Once upon a time, in the grand kingdom of Sasanian, there lived a king of irascible temperament and ill-fated love named Shahryar. His queen, possessing less loyalty than a promiscuous puppy, had broken his heart with her infidelity. In response, the king had pronounced an edict as absurd as it was grim: each newly wedded bride he took was to meet her end on the dawn following their nuptials.

Into this grim carousel of matrimonial demise stepped Scheherazade, our brave heroine, bearing a mind brighter than the star-studded sky and a wit sharper than the most refined blade. Scheherazade was a storyteller extraordinaire, a veritable artisan of tales as intricate and vibrant as a masterfully woven Persian carpet.

Night after night, beneath the rich, ornate canopy of the regal bedchamber, she would weave a beguiling tapestry of tales. She narrated stories of mystical lands, magical jinn, and bold adventurers, each one seamlessly flowing into the next, much like the modern-day serial dramas we find ourselves ensnared by on Netflix.

And with each tale, she expertly paused at a climax, leaving the king hanging on the precipice of curiosity, yearning to hear the story’s conclusion. It was as if she was the original author of a thousand season series, each night an episode that the king would wait for with bated breath. It was the very essence of what we now call “cliffhangers,” and it saved her life day after day.

For a thousand and one nights, she continued her narrative extravaganza. The king, who initially appeared as impenetrable as a fortress, found himself progressively absorbed into the world of Scheherazade’s stories. His icy heart began to melt, akin to a glacier succumbing to the insistent heat of the sun.

In the end, the king, surprising everyone as if pulling a rabbit out of a royal hat, chose to spare Scheherazade, his enchanting raconteur. She had managed to create a world so rich in detail and so enduring in suspense that the king died before ever reaching the conclusion of her grand saga. Thus, Scheherazade, the original Netflix, lives on in her Arabian Nights, a testament to the enduring and transformative power of storytelling.

And she survives as the existing testament that the beauty of a woman lies as much in her external charm as in her mind.