Disclaimer: The characters, objects, and places that pertain to The Prince of Persia belong to Jordan Mechner and Ubisoft. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Note: Odd-numbered chapters are mostly from the Prince's point of view (written by Elfin Empress) while even-numbered chapters are mostly from Farah's point of view (written by HystericFreak).

I.

Ashes…

My life, like ashes, burned to the last essence of existence, flows freely from my hands. No matter how long I try to hold on, it will continue to seep through my fingers; my human flesh, a most unworthy treasury for it.

How far have I fallen? I can't seem to remember..

I know that one day I must have been loved. But it must have been long ago.

Was it in this life? Or another?

No...no, I just can't seem to tell anymore.

I finger the stone platter, gazing around at the splendid tapestries and fine furnishings, and take in the rich incense flowing throughout the chamber. The incense burns bright. The art is shown beautifully. My eyes close as I gather memories of the notes of India, the sweet scent of ylang ylang. I try to recall if the tapestries in India were beautiful, if the stone was darker there and the marble more brilliant, but my recollection escapes me before I can even touch it. I reach out to touch the mural right in front of me, and it is solid. It is real. I am real. And somehow, I must find a way to endure my life.

Was it a year? Days become years, years become millennia when I am not with her. Time, once my greatest ally, has become to be my greatest enemy; its flow so cruel to my existence. It never pauses for a moment of mere human endearment.

"Dear brother, how I long to see a smile upon your young face. Does the entertainment not please you?" Shidoush asks me, watching the dancers intently.

I look towards the silhouettes weaving before me. The light breeze sends their gossamer pants billowing like the bells of jellyfish in the sea. Enveloped in the shadowy mist of their sheer black veils, they dance around one marble pillar to another. They have a dancer's spirit and a dancer's spirit is made of fire. This plainly, I could see...but could not feel.

"No, I am afraid it does not, my brother," I reply.

The incense burns. The ashes collect. A pile, black as night. Remains of what used to be -- a mere shadow.

My shadow.

I.

Come What May copyright © 2004 by Elfin Empress & HystericFreak

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