Post by Alek on Mar 22, 2006 14:56:40 GMT -5
I heard her hands trembling, heard the way that usually graceful footfall stumbled over the rugs in my apartment. She was terribly nervous... very afraid of me, I knew that.
Everyone in this country fears me- even the shah and that damnable woman who birthed him. It was a dull, animalistic fear that I saw light up their eyes when I appeared so suddenly in their room, or when I spoke. There was a respect for what lay behind the ornate masks upon my face, and since the first time I was required to show myself to the khanum, no one dared to force me to remove it.
She is trembling still as she places the silver tray at my side and kneels, tiny fingers stretching out to pour my Russian tea. I refused to drink anything that I did not see her make herself, right in front of me... except for the tea. It was so very delightful that if she poisoned it, I would not care in the slightest. As a way of making her less apt to do so, I may her sit with me and drink as well.
What can I say? I enjoy watching her squirm when I look at her. She refuses to look at my eyes, refuses to take the chance of pouring more tea while I am adding lemon to my own. I do believe she fears that if she accidently touched me, she would die in that very spot. And yet, at the same time, she seems oddly hypnotized by my hands. I've caught her staring at them when I write letters, or when I allow her to listen to me play my violin. She cannot read, so I do not worry that she is memorizing my letters to tell the eunichs that come to check upon her weekly.
A brown hand is extended, fingers clasping it tightly to keep the tea from sloshing over onto my thigh or the pillows that I am seated upon. Acknowledging her fear, I don't touch her. We have worked out how she places the cup in my open palm instead of me actually taking it- my fingers almost brushed hers once and I was subjected to a nasty burn when she jumped and the tea cup was dropped onto my leg. When the exchange is complete, I settle back into the magnificent velvet pile.
"Ara," I heard her breath hitch when I spoke her name, and her eyes dropped when I looked over at her. She gripped the little cup in her hands more tightly, and I allowed a little grin to rest on my face. "You've gotten much better with this tea." I said lightly, and she exhaled softly, inclining her head. Gorgeous black hair spilled over her shoulder like a pool of acid, the tips brushing the marble floor. Little gems twinkled on the top of her head- gifts from myself. If I had to look on this girl every day, then she was going to be lovely. I insisted that she wore the finest silks and teasingly translucent materials draped over her steadily developing figure, and she walked around barefoot so all I could hear of her was the tinkling of her jewelry.
I liked that sound. She was only to wear a certain number of bracelets per arm, only three necklaces, and two anklets on each ankle. Her hair was always left down because I liked it so much. I had it styled with ribbons and gems, but she was still too afraid of me... I never touched those soft locks. While she was awake, anyway. Countless times had I slid into her bedchamber while she had fallen ill one week, and she was so delirious that my presence did not phase her slumber. I cradled her thin body, observing everything about her- the way her hair and the draped materials that made up her nightclothes draped over my arms and the pleasing curves of her body. I watched her fever stained face, finally relaxed in my presence, and found that she had a scar that was hidden cleverly under her jaw, indicating to me that this young woman was not so unskilled as I had thought.
She was still in training, and that's why I had her. I had agreed to let her stay with me under the condition that I was not required to use her to her full extent. I refused to take this girl, refused to subject her to my passions that would surely scar her should I ever let loose what had been bottled up for my nineteen years of life.
Yes. I am the most feared man in Persia, and yet I have not seen twenty years of this world. Funny, I believe, that eyes grow wide and breath his held when a mere teen walks into a room, but I love it. I love everything about their fear; their respect, and the day it ends will be the day I kill them all. They will no longer be of use to me, and I would enjoy nothing more than hearing the whisper of a dying breath passing the khanum's lips.
I've been here mere months, and I grow constantly more bored with the country. It's customs limit me just slightly, especially with Nadir hovering around. He is a good man in the wrong place, and I do fear one thing. I fear the attatchment I feel for his son. The boy is so very young and fragile... and he is dying. I have not voiced this to the Daroga, but I do believe I'm going to propose ending the suffering he is going through shortly. He doesn't deserve it, and neither does his father.
"Thank you, master." Her voice stirred me from my thoughts, and I sipped at the tea, nodding faintly. I wished she would speak normally around me, but her fear made her whisper. I had heard her laughing with a few other girls at the harem before she had been assigned to me, and I had half a mind to suggest vocational training for her. It was made quite clear to me that she was, however, to be nothing more than a rich man's whore.
My God do I hate this country!
Turning my gaze back to the large window in front of me, I continued to take occasional sips of my bitter tea, content to just listen to the sounds of her moving; the rustling of her outfit as she raised the cup to her lips. I do not know if she enjoys the tea that I make her drink, but she humors me anyway, and that makes her quite enjoyable to have around. Ara does not complain- she does not even show a sign of distaste, and I humor myself to be quite good at guessing emotions of women. I cannot help but think how abused that quality will be when she is sent off to someone else.
Clearing my throat, I lean over to extend my cup, which I have emptied. I hear the little tink of her cup being set down, and more movement as she does as she has been silently told.
Good girl.
Everyone in this country fears me- even the shah and that damnable woman who birthed him. It was a dull, animalistic fear that I saw light up their eyes when I appeared so suddenly in their room, or when I spoke. There was a respect for what lay behind the ornate masks upon my face, and since the first time I was required to show myself to the khanum, no one dared to force me to remove it.
She is trembling still as she places the silver tray at my side and kneels, tiny fingers stretching out to pour my Russian tea. I refused to drink anything that I did not see her make herself, right in front of me... except for the tea. It was so very delightful that if she poisoned it, I would not care in the slightest. As a way of making her less apt to do so, I may her sit with me and drink as well.
What can I say? I enjoy watching her squirm when I look at her. She refuses to look at my eyes, refuses to take the chance of pouring more tea while I am adding lemon to my own. I do believe she fears that if she accidently touched me, she would die in that very spot. And yet, at the same time, she seems oddly hypnotized by my hands. I've caught her staring at them when I write letters, or when I allow her to listen to me play my violin. She cannot read, so I do not worry that she is memorizing my letters to tell the eunichs that come to check upon her weekly.
A brown hand is extended, fingers clasping it tightly to keep the tea from sloshing over onto my thigh or the pillows that I am seated upon. Acknowledging her fear, I don't touch her. We have worked out how she places the cup in my open palm instead of me actually taking it- my fingers almost brushed hers once and I was subjected to a nasty burn when she jumped and the tea cup was dropped onto my leg. When the exchange is complete, I settle back into the magnificent velvet pile.
"Ara," I heard her breath hitch when I spoke her name, and her eyes dropped when I looked over at her. She gripped the little cup in her hands more tightly, and I allowed a little grin to rest on my face. "You've gotten much better with this tea." I said lightly, and she exhaled softly, inclining her head. Gorgeous black hair spilled over her shoulder like a pool of acid, the tips brushing the marble floor. Little gems twinkled on the top of her head- gifts from myself. If I had to look on this girl every day, then she was going to be lovely. I insisted that she wore the finest silks and teasingly translucent materials draped over her steadily developing figure, and she walked around barefoot so all I could hear of her was the tinkling of her jewelry.
I liked that sound. She was only to wear a certain number of bracelets per arm, only three necklaces, and two anklets on each ankle. Her hair was always left down because I liked it so much. I had it styled with ribbons and gems, but she was still too afraid of me... I never touched those soft locks. While she was awake, anyway. Countless times had I slid into her bedchamber while she had fallen ill one week, and she was so delirious that my presence did not phase her slumber. I cradled her thin body, observing everything about her- the way her hair and the draped materials that made up her nightclothes draped over my arms and the pleasing curves of her body. I watched her fever stained face, finally relaxed in my presence, and found that she had a scar that was hidden cleverly under her jaw, indicating to me that this young woman was not so unskilled as I had thought.
She was still in training, and that's why I had her. I had agreed to let her stay with me under the condition that I was not required to use her to her full extent. I refused to take this girl, refused to subject her to my passions that would surely scar her should I ever let loose what had been bottled up for my nineteen years of life.
Yes. I am the most feared man in Persia, and yet I have not seen twenty years of this world. Funny, I believe, that eyes grow wide and breath his held when a mere teen walks into a room, but I love it. I love everything about their fear; their respect, and the day it ends will be the day I kill them all. They will no longer be of use to me, and I would enjoy nothing more than hearing the whisper of a dying breath passing the khanum's lips.
I've been here mere months, and I grow constantly more bored with the country. It's customs limit me just slightly, especially with Nadir hovering around. He is a good man in the wrong place, and I do fear one thing. I fear the attatchment I feel for his son. The boy is so very young and fragile... and he is dying. I have not voiced this to the Daroga, but I do believe I'm going to propose ending the suffering he is going through shortly. He doesn't deserve it, and neither does his father.
"Thank you, master." Her voice stirred me from my thoughts, and I sipped at the tea, nodding faintly. I wished she would speak normally around me, but her fear made her whisper. I had heard her laughing with a few other girls at the harem before she had been assigned to me, and I had half a mind to suggest vocational training for her. It was made quite clear to me that she was, however, to be nothing more than a rich man's whore.
My God do I hate this country!
Turning my gaze back to the large window in front of me, I continued to take occasional sips of my bitter tea, content to just listen to the sounds of her moving; the rustling of her outfit as she raised the cup to her lips. I do not know if she enjoys the tea that I make her drink, but she humors me anyway, and that makes her quite enjoyable to have around. Ara does not complain- she does not even show a sign of distaste, and I humor myself to be quite good at guessing emotions of women. I cannot help but think how abused that quality will be when she is sent off to someone else.
Clearing my throat, I lean over to extend my cup, which I have emptied. I hear the little tink of her cup being set down, and more movement as she does as she has been silently told.
Good girl.
If you change your mind I'd be happy to send it over to you. (Care of the school maybe, if you don't want your address known to anyone - and I guess your parents wouldn't want that, going by what you mentioned in the random meet-up suggestion thread. ^_^)
This idea is made of win. Except for one problem.