A few notes before we begin: As most of this story will be set in 19th Century Persia, I am going to be attempting to use the Jalali Calendar- the calendar that I think was used in those times. My only resource on this, and the conversions, is the ever-unreliable internet, so I apologise for any mistakes!

I think I will put Gregorian and Jalali months as well as a link to the converter that I'm using and some basic information on my profile page so you can find out what date(s) each chapter takes place on if you're curious.

Last but not least- this is my first Phantom story, so please leave feedback, good or constructive, so I can see how I'm doing. Thank you!


2 Aban, 1230
Tehran

He flew through the open door and into her room and immediately halted. She was asleep.

It was a wonderful sight, to see her resting. The last time he had seen her, she had been exhausted almost to her limits, and it gave him great joy that she had finally been allowed time to herself to relax. His eyes skimmed over her, greedy after so long a separation- the curve of her form underneath the cream bedsheet, moving slightly with her smooth breathing; the hand flung off of the mattress and dangling in space; the beauty of her long, closed eyelashes.

It wasn't until he looked at her, really looked, that he even noticed that anything was wrong.

Silvery tear tracks, still glistening slightly, ran down her face and ended in a tiny pool beside her on the pillow. Frowning slightly, he approached her silently and crouched at the side of her bed. From this new angle, he could see what appeared to be a bruise on her neck. He bristled at the thought of anyone but himself daring to touch her. He noticed that the mark seemed to extend below the line of the sheet. Carefully, oh-so-carefully, he peeled the covering back and had to restrain a gasp at what he saw.

Red and purple handprints, freshly made, were scattered across her body. He briefly wondered if it was moral to be looking at her bare breasts but found himself not caring when he took in the vicious markings covering them. Her legs were curled up to her body in the foetal position, but the barest tips of purple fingers reached around from her inner thigh. The sight made him want to vomit.

Very gently, he spread the sheet back over her, smoothing it down delicately and wincing as he saw the tiny specks of blood over the lower half of it. Only her slender neck and face, and the part of her arm that hung from the edge of the bed, were left exposed- only two bruises of many.

And he wept. He dared to lay his fingers lightly upon her bruised wrist, and he wept.