The Forgotten Tale Of Larsa by Seja Majeed

Author:Seja Majeed [Majeed, Seja]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Bluebird publishing House
Published: 2014-06-27T00:00:00+00:00

‘I am not afraid,

I will speak louder,

I will be braver,

I will be all that I can be,

If I believe then I become,

I am free, even if shackled as a slave,

I am pure, even if painted by the hatred of others,

I am my own,

I will not hide in shadows, or disguise myself in another’s presence,

I am the love of my people.

What is destined can never be undone, but what is unwritten belongs solely to me …’

Larsa thought about Marmicus; she remembered his love, how pure it was and how lucky she had been to experience it. She thought about the way he had made love to her on their last night, how he had cradled her, wiped her tears and stroked her cheek. Never in her whole life had she ever imagined that she would betray him like this. Forgive me, she thought, unable to understand what she had done to deserve this. The more she thought about her ill fortune, the more her heart sank. She read the poem again, this time louder and more passionately. The slaves watched her as they began their preparations, the princess choking with every helpless breath. They sympathised with her, but they did nothing to comfort her. They led her to a pool filled with camel’s milk, in which she was to be forced to bathe. Larsa looked into it. All she wanted to do was drown in it, and the only thing stopping her from taking her life was the little life growing inside her.

Larsa felt her knees shake as she dipped into the pool. The slaves held her by the arms, trying to give her the strength to walk. She closed her eyes and dipped her head into the milk, thinking of everything she had endured up to this moment.Finally, they helped her out, and led her to another pool, filled with rose water. There they washed her body and moisturised her skin with lavender oil until it glowed brightly. Her long brown hair was combed; her lips were reddened with the pigment of saffron and orange lily pollen, and her eyes were darkened with kohl. They placed a white silk robe over her body to symbolise her rebirth, and clipped a heavy necklace made of pure gold around her neck.

‘Tonight you are a goddess,’ said the slave woman. She placed a crown upon the princess’s head, signifying her readiness for the emperor.

‘Wait. I need to see Jehan, I won’t go without speaking to her, not even if you try to drag me,’ said the princess.

‘Why do you wish to see her?’

‘I need her reassurance. I can’t disappoint your emperor, not when he’s spared my body and my life. Let her come to me, so I can be at my best when he sees me,’ replied Larsa. It was the only answer she could think of that made any sense. She wiped her tears and stared deeply into the woman’s eyes without blinking: unknowingly, the princess had mastered the act of deception; it was necessary for her survival.

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