A tomb for a beloved wife stands across the water, reflected on it like diamonds, the alabaster stone shining beneath a blue sky.

The magnificence of the mausoleum, with its aesthetic shapes and majesty, is overwhelming. She strolls among the pools and gardens, slowly making her way toward the tomb.

Under an archway, she rests. Children run along the lavish façade inlaid with gemstones. A bareheaded man sweeps the floor with long, harsh bristles. He is clothed with a red fabric folded across his body.

The shrine of the Chosen One of the Palace, one of the Seven Wonders of the World, is a statement of both the love and the misery of Shah Jahan at his wife’s death.

Sara looks at every line.

The work and time and love … for what?

And walks away, her hair on end, a chill running through her soul.

Like A Blue Thread
Drawing Lines in the Sand