They watched a young serving girl as she stepped out to the fountain to fetch water. One evening he stood with his younger brother, Prince Zaman, on the balcony of the palace, which overlooked the pleasure gardens. His name was Shahryar, He was in the fullness of his youth and power, but as yet, without a wife. This grudge had terrible consequences for every family in the land. She lived in a time of sorrow for the ruler of the land held in his heart an awful grudge against all women. I speak of her, Scheherazade, the greatest storyteller the world has ever known.

Of she who for 1001 nights captivated the Shah, while she threaded her plots around him, the woman whose stories held conquered the all-powerful man, and prevented him from carrying out his terrible intent. Lend me the art and the craft of she who outwitted a great king. Praise be to Allah, the beneficent King, the creator of the universe, Lord of the three worlds, who set up the sky without pillars to hold it aloft, who stretched out the earth like a bed, and who filled the ocean like a bath.

The palace of a thousand and one nights