Slowly music worked its way to my muscles and bones and it took me over.

In a frantic situation I chose to be his slave and dance to stay alive in this harem. I moved my hands the way they showed me reluctantly before. They had called me pagan and ugly – I felt like the most beautiful woman while the Sultan’s eyes never left my hands, the endorsements on my hips, my very own eyes smudged with black paint from Egypt.

I moved my hips this way for the first time, I would stop with the small pauses in the music and continue even more lively when the sound became faster.

They were beneath my feet and the rattling of my golden chains around the ankles.

Every other girl stopped and left the spot for me. My dress barely touched my skin, I was perpetually in motion and rhythm.

For the Sultan, whom I resent, for my life I hold dear I will show them the flower they plucked by shackling me.

I am a slave girl from the pagan world? See me drawing pictures with my moves and passion and enchanting you with my pagan sentiment!

The drums lost the pace, my dance had to end. As I had thrown myself to the floor as a final act to I felt the purple silk handkerchief hit my arm.

“This playful pagan girl is under my guard. Prepare for tonight. I name you Hurem.”