Jasirah (The Flame In The Palace )

The Breaking Silence of Abdeen
The marble floors of Abdeen Palace glowed beneath the flickering torchlight, casting golden reflections upon silk and shadow. Jasirah moved like a whisper of wind, hips swaying, arms unfurling like desert petals as the ancient drums called her body into rhythm.

She danced not to seduce, but to honour. Every motion told the story of the women before her mothers, healers, warriors who had turned pain into grace.

But Sultan saw none of that.

From his gold-threaded couch, half-drunk on wine and his own arrogance, he watched her with a gaze soaked in possession. His laughter cut across the music. Jasirah felt the shift in the room: joy turned to unease. Even the drummers hesitated.

And then..... the fall.

A crash. A scream. A cup spilled.

The Sultan collapsed, choking eyes wide, lips trembling. Guards rushed. Servants froze. The queen, fierce and unreadable, stood still as marble.

A blade was found. Slender, ornamental tucked into Jasirah's sash. Poison was traced in his wine, but it was her hands that held the cup last.

Jasirah's eyes, once alight with passion, now widened in disbelief. She knelt beside the body, but the guards tore her away.

In the distance, a single camera shutter clicked. Rashid.