Zahra Quotes

Zahra’s it for me. I know it with everything in me, and my intuition has never been wrong before. There’s nothing in the world I’ll find more beautiful than her. Not the sun. Not the moon. Not even the entire galaxy compares to the light she radiates wherever she goes.

I’ll never stop being greedy when it comes to Zahra. She will always be the exception to any rule and the one person I’m willing to screw the world over for. Because if she’s not happy, I’ll ruin whatever stole her smile, myself included.

The things that were once sweet to me are now bitter. The sun is not half so bright. The stars seem dimmer. All this wealth and luxury feels meaningless. All the world is in your shadow, Zahra. I cannot help but see you when I close my eyes.

Cruelty, I understand. But kindness frightens me, for my defenses are weak against it. ~Zahra

Watching them interact is nauseating, with Zahra smiling up at Rowan like he hung the moon for her.

If you're not free to love, your're not free at all.

Don’t just hope it happens you have to make it happen

Kissing Zahra is like reaching Heaven after an eternity spent in purgatory. Like I’ve spent most of my life hopelessly ambling around, waiting for her to show me the way back to the light. She’s divine with enough wickedness to make a sinner like me want to pray in devotion.

He’s the Devil, Zahra. Well, that explains why Eve fell for his tricks. If the Devil looked half as good as Rowan, I’d eat the damn apple, too. Screw the consequences.

Because happiness itself is a mythical construct, a dream you humans tell yourselves to get through each day. It is the moon, and you, like the sun, pursue it relentlessly, chasing it around and around, getting nowhere.

Anderson Cooper's face looms on the screen overhead like a disgustingly handsome Hunger Games cannon, announcing they're ready to call Florida. 'Come on, you backyard-shooting-range motherfuckers,' Zahra is muttering under her breath beside him when he falls in with his people. 'Did she just say backyard shooting range?' Henry asks, leaning into Alex's ear. 'Is that a real thing a person can have?' 'You really have a lot to learn about America, mijo,' Oscar tells him, not unkindly.

You have to know where you’ve come from to know where you are going

Islam has rules. Once they are part of your life, you dont notice them anymore.

Even a thief may have honor, and even a jinni may have a heart.

Get control of yourself, Zahra! My name isn’t Zahra. I am Smoke-on-the-Wind, Curl-of-the-Tiger’s-Tail, Girl-Who-Gives-the-Stars-Away. He loves you! He is just a mortal. Just a boy, a moment in time that will soon pass. His name is Aladdin. I have known a thousand and one like him. I will know a thousand and one more. He is nothing. He is everything.

You insist you're a monster because you're afraid of being human.

The universe sings a deep, eternal song, sound in waves, in deep sighs, in whispers, in swirling chords and rising, falling tones. The music of the worlds, weaving in a pattern that is both chaos and order, both beauty and terror, without beginning, without end.

Insomnia I wonder If those talks matter Few done in the clarity of day Or the many Done at 3 a.m. in the morning

This has been the great lesson of my long life: To love is to destroy.

His smile can lift me out of even the darkest mood

Don’t look for wealth and beauty as these will last only a short time , and then you’ll be left with nothing. Look for piety and faith and you’ll get everything including wealth and beauty with it

Love is a path lined with roses." I say bitterly. "But it leads to a cliff's edge and all who follow it tumble to their doom. You will not find your happiness there.

love can blind you to their imperfections.

Find me, my thief.

But my heart is a treacherous star, refusing to dim when the sun rises

You can only ever be complete when you've seen yourself, through someone else's eyes

I’m sorry,” I whisper. He takes my face in his hands. “I’m not. I’m not sorry I met you. I’m not sorry I fell in love with you. I have no regrets, Zahra, and neither should you. I love you.

Poetry is designed to inspire love, and islam is about falling in love with the creator of the universe.

Lately I’ve been dreaming about you About us Sharing our secrets Talking, even if we argued Kept talking, till we slept Maybe I woke up On the wrong side of bed Maybe I thought about you Just a little too much

Alex Claremont-Diaz, it is almost seven,” Zahra shouts through the door. “You have a strategy meeting in fifteen minutes, and I have a key, so I don’t care how naked you are, if you don’t answer this door in the next thirty seconds, I’m coming in.

Seeing is not with the eyes, but the heart. That is why love underpinned all our experiences

How can one who’s in love pretend not to be in love?

You’re beautiful and wild and kind, and I can’t stop thinking about you.” A sunny, foolish smile breaks across his face. “It’s wrong and stupid and wonderful, Zahra. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but here I am. I love you.

You see the world in colors, I see in Black and Red.

I grow weary of the love That lasts for a night When it should be there The next sunrise

If it's a monster they want, then a monster they shall have.

I refused to change the way I practiced my faith or to let fear stop me from carrying out what I believed in.

Human  beings like to twist things to meet their own selfish needs.

We need to push each other out of our comfort zones. Because if you’re not afraid, then you are not growing

It all comes with time and patience

Chemistry could sparkle in z most surprising places and between z most unlikely people.

I have no form, I have no name. I am the Slave of the Lamp, and your will is my will. Your wishes are my commands.” ~Zahra

I’m thinking about the discrepancies between what people say is Islam and what Islam actually is!

The president is sitting down with as many member of the Office of Communications as we could drag out of bed at three in the morning,” Zahra tells him, ignoring his question. The phone is buzzing none stop in her hand. “It’s about to be gay DEFCON five in this administration. For god’s sake, put some clothes on.

His last election night was on the wide-open stretch of Zilker Park, against the backdrop of the Austin skyline. He remembers everything. He was eighteen years old in his first custom-made suit, corralled into a hotel around the corner with his family to watch the results while the crowd swelled outside, running with his arms open down the hallway when they called 270. He remembers it felt like his moment, because it was his mom and his family, but also realizing it was, in a way, not his moment at all, when he turned around and saw Zahra's mascara running down her face. He stood next to the stage set into the hillside of Zilker and looked into eyes upon eyes upon eyes of women who were old enough to have marched on Congress for the VRA in '65 and girls young enough never to have known a president who was a white man. All of them looking at their first Madam President.

I—” Zahra begins. “Do I even want you to explain to me what the fuck is happening here? Literally how is he even here, like, physically or geographically, and why—no, nope. Don’t answer that. Don’t tell me anything.” She unscrews the top of her thermos and takes a pull of coffee. “Oh my God, did I do this? I never thought … when I set it up … oh my God.

There is only one thing more numerous than the stars, and that is the darkness that holds them.

You've ruled before, so tell me, does it get easier?" "No, but you get stronger.

The experiences would be richer and more meaningful if I had someone to share them with

All the world is in your shadow, Zahra.

Wait. Zahra. Oh my God. I just realized. You’re … my friend.” “No, I’m not.” “Zahra, you’re my mean friend.” “Am not.

When my words are concealed With lies and disguises, truth and beyond Insecurities in the veil of trust Betrayal in bounds of lies It’s just the charm of words darling Giving the illusion of happiness inside misery

Unable to go forward, afraid to go back

May you carry the weight of this betrayal to your grave.

We mourn what has been lost, and tomorrow, we rise.

It is Love that transforms it from black and white, to breathtaking, beautiful inspiring colors

Leave no trace of life behind

There’s no need for me to message Zahra, but it feels weird to let a whole day go by without talking. Between my busy schedule and her lack of text messages, I’ve grown restless as the hours have gone by. It’s a warning that I’m becoming dependent on her company. Yet I can’t find it in me to stop.

The morgue is the Mullah's mint: Why hang on to life in this world when our guardians are discounting the price of life and selling martyr's tickets to paradise?

So this is what it feels like to have all your wishes come true.

Have I told you I love you?" he whispers. I smile. "Not since this morning." "Unforgivable. I will tell you every hour of every day.

Can you please sit down?” Zahra says after twenty minutes of watching him twitch around the cabin. “You’re giving my ulcer an ulcer.

He is the Devil. Zahra. Well, that explains why Eve fell for his tricks

Woman is a beam of the divine Light. She is not the being whom sensual desires takes as its object. She is Creator, it should be said. She is not a creature. Great Fatima-ul- Zehra ( Means of Fatima the Radiant, Brightest Star, Star of Venus, The Evening Star), the daughter of the Prophet, is the secret in Sufism. She is the Hujjat of Ali (JJ). In other words, she establishes the esoteric sense of his knowledge and guides those who attain to it. Through her perfume, we breathe paradise. Though she was his daughter, the Prophet Muhammad (SAWW) called her “Um Abi’ha” (mother of her father). What mystery was the Prophet hinting at by this statement? While Fatima Zahra ( Salam -ullah – alleha ) was Muhammad’s (SAWW) daughter. The spiritual Fatima Al-Batool ( the divine virgin) her house is the living Ka’ba.

In this modern day, when only what we see is allowed to have certainity, and when scientific data seems to hold the trump card for truth, when only what can be measured exists, love defies all these strictures and dances joyfully before the eyes of human beings, teasing them with the promise of the unknown.

Love is a path lined with roses," I say bitterly. "But it leads to a cliff's edge, and all who follow it tumble to their doom. You will not find your happiness there." "Then what does bring happiness, Zahra?" he asks harshly, rising to his feet. "Tell me. In four thousand years, have you unlocked that secret?

That day, I came to a stark realization. I was afraid of men, and the harder I fought, the more intense the fear became. I can't think of an experience that is more harrowing than a woman being sexually harassed or assaulted by a man.

Less a point on a map and more a region of the soul, but it is a path I can follow.

Every glance, every touch, every whisper between us has been a pebble added to the scales, tipping me toward a new direction.

I am the weed cast out of the rose garden. I am the crow chased out of the dovecote.

He alone can meet my eyes without disgust or fear. He alone still sees the girl inside the monster. But it is not enough.

You can't choose what happens to you, but you can choose who you become because of it.

Time rarely changed someone’s response to a critical issue

Seriously? she hisses. You're literally putting your dick in the leader of a foreign state, who is a man, at the biggest political event before the election, in a hotel full of reporters, in a city full of cameras, in a race close enough to fucking hinge on some bullshit like this, like a manifestation of my fucking stress dreams, and you're asking me not to tell the president about it?

Her entire face lights up like a solar flare. She shines so brightly that everything else pales in comparison. I feel helplessly trapped in her magnetic field, so close to the sun I might burst into flames.

What good is it Habiba, to deny the truth? Your friendship woke something in me all those centuries ago, some dormant humanity that had lingered through the years, and after you died, it recoiled and hid again. But Aladdin has woken it once more. With his sun-bright smile and his laughing eyes and his way of asking the hardest kind of questions. After you, I swore to never love again. But I love him. And so I must let him go.

You are so much more than you let on—but in a way that makes you priceless.” Priceless? Don’t you dare cry, Zahra.  “You’re selfless, caring, and willing to go above and beyond to help those around you. You tutor kids for free, and you bring a grumpy old man bread and cookies. And the selfish part of me wanted to steal a piece of you for myself. You reminded me of what it was like to not feel so damn lonely all the time, and I didn’t want to lose that.

It’s not too late,” he says. “Zahra, I—” “Sh.” I lay a finger across his lips. “Don’t say it. You will marry Caspida, and you will learn to love each other. You will live a happy life, long after my lamp has passed to new hands.” “I won’t make my third wish,” he says. “That’s the answer! If I don’t make the wish, you can stay here in the palace for as long as you want. You’ll never have to go back to your lamp. We can fight off anyone who tries to take you from me.

For the last few centuries, these jeweled fruits have been my constant and sole companions. The greatest treasure in all the world, as comfortless as light to the blind.

I know the feeling When you cry alone Your ego keeps you alive But your heart wants to die Every second you wish For the world to stop

Use your wish,” I whisper to Aladdin, opening my eyes. “Please.” “If I do,” he replies softly, “I’ll lose you.

You loved before, and she was taken from you. Ever since, you've been afraid to love again. You insist you're a monster because you're afraid of being human.

You have to be you!

Zahra, what happens to you when I make my last wish?” “When your third wish is granted, you will cease to be my master. You may possess the lamp, but you cannot call me. I will return to it and await the next Lampholder.” Abruptly he stands and walks across the room. When he reaches the wall, he turns and stares down at me. “So to win my revenge, I must lose you.

Clouded thoughts Scattered around My soul is restless I have nowhere to go No safe haven Nothing makes sense Not anymore I think I lost myself Somewhere on the road And I don’t even want to go back.

Those sorts of stories accumulated until they formed an archetype: the tragic yet resilient Iraqi woman, a metaphor for the country itself. In hindsight, it seems so facile to see Iraqi women only through the prism of their war-ravaged lives, but how else do you report a story where pain is etched on the face of every woman you interview?

I do, and the now-familiar warmth of his lips steadies me. He tastes of salt and the wine we shared with the others at our small farewell party. Aladdin pulls away first and lifts one of my hands to his lips, kissing the delicate henna patterns on my skin, then turning my arm over to kiss the inside of my wrist. The ship’s crew makes themselves busy on the other side of the ship, giving us privacy. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world,” Aladdin murmurs. “Have I ever told you that?” “Enough to make me wonder if your father was a parrot.

When I saw you in the hall with Darian,” he says at last, “I felt more angry than I’ve felt in a long time. I was angry and . . . and afraid, that you wanted to be there, that you wanted him touching you. In that one look, I felt more than I’ve ever felt with Caspida. Zahra, I think you’re right—love isn’t a choice. If I could choose to love Caspida, maybe this would all be going differently, but I don’t think that’s possible. Not anymore.” All the smoke inside me sinks as I stare at him. “What are you saying?” He turns and meets my gaze squarely. As much I want to, I find it impossible to look away. The intensity of his copper gaze holds me entranced. “I think you know,” he says softly. “Or am I the only one who feels it?

But Aladdin says nothing. Instead, he lowers his face and softly kisses the side of my neck, his mouth trailing up to the skin behind my ear. Goose bumps break across my skin, and I turn my face to meet his lips with mine. This kiss is gentler than our last, long and slow and restrained. It is a kiss of longing. A kiss of farewell. His hands tighten around my waist, pulling me against him. We drift in a slow circle, sending out ripples that make the floating flowers bob and dip. “You keep so many secrets,” he murmurs. “I could spend the rest of my life discovering you.” He tucks my hair behind my ear, his eyes devouring my face.

Don’t let anyone define your rights and wrongs for you. You need to experience wrong to see for yourself if it is wrong. Everyone has a different way of doing things and they are responsible for outlining their actions. If you let others decide what is right and wrong, you won’t be left with any creativity. Don’t be a duplicate. Be original. Be yourself. It doesn’t matter if it’s wrong or right. They are both part of your life. Live both sides. Live your life.

And what if you weren’t a jinni? What if you were free from their rules?” I stare at him. His jaw tightens, his eyes steely with determination that frightens me to my core. A cloud drifts across the face of the crescent moon, and the courtyard darkens. Here and there, the grass is still bent where Aladdin and I danced just hours earlier. I drop my gaze and glare at it, shaking from head to toe. “Don’t say it, Aladdin. Don’t you even think it.” Dread rises in me like a storm cloud, dark and menacing. Aladdin moves closer. He takes my hands. His skin is warm and crackling with energy, setting me on fire. “I have one wish left,” he murmurs. “And this one is for you.” “No, Aladdin! Don’t speak it. Don’t make the Forbidden Wish. The cost—” “Damn the cost. Zahra, I wish—” I stop him with a kiss. Because it is the first thing I think of to stop the terrible words. Because he fills me with light and hope and deep, deep fear. Because I have been longing to for days.

I used to think death is the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone. Death which separates you from your loved ones forever. But I know now that worse than death is distance which life puts between you and those you grew up and experienced life with. Distance before death make a stranger out of you, you even forget that once you were alive and a part of their lives. Distance becomes your death and theirs and eventually you become lonely, left with a collection of memories frozen in time.

For a moment we are weightless, eyes open and locked underwater, flowers drawn down with us, swirling around us in a current of white bubbles. My hair floats around us both like black silk. His hands are still around my waist, mine pressed against his bare chest. My lamp drifts between us. Aladdin plants his feet against the bottom of the pool and kicks off, pushing us upward to burst through the surface. He gasps in air and shakes the wet hair from his eyes. Without pulling away, we float in silence, and I cannot take my gaze from him. Water runs down his cheeks and lips, dripping from his jaw. A lock of his hair is stuck to his forehead, and I gently lift it away, curling it around my finger before letting it go. “What are we doing?” he whispers, pulling me closer. I cannot reply. I don’t trust my own voice. He brings his forehead down to rest against mine, and everything outside this pool and this moment ceases to exist. All that matters is the gentle sound of our breathing, our reflections on the water, the feel of his hands around me.

I’m not for you,” I say desperately. “We are so different. Our lives are a thousand and one worlds apart. It wouldn’t work. And it’s dangerous.” But his face only brightens. “Then you do feel the same.” “We are not the same—and that is the whole point! I am not human, Aladdin. Everything that was once human in me was destroyed, and I was forged into something entirely different. I’m not here to help you—I was never here to help you, or any of my masters.” He shakes his head. “I don’t believe that.” “It doesn’t matter what you believe,” I say bitterly. “It is what it is, and it has nothing to do with what you want.” He walks around me, forcing me to face him. “You helped me get away from Darian in the desert. You got me into the palace when you could have let them find out who I really was. You taught me to dance, for sky’s sake! You’ve had a hundred opportunities to trick me and betray me, but you don’t. You’ve helped me when I didn’t wish for it.” “A chicken doesn’t fly like other birds, but it is still a bird.” “Zahra!” He spreads his hands, the wind ruffling his hair. “You do care. I see it when you think I’m not looking.

I’m not what you think I am, Aladdin! I will betray you, and I will hurt you, because that is what I am. Why do you think Nardukha rips souls from the living and creates jinnis? Why do you think he sends us into the world? To make your miserable dreams come true? To bring you happiness?” I laugh sourly. “He gives you the thing you want most and uses it to destroy you. Look at yourself. You’re a prince. You have money, power, privilege. The chance to avenge your parents. And you’re miserable.” Aladdin stares at me, and in his eyes is pity. “I’ve been making myself miserable my whole life,” he says softly. “I convinced myself long ago that if I could get revenge on Sulifer, I could finally move on. That I could erase the memory of the day my parents died, when I held their severed heads and watched their blood run in the gutters. But as you say, here I am, a step away from that vengeance—and it has soured on my tongue. I don’t want it anymore.” He sighs and looks up at the sky, as if searching for words among the stars. “You don’t make me miserable, Zahra. I do that to myself, because I’m too weak, too afraid to admit that it isn’t Sulifer I’m angry at—it’s me. My parents were killed because of me. The day before they were executed, I was caught by the guards for stealing an earring, and when they found out who I was, Sulifer had me whipped until I told him where my parents were. And after they were dead, he gave me back the earring as payment for turning my mother and father over to him.” Lowering his gaze to meet mine, he brushes his fingers over the ring in his ear. “I’ve worn it every day since, to remind myself that nothing—nothing—is worth betraying someone you love.

It was in that kitchen where I waited for Daddy and Mrs. Masicotte to be finished with the weekly business, two rooms away. Though Mrs. Masicotte seemed as indifferent to me as her renters were, she provided richly for me while I waited. On hand were plates of bakery cookies, thick picture books with shiny pages, punch-out paper dolls. My companion during these vigils was Zahra, Mrs. Masicotte’s fat tan cocker spaniel, who sat at my feet and watched, unblinking, as cookies traveled mercilessly from the plate to my mouth. Mrs. Masicotte and my father laughed and talked loud during their meetings and sometimes played the radio. (Our radio at home was a plastic box; Mrs. Masicotte’s was a piece of furniture.) “Are we going soon?” I’d ask Daddy whenever he came out to the kitchen to check on me or get them another pair of Rheingolds. “A few minutes,” was what he always said, no matter how much longer they were going to be. I wanted my father to be at home laughing with Ma on Saturday afternoons, instead of with Mrs. Masicotte, who had yellowy white hair and a fat little body like Zahra’s. My father called Mrs. Masicotte by her first name, LuAnn; Ma called her, simply, “her.” “It’s her,” she’d tell Daddy whenever the telephone interrupted our dinner. Sometimes, when the meetings dragged on unreasonably or when they laughed too loud in there, I sat and dared myself to do naughty things, then did them. One time I scribbled on all the faces in the expensive storybooks. Another Saturday I waterlogged a sponge and threw it at Zahra’s face. Regularly, I tantalized the dog with the cookies I made sure stayed just out of her reach. My actions—each of which invited my father’s anger—shocked and pleased me.

I always knew it would end like this. It always does. There’s no point in fighting it, Aladdin. It is simply the way of things.” “I can’t accept that.” “You must.” “How can you just give up? How can you say that?” His eyes light up, and he takes the lamp from his sash and grips it so tightly his knuckles whiten. “Earlier, before you kissed me, I was about to wish for your freedom.” I leap to my feet. “Aladdin, you must not do that. You must never even think it!” “Why is that so bad? You’d be free.” “It’s called the Forbidden Wish for a reason!” “By whom? Nardukha? Let him come. I have a few things I’d like to say to him.” “I forbid it. Aladdin. If anything we have done together means anything to you, please, please trust me now. Don’t make that wish. It is the worst wish you can make. It is—it will break my heart.” “What is it?” he asks softly. “What is it you’re not telling me? What happens if I wish for your freedom?” I stand trembling, the words clawing at my throat, until I can hold them back no more. “Like all wishes, the Forbidden Wish comes at a price. My freedom must be bought with a death, a life paid in sacrifice. And I will not let you make that sacrifice, not for me.

Don’t you understand? It’s forbidden, Aladdin! We jinn must abide by many rules, but first among them, most important of all, we must never fall in love with a human!” He catches his breath, swallowing hard. “And do you always follow the rules?” “I—” Casting my gaze skyward, I draw a deep breath, searching for words among the stars. “It’s not about that. Do you know what kind of destruction we would cause? Have you not heard the story of your own people, how their city was destroyed, how thousands died? It was not hate that sparked the war between your people and mine, Aladdin. It was love. I held hands with Roshana the Wise and called her sister, and those words set our world on fire!” There it is. My greatest shame, laid bare. The truth lies between us like broken glass. Surely now he sees what I truly am: a betrayer, a monster, an enemy. Aladdin stares at me, his face softening. “That wasn’t your fault,” he says. “Loving someone is never wrong. And like you said, it’s not a choice. It just happens, and we’re all helpless in its power.” “That doesn’t change the fact that the consequences are disastrous. As the poets say, shake hands with a jinni, and you shake hands with death.

I feel shock splinter through him, his body going rigid. Then he relaxes, melting into me, stepping forward until I am caught between him and the wall, the torch crackling beside me. His hands slide down my back, over my hips and thighs, leaving a trail of fire. His heart beats fast enough for the both of us, its thunderous pulse echoing through me. I bury my hands in his dark hair, fingers knotting around those thick locks. Desire pulls at my stomach, and I lean into him, lifting one leg and wrapping it around his waist. He lifts me, and my other leg coils around him, my skirts sliding up my thighs, my back pressed against the column. His lips are soft and warm and gentle, underlined with barely restrained urgency. I cannot get enough of him. I pull his kurta over his head and let it fall on the floor. I press my hands against his bared chest, feel his heart against my palm, his lungs rising and falling. His shoulder is knotted with the scar from the arrow he took for me. He kisses me again, this time more strongly, and I run my hands down his jaw and neck, over his shoulders, the taut muscles of his back. He turns, without letting me go or breaking our kiss, and we tumble onto the soft divan. Aladdin holds himself over me, his abdomen clenched and his hair hanging across his forehead. His lips wander downward, to my chin, to the curve of my jaw, to my neck. My hands are ravenous, exploring the planes and angles of his body. His fingers find mine, and our hands knit together. He raises them over my head, pressing them into the pillow beneath my hair, as his kisses trace my collarbone, and then he sinks lower, parting the buttons of my dress and pressing his lips to my bare stomach. I gasp and open my eyes wide, my borrowed body coursing with sensations I have never felt, never dared to feel, never thought I could feel. “Aladdin,” I murmur. “We shouldn’t . . .” “Sh.” He silences me with a kiss, and I lift my chin to meet him. A warm wind rushes through my body, stirring embers and setting them aflame. I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to think about consequences. I only want Aladdin, everywhere.

I rest my head on his shoulder, feeling his heart beating against me. I wish I could gather time around us, slowing the minutes, making them last a lifetime. “I was born on the island kingdom of Ghedda,” I whisper. This is a story I never told even to you, Habiba. I tell it now only because I cannot bear to leave him without the truth, knowing only half of me. I raise my head and meet his eyes. “That was more than four thousand years ago. I was the eldest daughter of a wise and generous king.” Aladdin stares at me, his eyes soft and curious, encouraging me to go on. “When I was seventeen, I became queen of Ghedda. In those days, the jinn were greater in number, and the Shaitan held greater sway over the realms of men. He demanded we offer him twenty maidens and twenty warriors in sacrifice, in return for fair seas and lucrative trade. I was young and proud and desired, above all else, to be a fair ruler. I would not bow to his wishes, so he shook our island until it began to fall into the sea.” I shudder, and Aladdin draws me closer. “I climbed to the alomb at the top of the Mountain of Tongues, and there offered myself to the Shaitan, if he would only save my city from the sea.” My voice falls to a whisper, little more than a ripple on the water. “So he took me and made me jinn and put me in the lamp. And then he caused the Mountain of Tongues to erupt, and Ghedda was lost to fire. For he had sworn only to save my people from the sea, not from flame.