together, we are navigating this strange, new world, looking through the veil of time to see if anything has truly changed.

I look at your world now—this 21st century of glass and light—and I see so many of you feeling the same way I once did. You are told that your value lies in your status, your empire, your visibility. You see others like you being removed from the conversation, from the life you thought you were supposed to have.

But I have learned a secret in my exile. The Gods don’t speak to Queens in their palaces; they speak to the healers in the quiet. They speak in the lull between the waves.

I am here to tell you the stories my sister couldn’t. The stories of the sisters who survived the shadows, the magic that survives the politics, and what happens when nothing becomes everything.

Welcome to our garden. The soil is rich, the secrets are deep, and for the first time in two thousand years, I am finally ready to be seen.

— Arsinoe (Zoe of Rhodes)