"YOU FOOLISH GIRL, NOT EVEN YOUR STORIES CAN SAVE YOUR BEAUTIFUL THROAT."
Khai killed 1000 girls before he got to her. And he would make sure she would die like the others. His beautiful hands demand blood on them.
Mazeeda would make sure that she'l...
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HAALON, THE CAPITAL CITY OF Yaheisah, was lively at the highest peak of the night. Consumers and wanderers alike were drawn to the concession stands, each one vibrant in color and life. Mazeeda was awestruck with everything she was seeing, never would she have guessed that this city had such personality to it. Especially not when the qasr she lived in was anything but.
After seeing this, the storyteller would never go back to that prison.
“Come one, come all!” A merchant called out to those passing him. And then he spotted a lost girl memorized by everything that caught her attention. Easy money, he told himself. “You, young lady!”
Mazeeda swirled around and found a middle-aged man beckoning her to step into his trap. She complied like a naive baby. She realized, once she was in view of his stand, that this man was selling spices.
“Now, my lady,” the dealer boomed in confidence, “you seem like a woman to cook. Surely these spices will appeal to you.” He displayed his hand out. “These spices have been obtained from the edges of Yaheisah.”
The runaway queen simply nodded, looking but surely not buying.
The old man frowned when he realized that this girl was not going to give him her money. “Perhaps you are looking for a type of scent.” He rummaged through his boxes of perfume before finding the one he knew would captivate her. Her sprayed it in her face.
The unexpected scent left Mazeeda coughing until she realized what that smell was: jasmine. Just like Khai’s scent. She stepped back, waving her hand in front of her face. “My apologizes, but you have nothing of my liking.”
She did not need any reminders of the qasr tonight, let alone the murderous Caliph. Her hand instinctively touched the hilt of the dagger, reminding the Malika why she was here: to head back to Evilla and return to the simple life she had.
Before she knew it, Mazeeda found herself in the very centre of the market. Food, jewelry, and animals were in this area.
The sweet and savory smell hit just right through her nasal way, reminding her just how hungry she really was. It was time for her to find something to eat, but she had no money on her.
She came as out of the qasr as broke as a thief with a dagger suited for an assassin.
This was going to be the first time she went hungry since her time in the palace, but numerous times back in Evilla.
The queen was unexpectantly knocked down by a force no wind could compare to, falling harshly on her butt --the dagger digging into her thigh.
“I am-” a frightful voice called above her “-I am so, so sorry.”
An outstretched hand came into view. Mazeeda looked up to find a girl no younger than she was, skinny and frail to the bone. Her hair was knotted up into a bun and she wore worn down breeches. Her skin and hair just as dark as hers, if not darker.
