[ WATTYS '18 LONG-LISTED ]
❝ I have slit throats far more beautiful than yours.❞
In which a thousand brides have fallen, and she is the last, so she spins a tale as old as time to live the dawn.
| an arabian nights x beauty and the beast crossover...
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"THE PRISONER," LALEH STARTS this morning, winding into the room with the first gleam of the sun, "Happens to be a rebel."
Shahrazad gathers the unbrushed thicket of curls behind her shoulders, widening her eyes. She had expected that the man was, in fact, after the blood of the King, but it still surprises her that he had the courage to directly break into the palace. "Has he said anything at all?"
"With the methods Khalifa is using, he might as well," she points, the tinge of coldness her voice had undertaken the previous day vanquished. It is quite comforting after their disagreement, and Shahrazad is glad for it. "If you're wondering why I'm talking to you, it's because despite yesterday, you are still better company than that Farha."
A familiar figure creeps into the gaps of the ajar doors, thinly smiling through chapped, fuchsia painted lips. "That is no way to gossip about a poor woman."
Laleh scoffs. "You're hardly that."
"Well, I'm not here for you," Farha sharply grins as she pads over towards the shutters. "I would like to speak to the Queen."
Staring at the domed ceiling, mosaic splattered high arches seeming unreachable, Shahrazad nods. She can merely listen to what the eunuch has to offer with a grim mind and an unsound heart.
The cushions dip, caving into the flooring. It is a hissed whisper slithering past her ears, curling into her stomach in uncertainty. "I believe the prisoner might be of interest to you, Malika."
"Why do you think so?"
"For one, he is quite the companion."
Shahrazad grips the ivory stand beside her, clutching it until her knuckles resemble its shade. The shallowness of her breath burns her lungs, scorching an ample fire. It can't be a coincidence, this cannot be happening. "Afshar."
"That is what it means in Farsi, does it not, my lady?"
Beside her, Laleh holds onto her delicate shoulders, glaring deeply. "Stop it this instant."
"No, where is he?"
"Where all the devil's prisoners are," Farha breathes smugly, smile dark, "The dungeons."
Everything seems to fade.
She cringes at the picture her mind conjures. It paints the image of Afshar being dragged, bruised, beaten to bleed. Shahryar whips him, laughing cruelly, blood staining his glittering crown. She recalls the indentation in his hands, the hands she held, the fingers that touched her, and bile crawls up the column of her throat. She let him do that.
It is all her fault.
Shahrazad uses the wall as a pillar, rising nervously on unsteady feet. "I have to see him for myself."
"You're out of your mind," Laleh protests, seizing her wrist. "This is a bad idea. Farha is probably lying."
She shakes her head, turning towards the eunuch with a firm gaze. "Lead me to the dungeons."
