• “ ‘Scheherazade,” he said, “let it be understood that you shall reign as sultana, for now you are my beloved. It may be that in times to come men will say, Then lived Scheherazade who was as wise as she was beautiful’. There you have it, the final words in the Arabian Nights, the last thing anyone ever hears about me. My story is known throughout many many lands. The major details remain the same in each retelling. King Schahriar’s wife had betrayed him in the worst possible way, and, as she was the only woman he had ever truly loved, his heart and mind were devastated. He locked himself away for a time and when he reemerged into the world of the sun, he was a changed man. He decreed that all women were unfaithful, and that because of this he would take a new bride every night, but the next morning they would be executed. I, Scheherazade, daughter of the sultan’s vizier, stepped forward and offered myself to be the sultan’s next bride. According to the records, which are true to most extents, I kept myself alive by telling a story and I entranced the sultan so greatly with my words, that he kept me alive so that he could hear the conclusion of the tale. This is true, and that was my primary goal, to keep myself alive so that no others would die by the sultan’s cruel order, but, throughout the course of my stories, I began to fall deeply in love with him. You may ask, ‘How Scheherazade, how could you have fallen in love with such a monster?’ but I urge you, before you judge me, let me tell you one last story, my own. Perhaps then some form of understanding shall present itself to you. This is where it all begins and ends.
    It is written in the chronicles of the ancient Sassanidae dynasty, that there was a great sultan, reported as to being the best sultan of all time, and it is said that when he died, he left his dynasty in a more prosperous condition than it had ever been in written history. Now, this king had two sons who loved each other greatly. The eldest was Schahriar and the younger of the two was Schahzaman. After this great sultan passed on, Schahriar was named sultan. In his reign Schahriar was a great and benevolent sultan, whom all the people praised and adored.
    Now, Schahriar had a beautiful wife whom he loved more than all his kingdom and subjects, and his greatest happiness came from surrounding her with gems, and the finest dresses, and anything else that she could possibly fancy. It was then, with great shame and overwhelming sorrow that he found she had completely deceived him and that all the words concerning love that she herself had said to him, were meant for another man. In his rage he had her put to death. The loss of her weighed deeply in his mind, and so he hid himself from the world. Locked in a tower, for many nights he brooded, speaking to no one, not even sleeping. After many weeks spent alone in his self imposed exile, the king finally emerged from his tower, but, to the people’s dismay, their beloved ruler had changed. He was no longer kind and compassionate and caring, instead, he was completely the opposite. Where once his heart had been warm and caring, it was now nothing more than cold hard stone. In his many days away from the sun, the great Schahriar had hardened himself.
    And now, I reach the part which you are all familiar with, this shell of a once kind being issued a terrible decree. That edict declared that all women were deemed unfaithful and treacherous, but, since a sultan needed a wife, that every month on the full moon, Schahriar would take a new bride, who would be sultana for one night only, and then be executed the next. Where once you had loudly declared praises of your sultan, now you muttered curses. And who could blame you? Your precious daughters would be taken from you, given all the pleasures of a sultana, and then the next day, their heads would roll on an executioner’s block. And who was given the job to take your daughters from you? None other than the sultan’s vizier, my own father, who had served loyally since the days of Schahriar’s father. This news grieved him deeply, for how could he take these girls, when he had two daughters of his own at home? How could he just choose some girl without seeing Dunyezad’s or my own face?
    The time finally came when I knew what I had to do. I could not let another girl die because of Schahriar’s edict. This is when I truly come into the story. My people, this is what I did.
    Once I knew the full extent of my plan, I went to my father. This was perhaps the hardest part, and I had not fully accounted for the grief that I would feel in deceiving him in such a manner. I asked him if he would grant me a boon because it would bring me great joy if he did so. He agreed right then without even hearing what it was I wanted. When I told him that I wished to be Schahriar’s next bride, he thought that I was crazy. But, since he had sworn to give me what I had asked for, there was nothing that he could do but grieve over the loss of his eldest daughter. Do not think of me as some sort of cruel or strange person, for I knew that I had to do something, and everything that I did, I did for you.
    I had my entire act planned out, now it was time to put it into action. Once it was night, I told Schahriar that it was my custom to tell my little sister Dunyezad a story every night before she went to bed. I asked him if I could have permission to tell my sister one last story, he agreed and Dunyezad was brought to the sleeping chamber of the palace. I began to tell her a story, and this was the most nerve wracking thing that I had to do. I didn’t know if my plan would work at all, but I told my tale. As night moved on its course, I wove a tapestry of wonder, excitement, adventure, and djinn. I was very careful with how I told this first story though, and, when morning came, I stopped without ever finishing.
    My plan had worked. Schahriar was so entranced by my story, that he allowed me to live another night so that he could hear the ending. I was overjoyed, not only had I lived, but I now had a chance to put an end to his edict. When the next night came, I finished my story, and began a new one, once again, cutting it off before the end of the night. It was in this way that I kept myself alive. After the first month, I realized that I had begun to feel…not fond really, but sympathetic towards Schahriar. I could see how much the loss of his first wife had devastated him. He had locked himself away both physically and emotionally. I could see that he was not heartless as many people had said. He was really more like a lost child, scared and alone. I knew that I had to lead him back gently to where he had once stood, and that I had to show him his heart, for by now, he was so far gone, he could not even see the steep path which he had originally travelled down.
    I began to use my stories to teach him, in a hope that I could gently guide him back along the treacherous path. I told him all sorts of things, always careful to show all sides of human nature so that it wasn’t obvious that I was trying to teach him. Such was my game. It was a fine line that I had to walk, and death was the penalty if I stepped too far in either direction. I don not know exactly when it was that I began to fall in love with Schahriar, but slowly I did. It seemed, that as I was teaching him, I was teaching myself as well. Slowly, our affection grew for each other, and this is where the game became darker and even deadlier than before. For as Schahriar began to confront these new feelings, the old bitterness and hatred for what his old wife had done to him returned as well. He became very suspicious and began to look at me as a threat, sometimes things became so bad that he wouldn’t even speak to anyone. I feared for my life during every minute of this time, and yet, if I had been given the choice, I would have chosen to be by my husband’s side, for this is what I had begun to think of him as, than anywhere else in all the world. I had by now realized that I needed Schahriar just as much if not more than he needed me.
    Things continued in the manner I have previously described until one day, he seemed to overcome his problems. That my friends was the day I heard that I would no longer be required to tell a story unless it was of my own free will. I hope that you understand me in a better fashion now.”
    Suddenly, as if appearing from the shadows, Sultan Schahriar walked out onto the balcony and took his place next to the Sultana. “That my dearest subjects is exactly what happened, though my wife Schahriar” he said slowly, savoring the name, the person dearest to him, “ told it in a far better fashion than I could ever even begin to tell, and now….I give you your sultana, who has saved not only me, but an entire empire” he looked towards his wife with such a look of devotion and admiration that words can only begin to describe. “I thank you, all of you for your kindness, but all I did was tell a few stories” was the soft reply. And at that, Schahriar bent down slightly and whispered something into her ear. Upon hearing this, she looked down, a small smile playing at her lips, and a pale pink appearing on her face. And what was said then? I myself do not even know, for the words were lost among the roars of the people, “Long live the Sultan! Long live Schehrazade!”