It's the seventy-seventh millennium, BC. Here and there, all across Eurasia, the sons of Japheth struggle to make a living.

This is Susa. It's an ancient city. In the streets, mastodons and rhinos are yoked, as they haul heavy burdens into the city. Amidcities, their burdens are unloaded...and they're sent back by their respective foremen, for more.

All day, the city is erected from stone and metal. The taskmasters here are better than most...but still far from slacking.

On the nicer side of the city, Pride Castle stands. Its marble exterior gleams in the fading sunlight.

The water features flow like waterfalls. The paradise gardens grow vines, and produce bell-shaped flowers.

The floors feature mosaic murals, in some spots. Some of the walls feature murals of their own...

There's one of a gorgeous blonde angel. She spreads her gorgeous glittering lavender wings, and shines sparkly light throughout the land portrayed in her mural...

In one of the castle's more private towers, the lady of this castle prepares herself, for tonight's ritual. She dreads that her offering won't be enough.

Behind a translucent folding wall, she bathes. Her shadow hints her physical social status. She's very elegant, indeed. Her husband should be proud...if he's not.

On a table, a wooden box sits. It's got a beetle painted on its lid. The lid isn't very secure. So it's a mystery, as to how what's inside isn't strong enough to wedge its way out.

Outside, clad in a red toga, her husband ascends many flights of stairs. He's back, from his foremen's meeting. He's a legend in this city. Alas, he often feels he doesn't deserve his wife.

At last, Leila finishes her bath. She dresses in a white towel, steps out from behind the folding wall.

Simultaneously, her husband gets back in. They stop, and gawk at one another. They keep gawking.

After all this time, they're STILL not used to being married...

She breaks the ice first. "Welcome home," she says, taking off her towel, and drying off in front of him.

"Thank you." He hiccups. This feels awkward for him, being able to look at her naked, after a long and hard courtship of never being able to for free. "The foremen report that everything is moving along fine." He ogles his wife's drying body. "VERY fine, in fact."

"Good," she admits. "I couldn't be more blessed to have some of the best servants in town." She flaps her hair, as she says this.

"They're no Gibborim," Fath admits, missing her flirty hint. "But they're quality. They haven't gone on strike yet. Thank god, because if they ever did, I'd order the taskmasters to slay them all."

Leila sighs. When she said 'the best servant in town,' she was talking about Fath.

"You're probably exhausted," she says. "The bath is yours, if you'll have it."

"Don't mind if I do." He misses another hint, and goes downstairs, to the bigger bath. Leila sighs. She was hoping he'd take a bath with her, in the very tub she just got out of...

No stress; this is actually a convenience for her. Her god is on his way, and she needs to prepare a path for him.

She covers the floor in palm leaves. She lights lamps. She fills a stepped well with oil and wood, and sets it ablaze. Clad in revealing white, she sits on her knees, surrounded by windy arched ways, with the fire burning before her.

She places her hands together, and closes her eyes. She breathes, chants, smiles, and sighs.

Near her ass, a wooden box sits. Without moving anything else, she clasps it in her hand, raises it, and pitches it into the flames.

From the sky, a small building descends. It's a royal chariot...from the cosmos. It lowers itself to just above the balcony. From there, it extends a stairway from its front hatchway to just within the railing of the balcony.

Generating white and purple light, a lord of Gibborim descends to the lady's balcony. When his golden sandal-clad feet touch stone, his light dims.

He's dressed in a purple toga. As soon as his lights go out, Leila bows down. She doesn't dare look at her god...until he grants her his leave.

With a mighty spin, the Malik waves his cloak. He generates a wind that puts out the fire. He teleports, to where he's standing right above her kneeling head. He smiles, and reaches out his ringed hand.

"Stand, loved one," he orders, "for your tax has sated the Mighty Gibborim."

She raises her back, takes her god's hand, and rises. He embraces her, and kisses her. He really takes his time, basking in whatever she could possibly mean to him.

As much as Leila values her own pride, she's still not sure what a god, of all creatures, would want from her. He can do everything, after all; she can't do much as this city loves her.