مسلخ الفارسية 1445
Maslakh
Her eyes were still waiting for that man… to come and save her, to protect her, to become someone she could lean on and escape that numbing cold. His name kept circling in her mind; she repeated it to herself until it became carved into her brain… a name that had come to mean both love and hatred to her.
A man who had once been everything and nothing at the same time, while her life remained a plaything in his powerful hands…
Her breathing grew faint, and her eyelids slowly fell shut. Her death was certain. That was something she had never expected… at least not so soon. She could not believe she had walked into her own slaughterhouse with her own feet, into a place where her body, soul, and heart had all been led to the sacrificial altar.
Humans really do have a remarkable talent for mistaking the hand that destroys them for the hand that might save them.
چشمهایش هنوز هم منتظر آن مرد است... که بیاید و او را نجات دهد، که حامیاش شود، که بتواند به او تکیه کند و از شر آن سرمای سرکننده خلاص شود. اسمش مدام در سرش میچرخد، با خود تکرار میکند تا جایی که در مغزش حک میشود... نامی که برایش یادآور عشق و تنفر میشود! مردی که برایش همهچیز و هیچچیز بود و زندگیاش بازیچهای در دستان قدرتمندش... نفسهایش کم آمد و پلکهایش روی هم افتاد. مردنش حتمی بود. چیزی که انتظارش را نداشت... حداقل نه به آن زودی... باور نمیکرد که با پای خودش وارد قتلگاهش شده باشد. جایی که تن و روح و قلبش را به مسلخ کشیدند....

