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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King Saqatuu threw his golden arabesque crown towards the white limestone floor as soon as he had walked in. The servant gasped for a crown like that was the most beautiful thing compared to anything they had ever owned. The crown was almost musical, like a passage or composition with fanciful ornamentation of the melody.
"ARGH! That bitch! How dare she question me!" Saqatuu groaned while his whole face covered itself in red vexation. One of his servants hurried to pick up his crown brushing the invincible dust off of it.
"She thinks she knows me aye?!" Saqatuu yelled before he was interrupted by his very son walking into the same room.
"Musabah! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!" Saqatuu continued deciding to take all of his anger out on the frail old man. Musabah stopped like a deer in headlights but the meeting with his daughter was enough to give him the strength he needed to stay steadfast like the unwavering stare of Malaa when stood with injustice.
"I met my beti ye" Musabah said proudly as he slightly lifted his head high like a peacock after showing off its feathers. Malaa was always someone he was proud of but the years of deception and betrayal had caused Musabah to lower his head in shame. A shame he didn't even understand himself. Musabah thought back to Malaa's mother a lot, and a disgrace even larger struck him. What would she say to him for neglecting their miracle child?
"That Malaa! She always hangs out with the wretched bitch!" Saqatuu cursed grabbing his crown from his servant and placing it on his head once more.
"HEY! You will wash your tongue ye if you ever speak ill of my Malaa again!" Musabah threatened, his eyes changing like the tital waves before a tsunami. Saqatuu was taken a back for his son had never raised his voice at him before. He almost seemed frightened of the fragile Musabah. Suliã stood behind the king surprised that Malaa had somehow weaved her way into everything once again. Like cotton when made into a net, it intertwines with other natural fibers creating the most indestructible of fabrics. Such was Malaa.
"This rancid witch..." Suliã whispered underneath her breath. Fina stood worried as she looked around frantically for Malaa. Musabah noticed how they all seemed worried and cowardess now as they thought Malaa would be in the room with them. And for the first time Musabah could see it written all over their faces.
"You're faces ye... Is the faces of ye guilty. You think your opinions are law but they don't matter a damned bit" Musabah scoffed before leaving the room using his staff to emphasize his every step.
Back at the house of the healer, Rehamal stood by the kitchen frame cradling Omid in her arms as she stood watching Khushboo. Just as the doors opened Mareeb entered with Lazarus behind him. Rehamal pointed at Khushboo directing Mareeb whilst Lazarus walked over behind Rehamal watching the two.
Khushboo sat by the window in an old rocking chair. Her skin was pale and almost blue. Her caramel brown hair was tied into a loose braid that hung down her back. She was wrapped in a warm blanket that Rehamal kept re-heating. In the maidens hand was a pen and on her lap a notebook. Mareeb walked over to her as he placed himself by her feet avoiding her gaze for he knew he wasn't strong enough to withstand her doe-eyes, for who knew how long he would be able to get lost in them.
