Scheherezade was a shadow against shadows.

“Imagine,” she said, “that each of our small cruelties is never gone. They drift among us. And, on a night such as this, they glow with a cool light. The mountains, the sand, the alleys and highways are spangled with tiny blue-green moons. Beautiful. Terrible. It hurts to look at them. It hurts to look away.”

Prompt: If you know the story, her stories, you know that a ruler listened. Tell us more.