Khalil Nasari

Orange Sand.

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Many years ago...

"Truth or dare, Khal!"

Khalil looked over his shoulder to where Quiet Blossom, Milloux and M'harja were sitting, the glow of the campfire reflected in their eyes as they all regarded him. Rats. They reminded him of hungry rats, sometimes, half-starved, lean and savage as they could be. As they all could be. He was no exception, laying on his side on a thin reed mat on the floor a short distance away.

"I don't wanna play," he protested, sitting up and rubbing the grainy evidence of his inability to sleep from his eyes. It was hard to sleep when your stomach growled every five minutes.

"C'moooon," Milloux said, a challenge in her eyes. "I'll even go first."

"TRUTH OR DARE!" the chorus immediately rose up and all of those shiny eyes turned to Milloux.

"Dare," she said, without hesitation, gaze fixed on Khalil, grinning mockingly.

"Dare you to kiss Khalil!" Quiet immediately said, gagging playfully as she spoke. Milloux snorted, pushing her tangled, dirty hair out of her face with stained fingers. She needed a haircut, it occurred to him, watching her warily. Hells, they all did, and much more.

She wouldn't really do it, would she? His heart beat faster as he watched her push up to her feet and saunter over to him in a way that his teenaged mind found both intriguing and intimidating all at once, even if he could nearly see her ribs and hips sharply defined in silhouette. That was the walk of a more mature woman and he wondered if she'd practiced it. He made a choked, soft sound as she plopped down in front of him.

"It was a dare. Gotta do it," she said maniacally gleefully, watching his fluster. Grabbing him by his thin shirt, she hauled him closer and planted a kiss right on his lips, then released him to splutter and wring his hands akimbo.

"Gross!" he exclaimed, wiping his mouth off, as if he could really wipe away the memory of that kiss, seared into his mind and young body. He had a sinking suspicion that he'd be thinking about it for some time to come.

"It was not!" Milloux retorted and batted at him. "It's your turn anyroad. Now you gotta play. So, what's it gonna beeee, Khaaaal? Truth or dare??"

Khalil stared at the room in front of him in tragic disbelief.

This was where he'd landed when he'd found himself in the golden palace, the first room.

He'd been going in a huge circle this entire time and finally had found the end of the labyrinthine castle - which was back at the beginning.

"No!" he shouted to the empty walls. His every last nerve friable, he slammed the doors shut, stalking forward and collapsing into a comfortable, upholstered chair.

There was no one here but him. There was no way out. The realization set in with a desperate wish to get high or drunk or to collapse into the comforting obscurity of hysterics, at least... but none of those options seemed possible.

He'd really fucked up this time, hadn't he? Hadn't he been the one who'd told Milloux never to make wishes for a djinn? Or least, if she did, to word them carefully? He'd been reckless in his generosity, too eager to feel the rich satisfaction of a gracious deed, and this was the price he paid.