New Mecca, Helion Prime – TWO YEARS EARILER

Ziza threw back her head and shrieked with laughter as Audrey whisked her around the ballroom. The crowd parted as Audrey whirled through, clutching the toddler to her chest and laughing with uninhibited joy.

Abu watched from one of the many tables in the extravagant hall as his daughters danced through the crowd. Apparently Audrey hadn't realized that the song had changed from an upbeat tempo to a slow classical tune, but it was more likely that she did not care.

Her face was ablaze with vitality, an unadulterated happiness that he had yet to see in the past five years that they had resided in New Mecca. Her laugh echoed through the hall, clear and loud, and his eyes burned with tears of elation.

He had toiled relentlessly for months to ensure that every aspect of her sixteenth birthday was flawless. It had cost him a small fortune, and he would pay it ten times over. He loved her so much it hurt him at times. How like Ziza she was at times. Young and innocent and pure.

When her guard was down, when she slept or played with Ziza, he could, if he watched very closely, catch fleeting glimpses of the girl he had known five years ago. Sometimes it came through as a defiant flash of fire in her eyes, or a mischievous smile, sometimes in an inappropriate joke or comment. He had come to live for those moments, but she had always retreated back into that studied polite sophistication.

Her young spirit had been torn asunder long before she had the opportunity to truly live.

Bitter remorse laced through his body and he was startled to feel the stem of water goblet he held, snap in his hand. Lajjun, with her uncanny ability to understand her husband's needs, leaned into his back and petted his arm soothingly.

"My love," she whispered into his ear, "look at your daughters. They have not a care in the world, they are happy. As you should be."

"It is fleeting, Lajjun," he replied, wearily, "in the morning she will crawl back into herself, into what shell she had created."

"Then let it be fleeting, my love," she purred, waving at Audrey and Ziza as they twirled by, both laughing uncontrollably.

"Let it be and enjoy your daughter's happiness while it lasts, you have earned that."

Sighing in agreement, the father leaned back into his wife's loving embrace and watched with bittersweet joy as his children, his world, spun around the room to the cadence of some unheard song.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

From the balcony of the hall, Caliph Ibrahim Asharal VIII observed the scene beneath him. Ministers, clergymen, Council members, all members of the upper echelon of society milled about beneath him.

Most politely ignored him, and he pointedly disregarded those who didn't. His attendance was customary, the guest of honor was not only a clergyman's daughter, but she was turning sixteen. He would deliver the rite, proclaiming her as a woman eligible for marriage. A tedious job, one that he was considering transferring to a subordinate. Maybe a Minister.

Yet, as boisterous laughter filtered into his private booth his attention was drawn, to the strange girl dancing through the room, twirling and laughing as she flaunted herself. His breath caught in his throat.

Her unsettling green eyes turned upwards as she tilted her head to the gold leafed ceiling, her face was bathed in the glowing light of thousands of candles.

She wore no scarf, and his fingers itched to bury themselves in the thick russet curls that brushed against creamy white shoulders.

She was not beautiful by any conventional means, but the subtle defiance that emanated from her young – almost boyish – frame shook him to the core.

Not a daughter of New Mecca.

Her girlish laughter tinkled through the hall once more. His eyes never left her face as he stroked himself through the layers of his ceremonial robes.

"The girl in white," he said to the attendant at his side, "who is she?"

"Your Holiness, she is the daughter of Imam Abu al-Walid. Adopted daughter. This is her birthday celebration."

An exotic rhythm began to pour from the speakers and the green-eyed witch began to sway innocently from side to side, eyes closed , hands held up to the heavens. The crowd around her faded away and he caressed himself in time with her movements.

Shoving his robes aside, he took himself in one trembling hand and began to pump furiously. His eyes caught every twitch of her lips, every movement of her lithe young body underneath the lavish silk dress.

His teeth pierced the supple skin of her throat and her saccharine blood bubbled over his tongue. Her tears splattered onto his face and he licked at those as well, shuddering at the sharp contrast the salt provided. Hot fear radiated from her skin and he drank in the scent of it, feeling giddy as she hiccupped in terror beneath him.

In his mind she threw her head back in agony; fantasy and reality overlapped as she raised her face to the ceiling. He exploded into his robes, and her figure swam in front of his unfocused eyes.

The private booth was silent save for his ragged panting. A young servant girl kneeled at his feet and began to clean him; her eyes remained blank as he pulled her face into his lap. The other attendant's eyes remained averted, his face as vacant as hers.

The music below faded, "Your Excellency…it is time."