She was lower-class just like he is. It was set up by his grandparents years before, even before his parents were born. Some sort of trade, that ended with the agreement of all parties involved that their children would marry to increase the social standing of their family name.

The issue was that each of the two men only produced male offspring. The deal stood, that their families would marry and merge their estates, but there were no opportunities. Once the men's sons married women from other lower-class families, was a female produced from either of their lines.

Soon after they were married, she became pregnant. Their grandparents had passed by now. It was lucky for him at least. It took work, and verbal artistry, but he was able to rise to the position of local mayor of his small township. The fact that his family had been in the area for generations helped this.

Medicine was what it was, and she passed away herself during childbirth at home. Luckily, the mayor was able to acquire the services of a wet nurse by the end of the day due to his expansive awareness; though the man was not one to be denied the services of a wife. Thus, the luck ended with him.

This increased work requirement was not discussed beforehand, though the mayor was thorough in his severance of any alternate choices the wet nurse might have or gain. Feeling as though his wife had left him when she left him, he took this out with his fists and belt. His daughter had seen her father's common behavior and anger, and knew not to trigger it, even if he triggered himself quite easily.

The girl had grown from a toddler to a child in short order, her maturity aging faster than her body did. She was never put into school, though it wouldn't have been of any use to a female to begin with. The mayor was a politician first and last, and not one to allow others to invite themselves to his property. It wasn't as though he would ever invite anyone not already incarcerated in his abode to it either.

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The wet nurse had suffered often, and as she grew older, she was unable to naturally recover as quickly. When the girl had turned thirteen, the wet nurse passed. The mayor was angered, and demanded that someone else 'clean it up'. They did have a large yard that had been a plantation forty years prior. No one was in the plantation house to hear it, but some of the dinner plates rattled against each other.

But the mayor was not a man to be denied the services of a wife. Confusion, fear, and pain were the gifts presented. The first time, a cupboard door in the kitchen slammed itself open and shut. The mayor didn't hear it; he was busy and the headboard was louder.

The girl quickly learned over the course of a year that screaming, crying, begging, fighting, and attempting to escape only made things worse. Things on shelves in rooms no one was in began to fall and shatter. Doors, cupboards, and drawers across the house began to open themselves and leave themselves that way.

Whenever a new skin welt or bone fracture moved into the house, the most common thing to hear was the question 'Are you going to leave me too?'. The girl had seen through the wet nurse whether such a thing was possible, and had only heard about her mother. The self-mobilized furniture, animated hinges, and flying decorations no longer only happened when not being watched.

Demands that the girl was to blame, coupled with her already accumulating injuries, finally set her to rest.

But the activity did not stop. If anything, it became more severe both in abundance and individual potency. The mayor resigned, and took flight. He didn't even bother to sell his property.

With no information to declare otherwise, the locals began to gossip. Stories began to form, and an investigation that should have happened two decades prior was finally conducted.