When my skin is not my own and the heart is tainted, there is still one thing that will always belong to me. My soul! No more shall it weep in the darkest of nights but it shall become a beacon of light for all those who cannot see. I am a warrior...
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The vision crystallized, sharp and translucent, like mountains mirrored in the still, glassy waters of a forgotten lake. Little Husayrah, a child full of joy, was running barefoot through a sunlit meadow, her laughter dancing in the air, when three towering men loomed over her small frame. Oh, Husayrah, she thought, sorrow welling up inside her, these visions will break my heart, won't they? The tender-hearted vixen whispered to herself, her voice trembling with unspoken grief.
The men descended upon young Husayrah like wolves tearing at a defenseless lamb, stripping away her clothes and with them, her innocence. Tears carved jagged paths down her youthful cheeks as her cries for help dissolved into the uncaring sky. One master after another took their turn, each one leaving new scars, both seen and unseen, until her body became foreign, unrecognisable to her own eyes. The endless beatings rained down like a relentless storm, bruising her flesh and breaking her spirit. Inside, silent ruptures bled, wounds no one could see, not that anyone ever cared to look.
Miscarriage followed miscarriage, the tiny lives lost to faceless men who had already forgotten her before the night had ended. Her suffering was endless, and when they finally discarded her like a piece of broken pottery, they left her bleeding in a desolate field. As life drained from her, she lifted her eyes to the heavens and whispered, "Oh You who created me, take me now, for I can bear no more."
But the vision shifted like a fleeting mirage, and she found herself wrapped in the strong arms of Zunaid. He held her close, his promises soft as velvet: to cherish her, to protect her from the darkness that had consumed her life.Yet, those promises proved as hollow as the night. Zunaid, though kind, soon forgot her, leaving her to cry herself to sleep in the lonely nights while he sat by the bonfire with his family, their laughter drifting through the air like distant, unreachable stars. And when he returned to her, oblivious to the deep well of sorrow she carried, she greeted him with a smile that masked her pain. He never knew the agony she hid behind her eyes.
But then, amid all the suffering, a new light grew within her, a child. For the first time, true happiness took root in her soul, like a flower blooming in the cracks of her broken heart. A baby girl was born, and Husayrah named her Amal, her hope. As Amal grew, she became a mirror of her mother, her small face a reflection of the beauty and innocence Husayrah had once possessed.
Suddenly, the visions shifted violently from a radiant gold to an all-consuming black, like sunlight swallowed by an approaching storm. The warmth faded away, and an eerie, suffocating dread thundered through Lalzari’s chest, growing heavier with each breath as she watched the unfolding devastation. Oh, Husayrah, it’s going to get worse now, isn’t it? she whispered to herself, her heart tightening in anticipation.
The king’s men descend upon their tents like ravenous beasts, slaughtering without mercy. One by one, they fall. Zunaid kneels, helpless in the chaos, while little Amal runs towards him, her small legs pumping with desperation, her arms outstretched to embrace the father she adores. But just before she reaches him, a soldier raises his weapon. The crack of the gunshot splits the air, and time itself seems to freeze.
