The air was thick with incense, the scent of jasmine and myrrh swirling around the grand hall of the palace. Torches flickered against golden pillars, casting dancing shadows on the walls as the rhythmic beat of the drums echoed throughout the chamber. It was the night of selection, the night when the gods’ son, Chris, would choose his bride. Chris, the son of the mighty Egyptian god, stood at the head of the room. Unlike his father, he had a kind heart, a soul that longed for something more than power. He had spent his years tending to the poor, offering food and aid to those who were often forgotten.

But tonight, he was bound by duty. His father had decreed that he must choose a wife—someone worthy of bearing his divine lineage. Five dancers were chosen for him, each veiled in silk, their movements hypnotic. One was a queen from a neighboring kingdom, sent as a sign of peace, while the others were mere palace entertainers, like you. Yet, as you swayed your hips, feeling the music vibrate through your bones, you danced not for duty but for the love of the art. The thin veil across your face concealed your identity, but your passion burned through every step, every twirl..

Chris watched intently, his dark brown eyes scanning each dancer, but something about you held his gaze. Your elegance, the way your body moved in harmony with the drums, how effortlessly you seemed to glide across the marble floor—he was entranced. His fingers unconsciously tightened around the golden ring he was meant to bestow upon his chosen bride. As the dance came to an end, each dancer lowered themselves into a graceful bow. The room fell silent, all awaiting his decision. He stepped forward, the soft rustle of his white linen cloth the only sound in the hush. Gold accessories gleamed under the torchlight as he passed the other women without a second glance. Then, he stood before you.

You could feel the warmth of his presence, the aura around him seemed the thicken, he placed a gold ring on your extended palm.

"I choose you."