The tale of the Genie who lost her lamp has been told as a bedtime story for kids for a long time.
The story narrates, that the Genie was beautiful. Her last master fell in deeply love with her, asking her to become his wife. The genie didn't feel...
Idris' tears soaked Ali's shirt. His knees gave away, and he collapsed to the floor, still holding onto Idris. She didn't seem to care, her fingers gripping his back. Ali blinked at her, holding her close to himself. He winced when he caught sight of his cursed hand. It didn't feel his, but he knew that it would never be the same again. Hesitantly, afraid it would stain Idris' clothes, he placed it on her shivering back, and rested it there, to show her he was there.
The cool night air filtered through the shattered window. Idris kept crying. She had been wielding a knife just a few seconds before, and now she was breaking apart. Ali was shocked: he believed he would never see her cry. She looked so strong, but as he held her close to himself, his idea of Idris crumbled to dust. She wasn't just a fierce woman, she was also a human, capable of tears. And that mysterious man had triggered her tears. Ali gripped Idris tighter in anger, foolishly wanting to jump out the window and make the man suffer.
Idris slowly stopped shaking, her breaths becoming calmer. Ali glanced at her, seeing her eyes were red. They hadn't spoken for thirty minutes, but the silence didn't feel tense. Ali looked at her. "Are you alright?" He asked, gently. Idris rubbed her eyes as they were starting to itch. Ali took her hand and held them in his, taking them away from his eyes. "It'll make them itch even more." Ali said, noticing the contrast between her skin and his cursed hand. He hadn't had time to observe it, but it looked like Ali had placed his hand in black smoke, and it had tainted his hand up to his wrist, were small tendrils were drawn on his skin, almost reaching for the rest of his body.
Idris seemed to be focusing on his hand as well, trying to distract herself from the thoughts churning in her head. She took it, and Ali let her. She traced the tendrils on the edge of the darkness, a few stray tears still sliding down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she croaked softly.
Ali furrowed his brow not knowing what she was apologizing for. "I...don't know what you're talking about," Ali replied, momentarily distracted by Idris' warm hands on his wrist.
"I let The Seller hurt you," she admitted, her wet eyes clearly in pain.
Ali blinked, in shock. Idris had just been crying her eyes out and now she was apologizing for something she didn't even do. "Hey, I'm not blaming you. You did all you could. I would be long dead if it weren't for you," he whispered, hoping the words would soothe her.
Idris nodded, not letting his hand go. The two lapsed back into silence. Ali was picking up his courage to ask the burning question on his lips, afraid to be pushed away by the secretive girl. "But she just cried in my arms," he told himself to gain more courage. Ali's eyes flickered towards her. "Idris, who was he?" He asked, stopping her fingers over his wrist with his other hand, holding it tightly. Idris didn't budge, her eyes still lingering on his hand. "I can't protect you if you don't tell me who he was," Ali added, worry flashing in his eyes.
Idris' gaze finally met his. They seemed glazed over, barely present. She stayed silent for a second, before opening her mouth to speak. "He sounded like...like someone I knew a very, very long time ago. But it's not possible. He should be dead. He can't be alive...he can't." Idris murmured.
Ali swallowed, not knowing what to do with this information. He had already deducted she knew him, but the way Idris said he died, sparked some interest inside him. She worded it in a way that was almost a plea, a desperate wish that he wasn't alive. Ali slipped closer to her, closer than he ever had, his warm breath on her skin. His brown eyes glimmered. "What did he do?"
Idris' head turned away, in shame. She didn't speak, her lips trembling. Ali gently reached for her chin, turning her face around. Her eyes still trailed to the side, seemingly afraid of glancing at him. "Whatever you did in the past, doesn't matter to me," Ali whispered, hoping that was what bothered her.
Idris finally looked at him, her eyes filled with sadness. She wanted to open her lips and tell him everything. But she couldn't, she didn't know him. He could run away, or worse, capture her. A few tears escaped her eyes. They glimmered in the moonlight. "I can't tell you," she croaked, being honest. She had considered crafting a lie, but Ali didn't deserve this. He was trying to comfort her. Ali deserved the truth she couldn't give him.
Hurt flashed in his eyes. "You'll tell me when you're ready," he murmured gently, not wanting to force her, even though the lack of trust did wound him. Idris nodded, tears started swimming in her eyes again. She clasped a hand over her quivering mouth to stop herself from wailing again. She felt dirty, and guilty. Ali didn't deserve to be kept in the darkness, but she had been hurt so many times, the words wouldn't slip out.
Ali's eyes widened: Idris was crying again. He tried to take her hand, but she shook her head, her sobs muffled, but her tears flowing freely. "I'm so sorry," she whimpered.
Ali didn't know what she was apologizing for exactly, but he didn't care. He yanked her hand away, wrapping his arms around her, and pressing her against his chest. "Cry. But please don't cry alone. I'm here," he said, his cheek against her head. Idris started crying again, holding onto him tightly, her head burrowed in his neck. There was no space as they held each other, falling asleep like that, not moving away.
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