Ayşen's vision darkened. The words on the sign kept coming at her, echoing in her mind: Morgue.
Her breath became irregular, the familiar pain that pierced her chest rose like a scream inside. The gentle voice of the woman next to her saying, "Please, let us take you this way," even turned into a hum.
Her steps retreated at first, as though the closer she got to that door, the more reality was pouncing on her. Then, for a moment, she could almost hear her mother's laughter. That cheerful laughter... The voice of her always joyful, always full of life mother Nesrin echoed in her ears. Her father Haluk's firm voice, "Daughter, calm down," was there too.
"No," Ayşen said, as the tears from her eyes fell, striking her cheeks. "No, it can't be..."
The attendant opened the door. At that moment, Ayşen's knees trembled, but she didn't step back. She gathered all her courage, held her head high, and stepped inside.
Under the white sheets lay two people who had been the joy of her life. Her mother and father...
She thought she had imagined it, but when she saw their faces, she burned with a wild longing. For a moment, it seemed as though they were just sleeping. If she held their hands, her mother would wake up and ask, "Why are you crying, my daughter?"
Her father, as always, would furrow his brows and say, "Ayşen, stop acting crazy, girl," as if he were going to.
But this time... this time there was silence.
Ayşen placed her hands to her lips, her breath caught in her throat. She took another step, lifted the blanket to hold her mother's hand.
Her hand was as cold as stone.
In that moment, everything inside her shattered. The scream she had been holding inside ripped her soul apart.
"Turn back!" she whispered, then shouted again, "Come back to me! Please... don't leave me."
But there was no answer.
She collapsed to her knees, resting her head against her mother's cold hand. Her sobs shook her body.
That night, the little girl inside Ayşen died in that last moment when she held her mother and father's hands.
For Ayşen, life had stopped. She had fallen ill at the hospital and spent a day there, only to spend the next day dealing with her parents' funeral arrangements. She was pretending to be "fine" for everyone, but deep down, she had no one left to lean on. Even in the busiest of times, she felt utterly alone.
After the funeral, she sat by their graves for hours. As the smell of the earth filled her nose, the emptiness inside her grew, but she knew that the scent wouldn't ease her longing. She searched the gravestones, as though looking for traces of her mother.
Finally, with a feeling inside her, she stood up. She turned her path toward Ayvalık.
She was going to return to her childhood home. As though she might find a piece of peace there...
The house in Ayvalık... Silent, peaceful, standing in its own garden. The olive trees swayed gently with the breeze, the chirping of birds mixed with the distant smell of the sea. The old wooden swing in the garden creaked gently with the wind, reminding Ayşen of a lullaby from her childhood. The white-painted walls of the house bore the marks of time, but the geraniums in front of the windows were still alive with her mother's love.
As she stepped inside, the familiar scent of wood and the polished furniture filled her nose. Everything was in its place... her mother's crochet blankets, her father's dusty books in his bookshelf... It was as though time had stood still here. She took another step and looked at her mother's favorite corner, the old armchair in front of the fireplace. The edges of the chair were worn, but it still stood proudly, just like Nursen Hanım's dignified posture.
And there it was, the painting that hung right above the fireplace... 200 years old, faded, yet strikingly beautiful. An Ottoman woman with eyes as bright as beads. Her face was covered with a veil, but her eyes told everything. Ayşen remembered that every time her mother saw that painting, her eyes would well up.
Suddenly, memories flashed in her mind. It was a weekend... Ayşen was lying across her mother's lap, like a spoiled child, getting her hair stroked.
Nursen Hanım had smiled, stroking her hair. "Big baby, go lie down in your room, you'll be more comfortable," she had said.
"No! Your lap is more comfortable," Ayşen insisted, sitting at the foot of the armchair, resting her head on her mother's lap.
Her mother had smiled gently and said, "You're my crazy girl."
Ayşen, looking at her mother's eyes fixed on the painting, had said, "Mom, what do you see in this painting? The eyes are the only beautiful thing, the face isn't even there!"
Her mother had smiled at her, then looked at the painting and began to explain: "There was a young and brave Sultan of the Ottoman Empire, but his name was never written in history books. Even his family was ashamed of him..."
Ayşen had giggled. "Yes, because the man was crazy!"
Nursen Hanım had rolled her eyes and laughed, continuing: "You're the crazy one! Actually, the reason they called him 'crazy' was because of the mad concubine Mahperi, who was the artist's protege… After the Sultan brought her to the palace, he was completely under her influence. His tastes, his speeches, even the laws he passed changed. So much so that, at the time, madness was believed to be a contagious disease, and the dynasty refused to accept her, erasing her from history..."
Ayşen had asked curiously, "So what happened next? I wonder if their lineage continued?"
Her mother had looked at the painting with tear-filled eyes and mumbled: "Who knows... maybe they're still among us, my beautiful daughter."
But Ayşen had already fallen asleep. Her mother had smiled silently, stroking her daughter's head.
Now...
Years later, Ayşen sat in front of that armchair, facing the cold fireplace. Her eyes were fixed on the painting. Mahperi's blue eyes seemed to be trying to tell her something. But Ayşen could neither hear the stories nor feel the warmth of the past anymore.
Her soul was empty.
For a moment, her eyes fixed on the glass of water on the coffee table. Her mother's blood pressure medication sat beside it. She noticed her own hands trembling, but didn't stop. She filled the crystal glass with water, threw a handful of pills into her mouth, and swallowed them with a sip of water.
Then, she slowly walked upstairs. She entered her mother's room. Everything was in its place... her mother's scent was still hidden in the pillow. Ayşen lay down, clinging to that scent.
Her final sleep... She fell asleep with her mother's scent.
Ayşen woke up to a blinding white light that seared her eyes. It was as though she was inside a pure white cloud, with no objects or texture around her. A void... Endless and silent... Then, suddenly, she saw a deer running quickly past her. Its eyes were as blue as the ones in her mother's painting... For a moment, that painting came to her mind. Mahperi's bead-like blue eyes...
At that very moment, she first heard a faint murmur, then a voice grew louder: "Mahperi? Mahperi! Wake up, woman!"
When Ayşen opened her eyes, a man in a white robe, with a beard, appeared before her. But the truly strange thing was where she had woken up.
She was in an authentic room lit by the flickering light of gas lamps. In the corner of the room, women, their faces veiled, were kneeling and watching her. The men stared at her in shock and fear, as if they had seen an alien.
Ayşen was stunned. Her breath quickened. Her first words were a helpless whisper: "What's going on... Who are you?"
One of the women clasped her hands in front of her chest and looked away. One of the men, stepping back slightly, muttered in an uneasy voice: "God forbid... What is this woman saying?"
The man in the white robe scratched his beard and sighed deeply: "Looks like the mechanisms in her head have malfunctioned... If they fix themselves, fine, if not... she stays."
The women in the back began murmuring: "Oh dear... What should we do?"
One of the men slapped his knees: "God help us! This is a disaster! Sultan Murad had specifically requested this woman for the harem..."