The morning sun glistened outside, leaving a shadow over a city that awoke like a giant, its streets beginning to fill with the peddlers and the noise, the baaing of the sheep and the singing of the birds, that Amira was so accustomed to was blocked out. The heavily draped windows only offered a glint of that sweltering Persian sun. Her long lashes, curled and thick, fluttered like a butterfly ready to fly off to reveal a twin of emerald green eyes that scanned the room. Amira, whose name had meant fortunate, was not so certain that she had lived to her blessed name. Turning around, her eyes caught the familiar designs that she had so often seen adorn the palace with so much more concentration that she had never quite noticed. And then her eyes trailed down lower where the white sheets meshed with her legs, covering them so delicately as bits of flesh were visible and then the blood-red stains on the sheets. With a groan, she plopped back onto the pillows, hands over her face and a sick feeling in her stomach as she strained to curl into a fetal position under the blankets.
"Oh, Allah!" She breathily whispered, whimpering. She was so ashamed of what she had done! Duty it may have been but a part of her knew this was nothing she had prepared for. She could only keep muttering and praying for forgiveness. Oh cursed, cursed world! She had barely turned fifteen and had been chosen as a gift of some sort for him and all the other favored women of the harem scowled and looked at hers as if she was an ugly hag. She knew her duty, to be taken for pleasure, as a play toy of men.
He was the first Frenchmen she saw and from sneaked glances and gossip of the other women; she gradually came to know the genius as a well-known figure in Persia, a legend to become. Yet she would not have wanted to bed him. All her life, she had grown up in the harems, just an inch or so higher than the slaves but still higher, high enough that she thought she was past all that. She was educated and preparing to become a wife of nobility, and now. She was taken away from the sanctuary of the harem and in the living quarters of a man whose name she did not even know. So she lost not only her virginity but the harem. Who was she now? Either way, she would die a slow, starving hunger that ate at you inside out or a quick execution in front of scowling women who whispered their crude jokes quietly. This was nothing to be ashamed of; the khanum herself had asked her of the favor to entertain our lovely guest, suffering of ennui. So the very night the Frenchmen came in, she was doing something she knew not she was capable of. Waiting on his bed, he entered, almost ignoring her all together and all the air was cut off. He demanded power, his aura was simply ineffable, and with a turn of his head, hands grasping at the frames of the wooden bed, his eyes met hers. She did not know then, if she had gasped out loud or not but those yellow eyes hidden behind a white blank mask. His eyes were sad; the subtlety was crushing on her. She forgot for just a moment, what she had lazily drawled out. Let him do as he pleases, no doubt he should excel, and do I make myself clear? Good, then if you should fail a task simple as this, then there really is no point of living for you. In that half a minute that seemed to last an eternity, he looked away, and Amira sat obediently like a child waiting to be scolded.
"How old are you?" His voice was gravelly, like a sagacious old man, and then at the same time, alluring and masculine.
"Fifteen, monsieur," The word rolled off her tongue awkwardly, she as added in an unnecessary curtsy.
"I am Erik to you only," He sighed, "Please, no formalities, not if you will accept me,"
"Accept you?" His Persian was too proper, a tell-tale sign for anyone to be convinced he was not truly Persian. Magician he may be, but did he not understand why she was there. The fear began swarming around her when all the other concubines and odalisques laughed harshly at her cruel fate, to be raped by a monster, a foreigner as well. The sharp cackles made her shiver, once again angry for having such a name. Fortunate. Why her of all the others? She was most certainly not the prettiest, at least she thought, or the cleverest. Most ultimately, she saw herself a coward, never knowing how her life would be, not within these walls of the shah. Her green eyes hid behind their lids, frightened to see her new master.
"Show me your face," He walked towards her, his elongated fingers, cold as ice despite the hot weather of Persia, grasping her cheeks tenderly. The girl trembled, whispering her reply, holding back her tears. She could see his hands, pale white against her tan complexion, yet his hands provided no friction among her face, the very face that was smoothed by lotions. Her first accusation, wrong. Trembling, she lifted the veil off her face to see him clearly for the first time. He looked at her revoltingly, and then at his hands, "I cannot touch you,"
Amira kept her sadness muted; she was too ugly for even a deformed beast to love? Erik busily studied her in keen interest, she was not different or at least, he could not have told the difference between all the women who walked past him in this wicked country but to take something away from her, it burned like desire, his needs. The way she bit on her lower lip, her audible breath, and those eyes staring at her past her curly, dark hair covering her bare shoulders. At fifteen, she was beautiful to him, but knowing that she was here by force disgusted him, he imagined her underneath those alluring clothes. He could already imagine the hidden delights in store. With impulsive glances, he paced back and forth in the room until she found the courage to be shed of her clothing. He stood, rapid breathes accompanying fervent eyes. There stood the fifteen year old, illuminated only by the setting sun. And with the best of her ability, she huskily murmured, "Come, master,"
He then covered his eyes, such a movement to hide his embarrassment. Allah! The thing she dreaded the most now became so bothersome, a blow to her confidence. Standing with her hands placed around her waist, he could not avoid seeing her, the way her breasts-No! This was below him! To take away this teenager's dignity for reasons not nearly as desirable as love, it was too overwhelming. The choice was not his to make. Yet somehow, when she grasped his arm, the shock electrocuted him, her creamy soft palms over the sleeves of his suit, staring at him with those gigantic eyes. And then he started taking off his clothes as the sun darkened. Goddamn, he thought, one night only with this girl and he would have to let her loose anyway. The thinness made Amira shudder, she had never seen a man naked before her and standing just as he was, she shivered with fear. His mask remained on his face and she was glad for that, and then they found themselves on the bed.
The very bed Amira woke up in. She glanced around, closing her eyes to remember last night, the sores she felt all over and then, with a sigh, she broke down crying.
A/N New phantom story! I absolutely do love those Erik and persian chick fanfics! Had this all written out but I was not going to start until the New Year (Happy 2011!) but can't wait now! So thanks for reading!