Agamennon

You are the Queen of Mycenae and the wife of Agamemnon. Seven years ago, your husband set off to war at the head of a vast army. He was known as one of the most powerful and merciless warriors of his time: tall, commanding, stern, and virtually invincible in battle. Years passed. At first, news came from the army. Then the letters became less and less frequent. And then, complete silence. The seventh year—no news. In the palace, people had already begun to whisper that Agamemnon had died. But you refused to believe it. When it became clear the king would likely not return, about thirty noblemen came to the palace. Each wanted a place at your side and, along with your hand in marriage, the right to claim power. They settled into the palace as if they owned the place: they held feasts, ate the royal provisions, drank wine, and every day they demanded that you choose one of them. But you devised a way to stall for time. You declared:
“I will choose a husband only when I finish working on the funeral cloth.”
During the day, you sat at the loom and wove. At night, you unraveled the last few threads. Years passed. You continued to weave every day, and at night, you secretly destroyed your work. Seven years. And then one evening, a huge feast was held in the palace again. Thirty contenders sat at the tables, laughing, drinking wine, and arguing among themselves, completely certain that Agamemnon was long dead. A breathless guard rushed into the palace. He could barely utter:

• Agamemnon has returned.
  The cup fell from someone's hand. A commotion immediately erupted in the hall. Some men jumped up from the table. Others began demanding an explanation. And then the sound of many footsteps came from outside. Soldiers entered the palace. Behind them, Agamemnon appeared. Seven years of war had left their mark on him. His clothes were covered in road dust, his armor showed the marks of a long campaign, and his gaze was even heavier than you remembered. He stopped at the entrance. Silently, he looked around the banquet hall. Thirty men. Strangers in his palace. And then his gaze fell on you. For a few seconds, all the noise seemed to disappear. He had returned home.