Stanza
Nightingale
Of all the wrongs Iyan had committed before his initial death and return to the Elemental Plane of Earth, there was one that haunted him the most: having to abandon his beloved Zahwa. Since his "rehabilitation," he'd realized his wrongdoing and understood that placing this haunting memory above all others was perhaps selfish on his part, certainly. All the same, he could not help himself: Zahwa had been a light in the darkness that surrounded his life.
He was the eldest, with two "sisters:" one an aspect of the Sun, another the Moon, and he, of Time. Poets wrote entire ballads about the hope that came with every sunrise. Lovers welcomed the embrace of the moonlight. What did others have for Time, save for scorn and fear?
But Zahwa - Zahwa had been different. She had come to him not asking for more time or power. Instead, she had found Iyan during one of his many "scouting" missions as he wandered a marketplace in a city that seemed to be frozen in Time itself: ancient, yet somehow ageless at the same time. Peddlers hawked fresh fruits and vegetables, or textiles, or trinkets for the loved ones of passersby. Scents of all kinds filled the air, from the sweet and the spicy to the pungent and leathery. The space bustled with a sea of faces, of voices - of emotions. Joy, frustration, sadness, impatience.
It was the impatience Iyan watched for - sometimes despair. Those people clinging to hope, who only just needed the slightest crumb to be led into his trap. He could bind them into a pact without issue when they were desperate, not unlike the Devils he'd heard so much about. Zahwa was none of these things. Instead, what he observed from her was curiosity; intrigue. Striking, deep brown eyes peered out from over the veil that obscured part of her face, her raven hair flying loose and free. Defiant. Hints of feline ears pointed their way out from between those wild and wavy locks, a matching black tail flicking at the tip behind her, relaxed. She seemed to glow in the morning sun, her more human-appearing skin radiant, warm, and golden. But perhaps most pleasant to him of all was the gentle tinkling of tiny bells that adorned the anklets beneath her skirts.
He had been instantly besotted.
Even when she learned of the Dao's true identity, she didn't shy. His more insidious dealings were a secret he begrudgingly kept from her for her protection. What dangers would she face if she knew what horrible things he was doing? What would people do to her if she knowingly fraternized with a man capable of such atrocities? And beyond that, what would she think of him? What would she say to this man she'd come to adore?
So much of their shared life was shrouded by secrets and lies. His mysteriousness made her smile; it only infrequently frustrated her. The two stone figures trapped in an hourglass in the main hall of his abode, he had told her, was a piece he had crafted of the very sand that obeyed his whims: an ode to his affection for her. She did not need to know that the sandy figures had once been a pair of lovers who had wished to spend eternity together.
Iyan remembered the night of his first death well, as well as the moments leading up to it. He remembered how sweet her kisses tasted when she sent him off, reminding him of of sugared dates; the warmth of her arms wrapped tightly around him; the delicate smell of jasmine that seemed to follow her wherever she went; the look of yearning in those soulful eyes when he reassured her he would be back before too long.
How long did she wait before she gave up on him? Days? Weeks? Months? Years? Or did she perhaps give up on him far sooner? She'd been left with not even a goodbye. What had gone through the mind of his beloved companion, his pet, the one being who filled the void of his heart with warmth instead of hunger?
It had taken him a century to recover from death and reform. A century with nothing but one's own thoughts for company was plenty of time for reflection, even to one as immortal as a Genie. In that time, Iyan had come around; he'd seen the error of his ways. His malice, rooted in envy and hunger, had caused unspeakable hurts. His sisters surely despised him - feared him. He didn't blame them, nor did he try and seek them out upon his return to the Material Plane.
Iyan sought his repentance in the middle of the desert, in a secluded and magically protected home for others like him. It was there that he began to atone, vowing to protect this land and its people from the threats he had seen lurking beneath the sands. It was a small consolation - it would not bring back those he had killed, or those whose lives he had permanently ruined - but he could at least provide a better future for those whose lives he touched from that point on.
He wondered often if Zahwa had lived well in his absence; if she still lived at all. He wondered what had become of her life, and what she ultimately thought of the Earthen Genie who'd abandoned her all those years ago.
Until one day, as he crossed the busy pathways of the marketplace, he caught the scent of jasmine; heard the tinkling of tiny bells; spied a head of raven hair and feline ears adorning a golden-skinned form. She seemed to glimmer in the late morning light.
Snapping his head fully in the direction of the figure, his body quickly followed suit. Before he fully realized what he was doing, Iyan's feet carried him toward the figure who strolled from one stall to another. But when he reached out and gently grasped her shoulder for her attention, his breath left him when her body pivoted and her gaze met his.
Those eyes, golden and bright. Those eyes were just like his.
He was the eldest, with two "sisters:" one an aspect of the Sun, another the Moon, and he, of Time. Poets wrote entire ballads about the hope that came with every sunrise. Lovers welcomed the embrace of the moonlight. What did others have for Time, save for scorn and fear?
But Zahwa - Zahwa had been different. She had come to him not asking for more time or power. Instead, she had found Iyan during one of his many "scouting" missions as he wandered a marketplace in a city that seemed to be frozen in Time itself: ancient, yet somehow ageless at the same time. Peddlers hawked fresh fruits and vegetables, or textiles, or trinkets for the loved ones of passersby. Scents of all kinds filled the air, from the sweet and the spicy to the pungent and leathery. The space bustled with a sea of faces, of voices - of emotions. Joy, frustration, sadness, impatience.
It was the impatience Iyan watched for - sometimes despair. Those people clinging to hope, who only just needed the slightest crumb to be led into his trap. He could bind them into a pact without issue when they were desperate, not unlike the Devils he'd heard so much about. Zahwa was none of these things. Instead, what he observed from her was curiosity; intrigue. Striking, deep brown eyes peered out from over the veil that obscured part of her face, her raven hair flying loose and free. Defiant. Hints of feline ears pointed their way out from between those wild and wavy locks, a matching black tail flicking at the tip behind her, relaxed. She seemed to glow in the morning sun, her more human-appearing skin radiant, warm, and golden. But perhaps most pleasant to him of all was the gentle tinkling of tiny bells that adorned the anklets beneath her skirts.
He had been instantly besotted.
Even when she learned of the Dao's true identity, she didn't shy. His more insidious dealings were a secret he begrudgingly kept from her for her protection. What dangers would she face if she knew what horrible things he was doing? What would people do to her if she knowingly fraternized with a man capable of such atrocities? And beyond that, what would she think of him? What would she say to this man she'd come to adore?
So much of their shared life was shrouded by secrets and lies. His mysteriousness made her smile; it only infrequently frustrated her. The two stone figures trapped in an hourglass in the main hall of his abode, he had told her, was a piece he had crafted of the very sand that obeyed his whims: an ode to his affection for her. She did not need to know that the sandy figures had once been a pair of lovers who had wished to spend eternity together.
Iyan remembered the night of his first death well, as well as the moments leading up to it. He remembered how sweet her kisses tasted when she sent him off, reminding him of of sugared dates; the warmth of her arms wrapped tightly around him; the delicate smell of jasmine that seemed to follow her wherever she went; the look of yearning in those soulful eyes when he reassured her he would be back before too long.
How long did she wait before she gave up on him? Days? Weeks? Months? Years? Or did she perhaps give up on him far sooner? She'd been left with not even a goodbye. What had gone through the mind of his beloved companion, his pet, the one being who filled the void of his heart with warmth instead of hunger?
It had taken him a century to recover from death and reform. A century with nothing but one's own thoughts for company was plenty of time for reflection, even to one as immortal as a Genie. In that time, Iyan had come around; he'd seen the error of his ways. His malice, rooted in envy and hunger, had caused unspeakable hurts. His sisters surely despised him - feared him. He didn't blame them, nor did he try and seek them out upon his return to the Material Plane.
Iyan sought his repentance in the middle of the desert, in a secluded and magically protected home for others like him. It was there that he began to atone, vowing to protect this land and its people from the threats he had seen lurking beneath the sands. It was a small consolation - it would not bring back those he had killed, or those whose lives he had permanently ruined - but he could at least provide a better future for those whose lives he touched from that point on.
He wondered often if Zahwa had lived well in his absence; if she still lived at all. He wondered what had become of her life, and what she ultimately thought of the Earthen Genie who'd abandoned her all those years ago.
Until one day, as he crossed the busy pathways of the marketplace, he caught the scent of jasmine; heard the tinkling of tiny bells; spied a head of raven hair and feline ears adorning a golden-skinned form. She seemed to glimmer in the late morning light.
Snapping his head fully in the direction of the figure, his body quickly followed suit. Before he fully realized what he was doing, Iyan's feet carried him toward the figure who strolled from one stall to another. But when he reached out and gently grasped her shoulder for her attention, his breath left him when her body pivoted and her gaze met his.
Those eyes, golden and bright. Those eyes were just like his.
