ghostbird

Persian colours

Persia was known for their vibrant, lively colours, as we can see by their clothing, architecture and rugs. Iran's culture is deeply tied to it. The ones I wanted to focus on most is Persian Blue and, as a small curiosity, Persian Red.

Persian Blue

I would wager to say that Persia and Iran are known for their blues, reds and greens. Persian blue is named after pottery and the colour of the tiles in mosques and palaces, and I find the meaning behind it to be very ironic, given how Dottore is clothed in it.

The meaning of blue as we know it can mean elegance, royalty, serenity, wisdom and sometimes emotional coldness, all of which very much suit Zandik. In Iran, Persian Blue is often used in mosques. The reason for this is because the shade of blue is supposed to represent the spaciousness of heaven, divinity, spirituality, and is normally found paired with gold and white to have a heavenly kind of visuals, all of which his own name contradicts. I am aware that the hex code might not exactly be the same if you compare them, but I wouldn't put it past hoyo to weave in subtle references!

Persian Red

This one might be more of a reach, but I still thought it would be fun to add it. Persian red is vivid, also very used in their fabrics and textiles. It sumbolizes energy, passion and vitality, but also life, strength and bravery! In clothing specifically it also means power and prestige.

In my personal opinion, this could be interpreted from the lenses of Zandik covering his eyes at certain points in his life. Up until Omega, he left his eyes seen, and its the younger clones which showed the most passion and vitality. Later he became colder, covering his face and eyes, up until his 85 y.o original self, where he uncovered them entirely. Is it because he died as a human, in the end? Who knows who knows

Other

The Simurgh

(This image was sent to me by my friend @the-wild-tomato who also helped me a bit with this)

I have not seen this pointed out anywhere, but it struck me as interesting. The simurgh is a benevolent bird in Persian mythology and literature, bears similarities to the phoenix and a crow or a raven, surprisingly, though it can be any other bird of prey.

I admit that it doesn't have physical similarities to a crow, but its moreso the story that caught my attention. In one of the legends, the simurgh was said to live 1700 years before plunging itself into flames, kind of like a phoenix (fire, process if purification, if you guys get me) and it also roosted in the Gaokaerena, which is the... Tree of Life.

This is more of a note, but in another myth, the simurgh rescues an albino child called Zal. Just thought it was a fun addition

Another notable thing about it is that it plays a big role in The Conference of the Birds by the poet Attar, where 30 birds take the journey to the top of a mountain to find it, but end up finding that all of them were the Simurgh. In Persian,  si means “thirty,” and morgh means “bird(s)”; the “si morgh” see the “Simurgh.” The journey of the thirty birds through valleys, mountains, and deserts, symbolizes the stages of the self towards becoming a “complete human being”.

But there's more. Of course there is. Quoting directly from one of the sources:

"...one can go into the chapel and see the two Greek letters, alpha and omega, which appear side-by-side in the mosaic on the chapel ceiling (Figures 10–11). Taken together, they clearly refer to a passage from the New Testament’s Book of Revelation (22:13): “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End, the First and the Last.”"

This might be a reach. I'm not exactly sure if Hoyoverse planned this, but the similarities are there. A bird that symbolizes wisdom, sitting on the tree of life, rising from the ashes, reborn. Fragments of oneself, yearning to become a whole. Omega would be the "End" of Zandik, before he rises anew, whole. The Simurgh represents wisdom, protection, but also immortality.

“Doctor,” you greeted. His expression did nothing to you, didn’t even make you flinch as he scoffed. “How have you been?”

“Get lost.”

The rough words didn’t do anything to you. Perhaps Eliasz might’ve been intimidated by the harbinger’s most dishevelled or unhinged segment, but not you. Alpha was the first, you had heard, the first to be created and therefore the most faulty one. At least that’s what Omega had said.

“Why are you sitting on the ground?” You asked him gently, frowning. “And why are you out during the day? Don’t your eyes hurt?”

He stared straight at you. You could see the shake in them. All of the segments shared the albinism that Zandik possessed, even though he had once vaguely mentioned it as one of the reasons he had been treated “differently” in the first place. You weren’t sure why. Sometimes, it seemed like he preferred to bear the title of a heretic like a badge, stone and burn himself before anyone else could, because what Zandik disliked the most was letting someone else wound him first.

“Stop asking so many useless questions,” Alpha snapped. Then you noticed his arm, which he had been holding to his chest. “And stop looking.”

“You’re at my door, sweetheart,” you pointed out. “It’s quite hard not to. If you came here, it must’ve been for a reason.”

It seemed that he wasn’t particularly willing to answer this. He only huffed a little, letting white steam fall from between his lips as he somehow curled up a little more, defensively. Like he was a stray dog, expecting to get kicked for latching onto a bone.

“Not willing to talk? Alright then.” You grabbed your keys, letting them ring in the silence was you opened the door. “The least you could do is walk in so I can check that arm of yours.”

You didn’t help him up, nor did you watch if he followed—you knew he would. After draping your coat over the nearest chair and freeing yourself out of your outer layers, you heard the door click shut behind him.

Alpha eyed your place. He had been here many times before, probably more than he admitted to the others. You kept his secret.

He shed his cloak, putting it on the hanger, keeping his arm to his chest at all times. You really did wonder how far the others could’ve gone this time. It wasn’t unusual for Alpha to come back bearing a few bruises, but a potential broken arm? Were his other versions really capable of such cruelty, even towards himself?

“Come here, darling.”

Alpha sent you a look that was annoyed at best, but then his feet led him to where you stood, by the heater that was near the couch. You had a fireplace in your bedroom upstairs, but it was a pain and a cost to use it.

“Sit.”

He did. His blue hair was usually mussed, and he was the segment that wore Howie coats the most. You couldn’t discern his exact age—he seemed older than both Gamma and Beta but younger than Theta—but the various scars and cuts he had made him look older, more rugged. When you took his wrist and pushed his sleeve up, you could see said scars on the pale skin of his forearms. He said they had been from work.

After another sigh, you opened the door and let a few snowflakes wander into the warmth of your workshop. The doorway seemed to split the world into two, one black and white, the other golden and colourful. The one that stood before you was someone you knew well already.

His blue locks were combed back, though the trek here certainly made a stray strand fall upon his forehead. His square glasses slid down his nose, sometimes making it harder to see how his red eyes danced from side to side ever so slightly. While the segments of Dottore were different in age, style and often attitude, nystagmus was something all of them shared. Some of them just hid it more than others.

“The outside blinds me,” the 25 year old segment said after a moment. Beta, he had been named. “Am I allowed in?”

Immediately, you stepped aside. His cold demeanour was familiar to you. Out of all of them, this one seemed to resemble a robot the most, competing even with Omega.

“It’s a long time since we’ve seen each other,” you greeted as you shut the door and watched him unbuckle his cloak. “Busy with work?”

“Naturally. I wouldn’t entertain myself with foolish affairs, unlike Omega,” he remarked with a hint of bitterness. Beta blinked, turning to her and adjusting his gloves. He was wearing a blue button up and a lighter, cyan tie. His outer lab coat was nowhere to be seen, which immediately made you suspect the reason for his visit.

“Omega? What has he been doing?”

Beta flicked his hand dismissively before pushing his glasses up with his index. “Whatever do you expect from him, apart from needless curiosity about outsiders and a superiority complex. I haven’t come here to gossip, madam.”

“Of course not.” You walked deeper into the workshop and let him follow. “I’ve noticed you aren’t wearing your usual lab coat. Is that the issue?”

“Yes. It tore. Kappa’s doing.”

A hint of a smile appeared on your face. You missed the eight year old version of the Doctor a lot. “Do you need me to mend it?”

“No. I’d prefer it if you made a new one, madam. I dislike imperfections.”

“Ah, complaining about the quality of my work, are you?” You said as your hands grazed over a roll of white cotton—it was usually Dottore’s preferred material. “That’s not very polite, sweetheart.”

Beta’s fingers curled around the folder he had procured from his coat, because of course he brought his work with him. “Not quite what I meant, madam. I will just know the tear was there, and that is enough to bother me.”

A laugh escaped you. You teasing was always in good will, yet you couldn’t help but enjoy the segments reactions. Some of them would get even more irritated, others would get stiff, and others would laugh. Omega, for example, always found it amusing when you said something witty in response to his arrogance.

“Mhm, sure. Come here, then. Would you like it loose?”

“No. The laboratory requires controlled amounts of material. Anything loose could accidentally catch a flame or get in the way.”

Your fingers wrapped around the measuring tape as you grabbed a spare notebook to note down everything you needed. As much as Beta liked to preach about nothing but efficiency and objectivity, all of Dottore’s versions enjoyed style. After all, it was you who designed the crow upon Omega’s shoulder and the intricate tailcoat Theta often wore (those two were as similar as twins, even though the logistics didn’t match up). You usually saw Beta with a surgical mask, but that was meant for the lab, and not your workshop. His hands were covered by long black gloves that almost reached his elbows, and nearly every inch of his white skin was covered. Perhaps that, along with the mask the others wore, was the reason some didn’t notice his albino features.

“Are you going to do that while I take measurements?” You asked as he flipped the report open. He nodded once, but raised his arms so you could work properly. “Even the others can put down their work when they’re here.”

“I’m not the others.”

“Naturally.”