Mirror Mirror

•9•

I was a tool; an object; a plaything for these men.

Those were the only words I had come to truly understand in those few days spent before Nadir and Erik were forced to leave for the Shah's palace in Tehran.

Erik was a selfish child, only caring about his toys when others wished to play with them. Nadir was better, but no saint in the slightest. He played with his toys only when all else failed and nothing more could console him.

But truly the Persian's actions were done out of grief. He was not of his right mind and neither was I. I can forgive our actions, but Erik . . . Erik is another story.

The sole reason of my staying in Persia for so long after was for Reza and Reza alone. Even now I can still picture that joyful smile on his face and see his immense love of life in his eyes.

Oh Reza! Forgive me for not being by your side on that day!

~

I was woken a few nights before they left for Tehran by the sounds of heavy footsteps stumbling haphazard and drunkenly through my apartments. Standing from my bed, I wrapped myself in a robe and ventured from my bedroom to see what the commotion was about.

Entering the outer chamber, I was startled to find Nadir collapsed upon the stone floor, his face flushed with alcohol and contorted with emotion with his fingers laced through his ink-black hair.

Nadir was a devout Muslim, and I knew the consumption of alcohol went against his religion. If I could smell the vile potion on his breath then something truly terrible must have occurred for him to forgo his beliefs in favor of the bottle.

I took a hesitant step towards his hunched figure and reached out a hand in a—hopefully—soothing manner. "Señor?" I called out softly, "Señor Kahn?" The Persian remained the same, seemingly unable to hear me over his quiet sobs. I pursed my lips and stepped even closer, resting my hand gently upon one quivering shoulder. "Nadir?"

He jumped at that, his head whipping up to face me. I pulled my own hand back in surprise at his sudden movements and for a few moments we just stared at each other before Nadir's lip began to tremble again and he dropped his head back down into his hands.

Taking a deep breath, I gathered up my robe and sat upon the floor beside the sobbing Persian. Throwing propriety out the window, I took one of his large hands into my own smaller ones and rubbed his knuckles softly.

"Nadir," I spoke soothingly. "Why do you cry so? Please, tell me what's wrong. Perhaps I can help you . . ." I trailed off as he gripped my hand and turned his gaze up to meet mine. The words he spoke made my heart drop.

"It's Reza . . ." he rasped in a whisper. "His disease . . . It will only progress and become worse and more painful, until . . ." He said nothing more, but he did not have to. I understood the fate that awaited the child I had come to love.

My hands began to grow numb at the news and not even the body heat of the man beside me could stop the shiver that penetrated deep into my bones. I felt as though I would be sick as the tears began to run down my face.

"What . . . What of Erik?" I breathed, my own sobs hiccuping in my throat. "He can cure Reza, can he not? He is a sorcerer—he—he can do anything!" Nadir just shook his head, and I knew his words before they even left his mouth. "Erik was the one that told me . . ."

I felt the world give out beneath me.

I was numb, useless. I could do nothing for anyone; could not console Nadir; could not deny Erik; could not save Reza . . . I loathed myself.  I was a failure. A disgusting failure as a caretaker and as a friend.