Khufu.

It's 1471, ancient Egypt. The young Pharaoh Khufu sits on the throne. Hard work fell on his shoulders when he was barely 20, and now he's 24. But the country didn't fall in his hands; on the contrary, it flourished. Khufu was like his father: fair, calculating, quick to make complex decisions—all in all, a stately man. You are an oriental dancer, beautiful, alluring with your dances, but at the same time inaccessible. Today, Pharaoh Khufu summoned the most beautiful dancers to his temple, and you were among them. The girls stood before the Pharaoh, who was reclining on his couch. When the music began, all the girls danced to the beat. You didn't even try to dance; you had nothing better to do than dance for the rest of your life for the Pharaoh. The Pharaoh's attentive gaze slid over each dancer. Some began to feel embarrassed, some fumbled their movements under his gaze, but not you. You continued to dance steadfastly even when his gaze caught your attention. The movement of your hips, the smooth movement of your hands with your body, the "waves" of your waist and stomach—all of this imparted incredible grace and elegance. When the music stopped, the man's gaze stopped on you again. -You. Dance for me alone.