It was an accident, this change in me. I didn't mean to do this. It just happened, when I wasn't paying attention. It wasn't my fault; you can't blame me for things that are beyond my control. You can't stand there on your makeshift pedestal and look down on me, and cast me aside for being wrong. I have done nothing to deserve your scorn.
If anything, it is you who should be blamed. You did this to me.
You say I have changed? I know I have. Do you want to know when it happened? Do you have to ask? It was when you dragged me through the hall. When you When you stopped my brother, my dearest, truest friend, from saving me. When you stripped me of my shirt and bound my hands and feet so I could not struggle. When you bid my sister hold me still. When your knife cut into my flesh, carving the marks of your beliefs, your prophecy, your Pharaoh. When you walked away, unheeding of my tears. You broke me then. I can't forgive you.
You are talking again. In your mind, I suppose, I am listening avidly – for I look as though I am. I act as though I have forgotten what you did. But I have not. You speak of our duty, sacred to the gods, protectors of the Pharaoh. I do not believe in your "pharaoh." He is not coming back. It is a foolish lie, passed down from generation to generation to keep us enslaved here.
Do you know, I have only once seen the sun?
I feel my anger growing, wrath within me welling up to choke me almost to the point of tears. Damn you, damn you to hell for what you have done to me! How could you lock me away in this place and expect me to thrive? How could you bring me to the light, just that one time, and not expect it to torment me? How could you hurt me this way?
I cannot breathe. It is an almost fleeting thought, that perhaps my anger has indeed killed me as sister said it would, and then…and then…
This is not the room I was in only moments ago. What has happened? Did I faint? No, but I am standing here…and you…
..
...
..
"Ada?" The ten-year-old boy frowns at the man propped against the wall. He does not receive a response, and frantically shakes the man's shoulder.
"Ada, answer me! Ada!" The man slides sideways, leaving a glistening red trail of blood in his wake. Horror fills the child's face, and he backs away – too quickly, tripping and falling, tears welling up in his lavender eyes. He looks down as he tries to stand again, and sees his hands, covered in blood. He sees the knife lying at his father's side.
He flees as if he believes that the corpse will rise and follow him, to point him out and call the blame. Running down familiar passageways until, at last, he reaches the hall that will lead him to his refuge, to safety from these horrors he was not meant to see—
Strong hands grab him and he screams in terror, still trapped in his fantasy. But the one who caught him holds him tightly, hugging his sobbing form and rocking him gently, whispering calming words in his ear.
Finally, the boy's sobbing stops. His brother brushes his hair back from his face, about to ask him what is wrong, when he too sees the blood that stains him. It has come off on his cheeks, and dyed platinum locks pink where he buried his face in his hands.
The child sees the look on his brother's tattooed face, sees that he is being doubted, turned from, and all the hurt within him wells up again, strong and terrifying, threatening once more to engulf him. He clings to his brother, praying that with his age has also come the wisdom to quell this demon. The arms that hold him tighten, the pain in his chest, in his throat, in his heart intensifies and then it is gone as swiftly as it came. Trembling with relief, the boy buries himself in his brother's embrace, sleepy from fear.
And then Rishid doesn't need to ask, because he knows that Malik can't explain it to him.