On Arabian Nights ✓

knife

do

١
On Arabian nights, you can find Scheherazade with a knife in her hands and a smile on her lips. That smile is curved like the crescent moon. That smile is dangerous as the darkness before the dawn cracks open the sky. That smile is a warning. Scheherazade stands in her room wearing that smile. Her hair is loose from its braids and ties. It curls around her hips as though it's made of tendrils of pure shadow. The dark red fabrics that she is wearing today blow gently in the breeze that has drifted in through the open window. The wind is mellow and kind, as though it too fears that smile of Scheherazade's. It should. Everyone and everything should. The boy that stands before Scheherazade is mostly unremarkable, save for his eyes. They are deep set and shimmer golden, like the sand dunes that stretch for miles outside of the little oasis that is Samarkand. Those eyes are enchanting, entrancing, enthralling. Scheherazade cannot bring herself to look away. Yet that smile stays there, a silent reminder that Tahir will not survive the night.

۲
Scheherazade is courteous. She has to be. After all, she cannot in good conscience send a man to his death without offering him a meal and a last wish first. She always does. It's just that, often, a man scarfs down his meal too fast and wishes that his death be quick. It's a waste of a wish, though Scheherazade never tells them that - only smiles her secret smile and nods her head. Their deaths are always quick. Scheherazade doesn't enjoy touching their clammy skin any longer than she has to. Scheherazade is courteous as she offers Tahir a plate of figs and a plate of carved chicken. Tahir sits down, though those golden eyes stay on her. He reminds Scheherazade of a lion on the prowl. She smiles softly to herself. All he's missing is the mane. Instead, he has curling hair the color of midnight. He's beautiful, Scheherazade will admit. But it's always the beautiful ones who are the most wicked. Scheherazade has known too many pretty faces that hide behind them bloodlust and rage.

۳
In a world of silence, Scheherazade eats. Perhaps Tahir is mute, for he doesn't say a word to her. Usually, the men talk. They beseech her, they entreat her to see reason. They blabber nervously until Scheherazade is grinding her teeth and her hands are curled into fists. They praise her until her stomach turns. They talk until her knife is at their throat, digging into their Adam's apple. Tahir doesn't talk. He sits, he eats, he stares at her with those golden lion's eyes. He watches her like she watches a battle, as though it's a fascinating thing to see play out before one's eyes. He watches her like she's a puzzle, a problem to pick apart and solve. Scheherazade is quite sure that Tahir has undressed her with his eyes, has pulled all of the truths and untruths from her skin and hurled them away. She feels naked, exposed. That will not do. Scheherazade stands abruptly. She indicates her bedroom door. Tahir stands as well, lips still sealed shut. Her fingers twitch for her knife so that she might press it to his throat.