One Thousand and One Nights

i

  Humans are the worst beasts.

  Scheherazade had grown up among lions who donned the apparel of saints, but their eyes spoke of sin and lust. Yet no amount of imported silk and lucent jewels could hide the blood tainting their hands.

  It could not hide the blood covering her body.

  Her life was a dangerous game where even she did not belong to herself. But they didn't call her a slave. They called her a gift, a word that she had grown to hate ever since they found her in the streets and taught her that home did not always mean happiness.

  The day Jamal Al Faysal came created a dent in the brothel's history that would never be forgotten.

  Yara was the first one to talk about the strange men that stood in front of the building with swords that were made of pure silver.

  She said that she saw a mysterious man enter the sayid's private room once, but that was not strange for any of them to hear.

  "It was too dark to see him." She said, brushing her hair as Scheherazade and a few other listened closely. "But he was young, I could sense it from his stance."

  "He is most likely here for one of us or to participate in an illegal trade." Scheherazade said.

  She pushed a girl lightly to get a better access to the stained mirror.

  Their "gathering room" was big enough to fit only five of them and the pathetic excuse for furniture was ridiculous.

  "I hope he is not one of the aged royals," A girl said with disgust.

  "At least they pay well,"

  "The money they spend here is nothing compared to their fortune,"

  The door opened without a knock and one of the sayid's servants looked at the girls, his eyes roaming over them shamelessly.

  "What do you want?" Scheherazade snapped. The boy could not have been older than sixteen, yet he seemed to have adopted the sayid's character.

  A smirk remained on his lips. "You are requested in the private room."

  She let out a sigh and followed him, leaving the others to stare at her with curiosity and what looked like pity.

  Nothing good ever came when someone was called to the room.

  The servant left them by the door, but not before raising an eyebrow with an almost triumphant smirk that made Scheherazade want to slap him.

  "You must have been a naughty--"

  "Take one step closer and I'll cut your tongue,"

They both looked at the small knife pointed at the servant. Scheherazade would have been a fool if she didn't take any precautions in a place filled with snakes.

  Without another word, she knocked on the door and entered.

  The sayid was standing by his wooden desk, facing someone who was sitting on a chair, a frown creasing his forehead.

  He looked up and smiled the most superficial smile that she had seen on his lips yet.

  "Excuse the girl for her tardiness, master. She does not understand the concept of respect."

  Most of his sentence went unheard by Scheherazade, whose ears perked up at the mention of master.

  It was not strange for her to be asked to service royals, but she had never seen the sayid act so inferior and afraid.