Lion Head Mesa Ṣalāt al-Janāzah

so you let them take, take, take. jawahir sneers. you do not take anything for yourself.

they shared a look between them, one that jawahir would not break from, feeling themselves imperious beside this slave girl. that's what she was — unwilling or unable to wreste any power for herself, accepting her lot.

you do not belong here. those dark eyes fell upon the alcove where maggie lay. jawahir would give anything to spend another day with the obnoxious harlot, or hear her laughter explode from any room.

the time would come, soon, that the petal was laid to rest.

do you not fancy pharaoh? or what of the man-servant to the shabti? jawahir rolls the bone so that it smacks at tamar, brows raised.