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Clasped Hands

It has been many years since I was a newly made chieftain of the Medjai. It was in that same year that I married my wife, Jasmin. She was as wise as she was beautiful. Her dark eyes were the first thing I sought out every time I returned home. Her voice was as pleasant as the sound of a cools spring in an oasis after having crossed the harshest of deserts. She had kind eyes and hands that were accustomed to both comfort and work. Whether we were at our fortress home, or in caravan deep within the desert, she was all that a man could hope for.

I still can recall her hand clasped within mine as we said our wedding vows. The women of the Medjai do not wear a veil except on the day of their weddings. I remember when her father brought her before me and revealed her beautiful face to me. Of course I had seen it before, but when she slipped her hand into mine, she dragged up her beautiful dark eyes to mine. Jasmin and her women must have spent hours on her eye make-up alone. But it was not the clever use of cosmetics, nor the mendhi designs on her hands and feet, nor the jewels of her dowry that glowed in the low light of the tent that night. No, it was the fact that in those moments, over the words and contracts exchanged and the feasting and good wishes, she in that moment became truly mine.

And when I lost her and our unborn son, it was as if Shaitan had extinguished a light within the world.


Muse: Ardeth Bay
Fandom: 'The Mummy' and "The Mummy Returns"
Word Count: 281
crossposted to [livejournal.com profile] writers_muses

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December 2008

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