“I dreamt I was loved. I was wrong.”

“Da’laba Barkhai was there. She was always there.”

I dreamt I was loved. I was wrong. Da’laba Barkhai was there. She was always there.

She would follow me through the markets of Neo Baghdad, her dark eyes never leaving mine. Sometimes she would sing to me in a soft voice, and other times she would just watch me as I went about my day.

I thought she loved me, but I was wrong. One day, while I was walking down a quiet alleyway, Da’laba came up behind me and stabbed me in the back with a dagger. As I lay dying on the ground, she laughed and said “You were foolish to believe that someone like me could ever love you.”