by Sunraven

The First Day

I shall keep time according to the calendar of my heart, from this day forth. Blessed be the name of Allah, for He is the One God, and I am His servant.

Today is the first day of my real life. And, I here make a vow to Allah, that I shall be avenged. I shall take one life for every drop of her selyn. I shall destroy what her grandfather, in his arrogance, has built. This I shall do, if Allah wills.

For I will never hear the sound of Fatima’s laughter again. I shall never be cradled in her golden field—richer than sunlight, and softer than clouds. I shall never place my hands on her silky hair, or watch her as she spins. She will never give me children. We will never taste joy.

My Fatima is dead, and by my own hand. For I am a Scourge of Allah. I was born to test the faith of allah’s children, and only those who survive the Test are worthy to live. Or so I am told.

Today was our day. We had it planned. First, the ceremony, and the test. I was so joyful that I would administer Fatima’s test.. I have seen her field, and I know her heart. Of all Allah’s children, she was the sweetest, the purest, the most worthy. We would show the world this, and then go hand in hand to her grandfather. I had a token of the bride price with me, to give him, and the rest saved. We would have been married before my next Testing.

But she died. She died in my arms. She died because of what I did. Oh, no. This could not not not be the will of Allah. Not this. Not that I should fill her lovely body with pain, and then darkness. Not that she should slip like rags from my arms, and crumple to the floor. I think I cried out. I know the tears fell. I remember lifting her in my arms, and carrying her to her Grandfather-—he founder of the Sacred Way of the Children. I laid her before him. "Look. Look. Look at what I have done!"

He barely glanced down at her. He pushed her tiny body away with his foot. "She is faithless. If she died, it is because her heart is not true. Thus is the proclamation of God. Blessed be you, the Scourge of Allah. No faithless child will issue from this womb."

I raised my hand to him. I would have killed him then. Right then. Not strip him, not take his selyn. No. He had already survived that. I would choke him, or beat him. I would tear his life from him with my hands and my teeth. But they pulled me away. They sent me to my tent. They tried to soothe me—to send me a woman. By Allah! They DARED! I want nothing from them, except their lives. All of their lives. And I shall have them. Inch Allah.

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