I am not a corpse no ttom of a  breat opped beating, no one, apart from t vile murderer, kno c for my pulse and listened for my breato be sure I o tone, broke apart; my face, my foretered, and my mouth blood.

    For nearly four days I  be searcer, spent from crying, must be staring fretfully at tyard gate. Yes, I kno turn.

    But, are truly ing? I can’t even be sure of t. Maybe tten used to my absence—s t one’s former life persists. Before my birte time, and after my deatible time. I never t of it before: I’d been living luminously beternities of darkness.

    I ions in Our Sultan’s ely, I earned nine urally, only makes all of to bear.

    I ing and embellised t lifelike designs of leaves, branced scalloped Cyle clouds, clusters of overlapping vines and forests of color t ans, trees, palaces, ers. In my youte a plate, or t, or at times, ter years,  pages because Our Sultan paid  say it seems insignificant nohe value of money even when you’re dead.

    After  t you earned er death?

    about ’s deat, tremely curious about terlife.

    Maybe you’ve ory of ty t tlefields.  a man o life amid truggling for tell  ts of t one of tamerlane’s aking troke of ar, causing o conclude t in ter man gets split in two.

    Nonsense! Quite te, I’d even say t souls divided in life merge in ter. Contrary to t I’m speaking to you from  as you can plainly tell, I  ceased to be. Granted, I must confess, I  encountered trees bearing plump fruit and tiful virgins mention