Lashirah_Hash

They called it blasphemy.
A sin against God.
A disgrace against blood.

The news headlines twisted her name like a curse.
Muslim Girl Marries Two Brothers in Secret Ceremony.
Father Disowns Daughter Over Immoral Union.
Religious Extremists and Feminists Clash in Street Protests.

But none of them knew the truth.

Not the journalists who stalked her outside the courthouse.
Not the clerics who spat fire from the pulpit.
Not the activists who used her face for posters, never asking if she even agreed with them.

They didn’t know about the long nights with one brother’s rage burning her skin—and the other’s cold touch wrapping around her heart like barbed wire.

They didn’t know how it started—not with love, but with survival.

They didn’t know that once, she believed in God more than anything.
And now?

Now, she stood in front of a grave with no name.
Black veil pulled tight.
A Qur’an in her hand.
Two wedding rings on her finger.

Behind her, they stood—her husbands.
One with blood on his hands.
The other with secrets behind his eyes.

She would never be the same girl again.
But she was still alive.
Still burning.

And if the world wanted a monster?

She would give them on

BETWEEN GOD AND THE MONSTERS

The night fled behind them as the stolen car tore through unlit roads, the rain erasing every trace of where they had been. Aaliyah lay wrapped in Silas's coat in the backseat, head resting on Lucien's lap. Her breathing was shallow, not from pain, but from shock.

Neither brother spoke. Words were brittle things, and what they needed now was silence—and survival.

They found a cabin hours later. Remote, broken, forgotten. The roof leaked in one corner and the fireplace hadn't seen flame in years. But it was theirs. For now, it was enough.

Lucien carried Aaliyah inside while Silas searched for firewood and candles. He found neither.

That night, they huddled in the dark, sharing the body warmth of a makeshift mattress and each other. No kisses, no touches. Just the kind of closeness born of blood and ruin.

"I'm sorry," Aaliyah whispered. "I just wanted the voices to stop—the ones in my head saying this world will eat our child."

Silas turned to her, his voice low but solid. "Don't ever apologize for breaking under pressure. You were never meant to carry this alone."

Lucien, lying on her other side, added quietly, "You are the reason we still believe in something. Even if it's just… this moment."

She broke then—not in fear, but in relief. The sobs came freely, washing away the screams that had echoed in her bones. And when she was done, they were all quiet again.

For the first time in what felt like lifetimes, Aaliyah reached out—one hand to each of them—and held them both.

"But until we stop, we protect what we've built," Lucien added. "With everything we have."

Sanctuary Of The Unforgiven