A woman, around 25, skipped quickly across the baking floor. She had sandals on, but the heat from the sun was still scalding her feet and head. It was midday, so the sun was at its most lethal. She was almost at her destination, so she didn't really try and search for shade. The young woman was used to the hot Persian sun. This was evident from her brown shoulders visible under her transparent veil wrapped around her head and upper body. Her hair was raven black, complimenting her ethnic features. She was a very beautiful young woman, and her clothes suggested she was of wealthy status. Yet the riddle of her being was to be looked in to a lot deeper. The woman was a courtesan, paid for by the wealthiest of men. She came from one of the exclusive brothels, where only the rich were customers. She was dressed so beautifully from the gifts men showered her with. Her parent's had been killed in the wars of Persia and the Ottoman Empire, and so was left to the streets, when the owner of the Courtesan house had took her in, noting her beauty as a fine way for money.
She was now on her way to one of her clients houses. She was more used to services being in the brothel itself, or in the high courts in the Capital, yet she didn't mind travelling to this particular man.
When she arrived at his house, or rather, his Estate, she was escorted by a butler up the path towards his grand keep, which any bigger would have been classed as a palace. It was an astounding structure. Eastern in design, yet held an air of Western architecture, proud and dominating. Its windows were all shuttered with beautiful iron works, curling and carved into breathtaking shapes that almost told stories. The front garden was huge, full of trees and beautiful exotic flowers, on one side of the large garden there was a fountain. The young woman adored this fountain, as it held such beauty that she had never seen before. There was a structure of three women in the centre, all with perfect anatomy. One was playing a harp, another dancing, and the other, the centred and most beautiful, was silently singing. Her stone hand was upright towards the heavens, holding a single rose. The other held outright, sprouted the water in one direction, while the others held out the hands cascaded the water in other directions.
The young woman would often make these trips, as the master of the Estate requested her particularly. The other girls at the brothel were jealous of her, as the man was rumoured to have a magnificent sum of money. The young woman also knew that the man held heartbreakingly good looks, or that which she could see, for half of the man's face was covered. The woman had often had clients were they had hid their face with a veil of some sort, not wanting to be identified for being in a brothel, but she had never seen a covering of this sort. It was a mask, an ivory white mask, perfectly sculpted to the right side of his face. It held his mystery in place, but she had no complaints. It was not her place to know why.
On approaching the large front doors, she marvelled again at the iron works, so fine in detail, with roses and music notes, harps and instruments. It could have been studied for days. The door swung open after a signal knocking from the butler, and she entered. She was lead up flights of stairs to a door where she was left alone. The woman felt nervous, a strange feeling she had not encountered for quite some time now, only when she was with this man. She knocked gingerly on the door.
"Enter." A deep voice rumbled from within. She pushed the heavy door open into one of the many rooms. She was greeted by a familiar sight. The amazingly decorated room which held an enormous bed, again decorated like the doors and windows. She was not interested in this sight, more the man that was stood next to the window. She took a shaky breath in and smiled at him. He did not smile back, but moved away from the glare of the window so she could see him properly in the shaded room. He looked magnificent. He was clad in a shimmering Persian robe, pure black. It gleamed from the reflection of the sun, making him silluetted. She watched him walk towards her quietly, not daring to breath. He had a black mask on this time, to compliment his outfit. It covered all the top half of his face, just showing his glittering green eyes, dancing menacingly. The young woman felt her toes curl.
"Sara. I hope your journey was not too much trouble?" His tone did not seem as caring as the question was.
"Yes, I mean no, it was no trouble… Hal-el-tef"
She saw his mouth slightly move at the sides, indicating a smile, or rather a suggestive smirk. Her heart fluttered as he moved his face slowly to hers and kissed her cheek, breathing in her scent as he did so. She fluttered her eyes shut, putting her hands on his broad shoulders. He moved again, lower, moving her veil away from her shoulder, and caressing it with his lips. Sara's breathing became heavier as he kissed her, she felt her body melting into him; a feeling which she had to no other man she was with. However, she sometimes got the impression that he never saw her. He would make love to her, and treat her with profound respect, yet she always knew he never really acknowledged her. It hurt her a lot, and she had been warned by the matron of the brothel not to let feelings occur. But she couldn't help it. She knew she loved this man, even if he did not love her, she would make him see, and that maybe he could love her in return.
That day they had spent together lasted until night fall. Hal-el-tef had ordered a huge banquet for Sara afterwards, and gave her gifts of beautiful clothes and jewellery he had crafted especially for her. She marvelled at its beauty, yet she knew it's not what she wanted. She wanted him. And again, he had refused to see this. That night he sent her home in a rickshaw, the same he did every time on her visits. As she sat in the back of the carriage, she let a single tear slide down her cheek.
Erik had watched the rickshaw take the young woman away down the long path to the end of the grounds, where it turned out the gates, taking her back to the brothel. He retired to his bedroom, a place where he would take no one, not even Sara. It was the most beautiful of rooms, full of red drapes of muslin and candelabras and candles littered it. It held a balcony, which was facing sunset. The angry shade of orange was still visible on the horizon, setting an astonishing shadow across the ethnic roof tops of the city. Erik drank in the sight, feeling nothing but pain amongst the beauty. He swung back a bottle of alcohol he had clutched in his hand, trying to drown out thoughts of the past desperately. Tears appeared as he gulped hungrily, and after he emptied the bottle, he threw it at full force against his bedroom wall. It smashed, sending shards of glass skidding across the room. He fell to his knees and let out a cry of anguish.
"Why…why won't you leave me alone?" He muttered through sobs.
"You haunt me every day, every hour, every second. I can't see…I …I can't breath. Why do you follow me? I…I HATE YOU."
He spun around, sending his candelabras smashing to the ground, shredding curtains from their rails and kicking boarder screens over in fury. He collapsed onto the floor once more, crying angrily well into the night.