The golden sunlight cast a cruelly beautiful glow on this last night. A lovely hue of purple trickled through the intricate latticework covering the window. The light flickered and danced when she moved her pale, jewel-encrusted arms. A soft sigh escaped her reddened lips and her blackened eyelashes lowered until they touched her shimmering silver skin.

Suddenly, one of the eunuchs stationed to guard the harem at all times emitted a string of words that seemed nothing more than unintelligible babble. For an instant her quicksilver eyes blazed, their old sparkle returning; but it was gone that quickly, vanished like a wisp of smoke.

"Oui?"

The thickly accented voice struggled to wrap its tongue around the beautiful and civilized words of the French language. "Mademoiselle, your presence is required. You have five minutes to make yourself ready."

Exiting the room, the fat man left her alone with her thoughts. With a hand that shook slightly, she looked at the unfamiliar face in the mirror. Her long, curly black hair had been twisted into knots and braids, the unruly ringlets tamed and controlled with a thick potion. Down past the small of her back the black water fell, spilling over her delicate white shoulders in stiff spirals.

She thought of everything and nothing while she gazed through the carved wooden covering on the window. Low in her stomach, the dull knife twisted as it always did when she was nervous. Perhaps it had been wise that she had not eaten in three days. It explained the stomach ache. Her last recollection of a decent meal long gone, she longed for one she could simply stomach.

Blinking back the tears that burned and pricked behind her eyes, she tried to ignore the heady smell of the imported perfume that clashed with the aroma of the hibiscus bushes outside her window. The sickening cacophony of the scents made her nauseous.

Breathing carefully through her mouth, she placed her hands on her painted belly. The nails on her long, delicate fingers had been grown for more than a month; such was the time she had been prepared. They, too, had been enameled in silver and encrusted with glass designed to look like diamonds. Her body had been dusted and painted silver, and elaborate henna designs snaked up her arms in a shimmering silver-gold paint. Diamonds had also been embedded here and there into her soft skin to complete the effect.

She had known the inevitability of this day since the khanum discovered French was her native language as well as her magician's. She had emitted a wicked laugh over that. The voluptuous figure behind the red silks had gracefully bestirred herself from the divan and walked over to her. "Ah, yes," she'd murmured upon examining her face, arms, figure. "You shall not fail to entrance my sorcerer. I trust you remember what happened to the other one? The first odalisque?" She had needed no answer, for who could forget the day the poor little slave girl had been brutally tortured in ways that were as unthinkable as they were unspeakable?

"You are beautiful, in a foreign way, to be sure. No true Persian would ever want the likes of you. But you are young, nubile, and comely enough for a stranger. Those eyes are eerie, though. Nothing can be done about them...unless...," the shah's mother had stopped then. "No, you will not fail to entrance him...if you wish to live." She had given the gesture for dismissal and announced, "You may leave."

Returning to her chambers she had awaited her fate with dread day after day and lesson upon lesson.

"Mademoiselle."

Gracefully, she turned from the window, the silver silks swirling before flattening against her body in the slight breeze. Ever so quickly, she grabbed a vial from her vanity and hid it inside the palm of her hand. It held only enough for tonight, just this one time. Praying her resolve would not fail, she left the room.

The gold-threaded slippers made no sound on the marbled floor. In the corridor, the khanum awaited her, surrounded by ladies of the harem. A beautiful cloth-of-silver gauze rested in her hands, falling from a tiara of spun silver, embellished with black pearls. Absurdly the myth of Persephone came to mind. I'm to be stolen by the Devil and made Queen of the Night. She would have laughed, were it possible. The khanum placed the crown upon her head. When the veil covered her face below the eyes and trailed down, she heard, "Take her to him."

Somehow her leaden legs moved her from the strange familiarity of the harem up to the lavish apartments reserved for high officials and favorites of the shah. The eunuchs stopped before the intricate double doors and opened them. In a high, singsong voice, one sang, "The Shadow of God, Mother to the Illustrious One, She Who Wanders in Eternal Light bestows upon her ungrateful, yet useful, servant: La Luna."

Her time had come. "So soon?" she whispered. The eunuchs bowed for her to enter, and she did. The apartments were extravagant to say the least. Black and red were the predominant colors and there were caged animals everywhere. Hideous, injured things, unable to leave -some making terribly plaintive noises. For all the horrid murders the sorcerer committed, did he also torture helpless animals? The girl looked up. A tall figure stood stiffly by the balcony, a glass filled with mahogany colored liqueur in his hand. Garbed strangely for Persia, he wore an immaculately tailored evening suit. It must be at the height of fashion in Europe. He raised his right hand and curtly waved two fingers.

The eunuchs quickly asked something in Persian she could not comprehend. He replied brusquely and they left, hurriedly closing the door behind them. The soft click of the lock was louder than any cannon blast to her ears. Unintentionally, she jumped. The door was shut; her fate sealed. Condemned to spend her last night on earth with a vile murderer who had the face of a cadaver - a monster with a taste for torture.

"Please, come here mademoiselle," he beckoned. How could a demon speak so sweetly? The words were elemental music; soft as a mother's caress and surpassingly gentle. To hear her native tongue spoken so fluently and with such beauty made her body ache. He gestured for her to come forward and she complied; the instinct for survival drawing her inexorably forward.

When she stood before him she noticed he wore the mask. It covered his entire face but for the very bottom of his grossly malformed lips. In one way it was a relief, yet she almost wished she could see his face; it would remind her of the monster she dealt with. She stared into his mismatched eyes while holding her head high. One was a deep brown with flecks of gold, the other a clear, crystalline blue. He returned her gaze appraisingly and asked in that same velvety voice, "How is it you came to be here?"

"I was on a pilgrimage with my academy when we were kidnapped in Istanbul. Three girls survived, myself included. One escaped into the desert to certain death and the other killed herself. After those incidents I was kept under constant watch and not permitted any utensils, for fear I take my own life. I arrived at the palace, where it was discovered that I speak French. The khanum bestowed me with a great honor and gave me to her most favorite servant." She paused. "Master."

"Do not call me that. I have no intention of taking you, since it has been proven that a woman would rather die a monstrous death than lie with me. You may stay the night and tell the khanum what you will. Her most favorite servant has no use for you, so I fear you'll stay un-honored tonight."

Not knowing what to say, the slave girl replied, "As you will. Though I must tell you that on the morrow I am to be examined. If it is not proven that you took me as your wife, I will be executed after the manner of the first girl."

He turned sharply and looked at her. "Excuse me? She would never. That bitch!" he roared. His anger rose as quickly as a desert sandstorm and was equally terrifying. He ranted and raved incoherently as he threw ornaments and small pieces of furniture across the room. When at last composed himself he said, "Mademoiselle, the choice is entirely yours."

When faced with a life-altering decision that one must make on his own, for some, everything stops. The girl looked at her master incredulously, yet her face remained as calm and still as the surface of a silvered lake.

"A choice?" she asked in a voice barely above a whisper. A choice. What to do? There had been a choice before this, of course, but the monster is giving one to me? Incroyable.

"Yes, you have a choice as to your fate. If you wish to live, I suppose I could try to get you out of the place by dawn. I make no promises, though. If you are not up to the task, you are doomed."

Studying the near perfection of the Persian carpet at her feet, she observed how the green faded imperceptibly into yellow, which then transposed itself into gold and finally a brilliant crimson. A sensible, logical design could not be discerned. Nor could a sensible, logical explanation be found as to why the sorcerer was being so kind. He said nothing of taking her, marrying her – naught of anything of a physical nature. He only spoke of setting her free.

In the fading light, the mage standing on the balustrade looked more natural. He couldn't look less threatening; that would have been impossible. He stood taut as a bowstring, once again clutching the crystal glass filled with brandy and gazing out at nothing in particular. His rooms overlooked the rose garden; the sounds of the water were familiar. The girl's own room had a small latticed window that opened up onto a path of the garden: one could hear the steady trickle of water and see the gravel that those of privilege walked upon. The harem was on a sub-level of the palace as women were naturally inferior to men. Yet this man was treating her as something more than an object to be used. Why? He still held that aura of power and majesty about him, but there was something a little more human about him in that moment. With his back turned to her, he seemed almost normal. Merely a gentleman pondering something after dinner while visiting a strange land. It was oddly comforting.

"I..." her voice faded off. A small sigh escaped the magician's deformed lips and he relaxed ever so slightly.

"Yes?" he prompted.

"I would spend the night with you."

"And what would you say to the khanum? You know, I had nothing to do with - I did not wish for the girl to be harmed. She did not want to lie-" The sorcerer stopped then and paused. "She was - the eunuchs were the ones that told of her decision. They are not here now, I have seen to that, though spiders lurk in the walls, to be sure. What shall you say, mademoiselle?"

"I speak only the truth. Perhaps you misunderstood me?" the girl ventured.

"Oh?"

Walking towards the magician, she paused. He towered nearly a foot above her. Resolutely turning her head upward, she said, "I will stay with you, tonight. I shall tell her the truth." Staring fixedly into those mismatched eyes, she observed how the magician had a way of looking at her as though he were staring straight into her soul. "I will be your wife. I shall stay with you tonight and for as long as you want me." That was the true test for her. No longer could she be a child and react to everything that happened. That was too easy; it was past time for her to grow up and put away her toys.

"You do not. No. You cannot. Sit down. Over there on the couch." He gestured wildly. "This is some demented game. What were you told to do here? What is your name?" His voice grew louder and louder like the sound thunder makes when it is building and growing until it finally breaks and shatters causing tense electricity to burst in the air. "What did the khanum tell you to do? Why? One wasn't enough, was it? Why? Why! You will tell me why, girl, and you will tell me now!"

The girl backed up clumsily, retreating in the face of his vicious onslaught. She stumbled into the ornate divan and knelt trembling on the floor. When the storm was over and the thunder stopped at long last, she tried to keep her face passive and still as a sheet of ice. Cold, implacable and hard, she glared up at this putrid being who dared chastise her. She slid her hand against the smooth surface of her back and down to the cord that tied her slip. She trembled violently when she realized she could not find the vial.

A snarl began in her stomach and fluttered up as a dagger drove its way through her insides. Her heart was pounding in her head and a drum beat incessantly, mercilessly inside her head. Curling over in pain, a soft moan escaped her lips and a shimmering drop fell from her lackluster eyes. Lashes lowered at the monster, she stared at the floor as it blurred. Perhaps the gods were being kind and she would sleep now.

A soft, barely audible caress of sound brushed against her ears and her lips parted in a sigh. The gentle touch of a sylph brushed ever so gently against her hair and a glimmer of life sparkled in her ashen eyes once more. Looking up at where this came from, she saw naught but a thin, transparent ghost stirring in front of the window. The moon shone into the room and reflected off the diamonds on her hands. She barely felt the magician's fingers that touched her face as he lifted the veil and wiped away the tear.

Smiling slightly, she sat up and let her head fall back. The exquisite tone of his soft voice reverberated through her body until she could no longer feel it. Now the sound was growing louder and forming syllables which were incomprehensible to her ears, yet lovely all the same. A stirring pleasure awoke in her as she was very suddenly and acutely aware of every nerve in her body even as she felt that she left it. This feeling of oblivion, of pure nothingness, was so intoxicating that she found herself both floating and falling. The beautiful Persian rug that she had seen in what seemed to be another lifetime, floated by, far beneath her head. Abruptly the world spun and the carpet was gone just as quickly. There was now darkness and that was beautiful as well. A rustle was heard that interrupted the sublime resonance and she felt something cool touch her skin all over. Breathing softly she sunk into the soft, icy mist that surrounded her and shuddered.

The tone stopped.

She was lying in a bed and the sorcerer was walking into the room. A panic rose in her throat, and she had the eerie feeling that she was now the mountain goat being stalked by the tiger; unable to escape her certain doom yet fully conscious of its imminent occurrence.

"Would you take water? Where do you hurt, mademoiselle?"

"My stomach," the odalisque whispered dryly.

"Is it near your time of the month," came a precise, cultured voice.

"No; I haven't eaten, monsieur."

"For how long?"

"Three days or so."

"I see. Pray, excuse me," and with that the warlock left her alone in the dark with her thoughts.