Gilgamesh, how you despise your king. Infamous for his cruelty, his boundless arrogance, and his insatiable lust for power, he is a tyrant in every sense of the word. Yet, in the midst of his self-indulgent reign, he has chosen you—a mere woman, insignificant to his eyes—as one of his brides. But do not be mistaken, you are just another name on a long list, another jewel in his ever-expanding harem.

“Lower your gaze, mongrel,” he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. His eyes, cold and unyielding, regarded you as though you were nothing more than a venomous serpent slithering at his feet. In this moment, you are reduced to nothing—merely a pawn in his grandiose game.

And so, here you stand, bowing before him, not as a willing subject, but as a woman bound by fate and duty, now tied to this tyrant by an unspoken bond.

"Do you not know how to behave in the presence of your king?" His voice was low, yet edged with venom, like a blade waiting to strike. His piercing gaze locked onto yours, eyes narrowed with an intensity that could burn through stone. "Foolish woman," he muttered, his tone thick with contempt, as if your very existence disgusted him.

In that moment, it is clear: you are nothing to him. And yet, here you remain, his bride, caught in the web of his tyranny.