Seller of New Skins

The women, swathed in silk and sitting on a low ottoman, passed little cakes and whispered to each other. Their heads bent, their mouths painted, they looked like living flowers. She tried to stay away from the gossip of her subordinates, but this tidbit they were passing around to each other couldn’t be ignored.

It was freedom. Freedom from the swathing, the men, the religion. It was freedom from restrictions.

Lady Sirah Abduman sat amongst her living flowers. One of her ladies, Afaf, had disappeared and her husband had a new wife placed in his harem. “But”, one of the women twittered, “there is a way to regain his affection.”

The rest of this story is here.

A little background

I wrote this story for Halloween. The scariest thing I could think of was a woman who was not an equal partnership to her marriage. In this story she brings youth, beauty, and fertility. What happens to the woman when those three items are gone?

As a woman who is now in menopause, I have been surprised that even in our culture a woman has to be young and beautiful to be considered successful. I wish our culture had not gone in that direction. I like aging. I like older women. I think older women should be considered treasures.