NOBODY

1.

Giving into temptation can be such a sweet surrender, such however, is not always the case.

'You have no idea how hard I've looked for a gift to bring you. Nothing seemed right. What's the point of bringing gold to the gold mine, or water to the ocean? Everything I came up with was like taking spices to the Orient. It's no good giving my heart and my soul because you already have these. So, I've brought you a mirror. Look at yourself and remember me.' - Rumi

He was standing in front of the mirror but all he could see was ... nothing. He tried to take closer look. He still remembered that his eyes looked like the frozen heart of Death's River where he was born at a time long forgotten by men, but the candles' light passed through him and bounced back from the mirror as if he wasn't there. Yet there he was, licking the last drop of blood on his lips.

Summer in Egypt was unbearable even in the nights. All that heat was suffocating him, night after night, season after season, year after year, even though he could just open his window and watch the Nile giving birth to life in the damn dessert. He once believed that since he was born into Gates of Death it would only seem proper to move into Alexandria where people seemed to prosper still. Nile's mud was turning the desert into gold and humans were thriving in commerce and arts.

People seemed to have forgotten the old ways in the rising of the new era, but their music still nurtured them. Dancing was still a mystic prayer connecting what's seen and felt with the spiritual world of the unseen. He turned around and took a look at this luxurious dancer's suit. His mothers and fathers would look down to what he had become if they could only see him dancing for the ones who were wealthy enough to pay for this experience. They would have ostracized him. On the other hand, he was the only one left alive beyond any logic or sanity.

His blond hair along with his pale skin made it obvious at first sight that he wasn't born in Egypt. Since he hated giving away any details about his identity, he used to say that he was the bastard son of a sailor and port's hooker who died when he was a kid. People were taking notice from time to time that his impeccable manners didn't seem to fit the story of a homeless, poor boy that had been begging or stealing in order to survive throughout his youth, but none made any questions whatsoever.

All that they desired was the privilege of watching him dancing. Musicians kept writing music for him, hoping that he would dance their melodies one night under the full moon, converting them from sonic sounds into a transcending experience. Egyptian women used to be the most famous belly dancers of the world. Their hips were seducing to any and all who watched them dancing. Their lust for life and sensuality had been the most powerful calling for submission he had ever seen.

An old lady was picking up his clothes from the floor carefully, as quietly as possible. It felt as if it was just like a passionate kiss' time ago when this old lady was the most desired woman of Egypt. Her beauty had faded but magic was still there even though the former Queen of the Nile had fallen from grace.

Zahir had begged him on her knees and tried to blackmail him in every way possible. She even tried to make him kill her since he wasn't willing to offer her eternal life. His path was his own. It wasn't meant to be shared but for a short part of it. She belonged to the Valley of the Dead Pharaohs. He belonged to another river, land, and tribe. Bloodlines define our destiny long before our births.

He knew that Zahir could never betray him from the moment she found him feeding from Naima. Naima had been her best student; far more beautiful and ambitious than any dancer she had ever met. Naima would one day have outbalanced her teacher. She could have even become her own legend, hadn't it been for Naima wanting not only her teacher's merits and fame but himself as well.

Whenever she was dancing it seemed like Lilith had never left Eden, time never existed, and everything was offered to you to get a taste of what first Heaven used to be. Well ... this Lilith's daughter tasted a bit salty, yet he enjoyed it far more than he could ever dare to confess, even to himself.

He wasn't expecting Zahir to enter his bedroom while he was drinking Naima, but Zahir was nothing like any other woman. She was able to gamble everything and everyone within a blink of an eye, lose everything and then start all over again without any guilt or regret.

That night Zahir gambled their relationship. She had been a mentor to him, a mistress, a secret protector in a country with zero tolerance to diversity, a bridge, and a key to unlock East's secrecy. She wasn't so stupid as to expect any kind of fidelity from him. On top of that she didn't mind sleeping with anyone who could make her a tempting offer. She had been loyal to him, yet he doubted he could ever be loyal to anyone ... or anything.

What is, always will be, and that won't ever change, no matter whose presence has any kind of residency.

He could have chosen Naima to take her place. She was younger. She was a student ready to overcome her mentor. Yet he valued loyalty more than anything else. He had no respect towards anything and anyone that money could buy but deep inside his frozen heart, he respected Zahir and valued her presence in his life. So, when Naima showed up to him offering herself to him along with the proposal to take her down, he didn't hesitate. Hubris was never tolerated by him.

Perhaps residency does have a place ... but still.

Zahir didn't make any sound once she saw him feeding from Naima. She saw in his eyes that it was his gift to her. He had crashed the snake's head before it could be strong enough to bite her. She was told by her Mysts that her fate was aligned with that of a man who had died long before her birth. A man she would look at, but she could never see before the time was right. A man she would nourish but she wasn't meant to feed.

She fell on her knees and cut her flesh with a knife.

He stood in front of her, smelling her blood in the air. His lust for her blood was both excruciating and enticing. He leaned over her as if he was a newborn and he was reliving his birth's agony. Naima vanished into oblivion along with the taste of her blood. He was so thirsty as if he had been the desert all his life and that blood line on her flesh was the Nile. Zahir had surrendered herself to him. She was offering herself to him and her blood was there to seal the deal.

Temptation had never hit him stronger before. He could barely breathe. All that he longed for was just a taste of her. He would have been merciful. He would have been kind. Zahir would have stayed in people's memories in her most glorious highlight. But she has always been loyal, and loyalty was where he drew the line, he would never cross. So, he ran away, leaving her bleeding on the floor, close to Naima's dead body.