I leap up from my perch on the rough-hewn bench, my heart racing as I spot Atlas and Fionn huddled dangerously close to the crude stone hearth. Atlas, with his scruffy blonde hair, blue eyes and sturdy build, is reaching out towards the dancing flames, while Fionn, all wiry limbs, yellow eyes and shaggy black locks, eggs him on with a mischievous grin.

"Hey! Get away from there, you little fire-starters!" I shout, my voice pitched high in feigned childish alarm as I rush towards them. My fingers close around their ears like pincers, eliciting yelps of surprise from both boys. Inwardly, I seethe at their reckless stupidity. These primitive urchins are going to immolate themselves if left unsupervised for more than five minutes.

"Ow, ow! Let go, Lile!" Atlas whines, his blue eyes wide with indignation.

Fionn chimes in, his golden eyes flashing defiantly, "Yeah, you're pinching too hard!"

I fix them both with a withering glare that would make a seasoned warrior quail, giving their earlobes another sharp twist for good measure. "Listen here, you little pyromaniacs," I hiss, my voice dripping with saccharine sweetness to mask my true irritation, "if I catch you playing with fire again, I'll pinch these ears clean off. Got it?"

From her spot on the bench, Aislin calls out approvingly, "Well done, Lile! You'll make a stern mother someday." She's cradling Larisa, a cherubic one-year-old with raven-black hair and blue eyes that match her mother's. The babe suckles contentedly, oblivious to the drama unfolding.

Beside her, Maeve bobs her head in agreement, one hand supporting Nuada at her breast. The dark-haired, amber-eyed toddler peers at me curiously over his mother's arm. "Aye," Maeve adds, her voice trailing off dreamily, "Lile's already so protective of the young ones..."

I roll my eyes dramatically at their foolish praise, fighting the urge to scoff. If only they knew the thoughts churning behind this childish facade. Instead, I plant both fists on my hips, striking a pose of exaggerated sternness.

"Ha! If I ever give birth to brats like these," I declare, injecting a note of childish bravado into my voice, "I'll be even worse than Oisin! I'd strap the little imps up like lambs for market at their first outrage!"

My proclamation is met with shocked giggles from the women, but I've already turned my attention back to Atlas and Fionn. To my utter disbelief, the two blockheads have crept back to the hearth, their hands outstretched towards the flames once more.

I let out an exasperated sigh, my patience wearing dangerously thin. These suicidal little cretins are determined to reduce themselves to charred husks before noon. "Here we go again," I mutter, loud enough for the others to hear my childish exasperation.

In two quick strides, I'm back at the hearth, my fingers finding purchase on those same tender earlobes. I yank hard, eliciting fresh yelps of pain as I drag them away from the fire.

"Stop it right now!" I yell, not bothering to mask my frustration this time. "Are you trying to turn yourselves into roast piglets? Because that's what'll happen if you keep this up!"

I march Atlas and Fionn outside, their ears still pinched between my fingers like overripe berries. Once we're in the muddy yard, I release them with a stern glare. "Now stay out here and play nice, or I'll tell Papa about your fire games!" I warn, trying to sound like the bossy older sister I'm supposed to be.

Turning on my heel, I stomp back into our cramped hovel, the musty air hitting me like a wall. A heavy sigh escapes my lips as I survey the scene before me. Maeve's tinkling laugh grates on my nerves like nails on slate.

"How much longer are you going to nurse those two?" I ask, gesturing to Nuada and Larisa with a nod of my head. "They've already seen a whole year of life!"

Aislin clicks her tongue, her eyes narrowing at me. "Why, listen to this imp's saucy outrage!" she exclaims. "I'll wager Lile fancies herself too big for skirts now she's seen eleven winters."

I bite back a scathing retort as Aislin shakes her head, her blonde braid swinging like a pendulum. "Lile has not had her backside tanned in years," she muses, "and yet she stands bold as brass, demanding it again!"

Lifting my chin defiantly, I meet her gaze. "Maybe I want to recall well-deserved discipline before my flowering," I declare, my voice dripping with false innocence. "Spankings shall help prepare my hide for future marital duties!"

Inwardly, I can't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all. Here I am, a grown man trapped in a child's body, discussing the merits of corporal punishment as marital preparation. If only they knew the depths of depravity I've witnessed in my past life – a few measly spankings would seem like child's play.

Maeve presses her lips tight, clearly struggling to contain her amusement. But before she can respond, Larisa's cherubic face scrunches up like a wadded piece of parchment. Fat tears begin rolling down her chubby cheeks as she lets out an ear-splitting wail.

Aislin's reproachful gaze snaps to me as she jiggles Larisa on her lap. "Look what you've done with your yelling!" she scolds. "You've upset Larisa!"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course, it's my fault the little brat decided to exercise her lungs. As if I have nothing better to do than intentionally provoke tantrums from snot-nosed infants. If I had my way, I'd stuff a rag in that screaming maw and be done with it.

Maeve, ever the helpful one, pipes up. "A switch would curb Lile's tongue," she suggests, nodding towards the still-howling Larisa as if I've committed some grievous sin against the child.

I huff loudly, crossing my arms over my chest.

The cacophony of Larisa's wails finally subsides, leaving a blessed silence in its wake. I watch as Aislin's gaze shifts from the now-quiet babe to me, her brow furrowing like a freshly plowed field.

"Lamb," she begins, her voice a mixture of concern and bewilderment, "you seem quite out of sorts today with this strident scolding and loose outrage." She shakes her head, her blonde braid swinging like a pendulum. "Why, you are wont to prove the meekest and most biddable creature most days."

I can't help but roll my eyes inwardly at her assessment. If only she knew the tempest of thoughts and memories swirling beneath this childish facade. Instead, I put on my best petulant pout and gesture towards the hearth.

"Neither you nor Maeve do anything to save Atlas and Fionn from burning themselves at the hearth," I complain, injecting a whiny note into my voice.

Aislin's lips quirk into a knowing smile. "The boys need to know that fire hurts from the best teacher - pain," she says sagely.

Beside her, Maeve nods, her amber eyes glinting with a hard-earned wisdom. "Men need to learn the hard way how the world works," she adds, her voice carrying the weight of her past experiences.

I let out a laugh that's half genuine amusement, half calculated response. "I guess Atlas and Fionn deserve to get their fingers burned playing with fire," I agree, watching their reactions carefully.

Suddenly, Maeve's gaze drops to my lower half, and a strange expression crosses her face. "Hmm," she murmurs, "would you look at that. Lile has become a woman this morning."

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Confused, I follow her gaze downward. My eyes widen as I behold a crimson stain blossoming across the front of my dress, like a macabre flower unfurling its petals. With trembling fingers that I hope pass for childish nervousness rather than the frustration I truly feel, I peel back the sodden linen hem. Scarlet rivulets stain my inner thighs, a stark contrast against my pale skin.

"Bloody perfect," I mutter, the double meaning not lost on me.

Aislin's laughter rings out, clear and bright as a bell. "You're the silliest imp," she chuckles, wiping away a tear of mirth, "getting your first womanly blood at eleven winters!"

I force my face into what I hope is a suitably confused and worried expression, though inwardly I'm seething at this inconvenient biological process.

"Don't fret," Aislin continues, her voice taking on a soothing tone. "You'll endure some cramps for the next few days, but nothing worse than the runs or bone ague."

I scowl down at the traitorous stain, then look back up at Aislin. "I remember what you taught me about managing my flows," I say, trying to sound like a dutiful daughter. "Rags, water, and..." I pause, glancing at the door with a grin I can't quite suppress, "a punching bag."

Aislin's eyes narrow, and she fixes me with a reproving look that would wither a lesser being. "Mind your temper," she warns, "and don't hurt your brothers."

I release an irritated huff, playing up the role of the petulant child. Stomping towards the cramped sleeping quarters, I dip a rag into the bucket of water, my mind already racing with the implications of this development.

Suddenly, the door creaks open, and Atlas's voice pipes up, "Sister's awful scary this miserable morn!"

I turn slowly, fixing him with a stare that I know must seem uncanny coming from a child. Atlas's eyes widen in mock terror.

"Sweet Jesu preserve me," he cries dramatically, "she's the very devil!"

From behind him, Fionn's voice chimes in, "Ayeeee! The devil!!"

The door slams shut, and I hear Aislin and Maeve burst into laughter. Their mirth grates on my nerves like sandpaper on raw skin.

"It must be pure comedy," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm that I hope passes for childish petulance, "beholding my first bleeding."

I finish tucking the soaked rag between my thighs, the coarse fabric chafing against my tender skin. With a grimace, I smooth down my skirts, trying to ignore the unfamiliar sensation of dampness. The musty scent of the hovel seems more pungent than usual, mingling with the metallic tang of blood that clings to my nostrils.

Aislin's voice cuts through my thoughts, gentle as a summer breeze. "Lile, my sweet girl," she calls out, her blue eyes twinkling with a mixture of pride and melancholy. "You may find yourself eyeing menfolk differently now."

I turn to face her, watching as she bounces a giggling Larisa on her lap. The babe's chubby hands reach out, grasping at the air with unbridled joy. Aislin continues, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone, "Starting from today, you might feel different around men and their... smells."

The urge to scoff is almost overwhelming, but I manage to contain it, instead opting for an exaggerated eye roll that would make any petulant child proud. "Oh, Mama," I whine, injecting just the right amount of childish indignation into my voice. "Don't worry! I only have eyes and nose for Erik!"

Inwardly, I can't help but marvel at the absurdity of it all. As if the onset of menstruation would suddenly awaken some primal urge within me to sniff at every passing male like a bitch in heat. The sheer ignorance of these medieval peasants never ceases to amaze me.

Maeve's husky voice interrupts my internal musings. "We'll need to have a talk today, little one," she says, her amber eyes serious as she cradles Nuada against her breast. "You'll be getting married to Erik today, as was the deal for the entire bridal price."

I feign a dramatic sigh, my shoulders slumping in a perfect imitation of childish resignation. "Am I going to live in his cozy cottage now?" I ask, turning to Aislin with wide, innocent eyes.

Aislin shakes her head, patting the rough wooden bench beside her. "Come, sit here, Lile. I need to explain the full ceremony that binds maidens to husbands."

I pop down onto the bench, the splintered wood digging into my thighs through the thin fabric of my dress. I lean forward eagerly, playing the part of the curious child to perfection.

"First," Aislin begins, her voice taking on a solemn tone, "your father Oisin must stand witness alongside Father Brogan or Father Timothy. The wedding will happen in our little stone church."

I nod along, feigning rapt attention as she continues her explanation. "When the priest finishes the Latin chanting and sprinkles holy water, then it's done. You'll be Erik's wife in the eyes of God and man."

Unable to resist, I wrinkle my nose in mock disgust. "It sounds so dreary," I complain, my voice pitched high with childish petulance. "Having Brogan or Timothy droning on and on."

Aislin chuckles, reaching out to ruffle my hair affectionately. "It's not about the entertainment, child. It's about the sacred bond."

A thought seems to strike me, and I tilt my head in what I hope is a convincingly innocent manner. "Am I going to wear my normal clothes for this?"

Aislin's face falls slightly, a flicker of shame crossing her features. "Well, it's customary for peasant brides to don their best clothes with flowers in their hair," she explains hesitantly. "But we... we have nothing suitable for such an occasion. We'll borrow Maeve's woven linen belt to add some frippery, at least."

She pauses, then launches into a detailed explanation of the rest of the ceremony. "Now, listen carefully, Lile. You'll have to be covered with a cloak on the path to the church and on the path to Erik's cottage. It's important to keep you hidden from view until the ceremony is complete."

"But why?" I interject, furrowing my brow in mock confusion. "What's the point of wearing any fripperies if I'm going to be covered head to toe with a cloak?"

Aislin's cheeks color slightly as she replies, "The clothes are for the groom to see once you get home, Lile. It's... it's part of the tradition."

I nod solemnly, though inwardly I'm rolling my eyes at the ridiculous customs of this backward era. As if Erik hasn't already seen every inch of my prepubescent form during his weekly "examinations."

"Remember, Lile," Aislin adds, her tone growing stern, "you must behave during the ceremony. Only Oisin and Erik will participate. You're to stand quietly and obey the priest's instructions. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mama," I chirp, the picture of innocent obedience. "I'll be as good as gold, I promise!"

Aislin's voice cuts through the musty air of our cramped hovel, her words dripping with the cloying sweetness of maternal concern. "Now, Lile, you must understand the importance of the cloak," she explains, her blue eyes earnest. "It's to shield your fair maiden's charms from the prying eyes of other men as you pass by."

I nod, my face a mask of childish innocence even as my mind reels with disgust. What a bizarre amalgamation of traditions, I muse silently. It's as if they've taken the worst aspects of Christian prudishness and Muslim oppression, stirred them together in a cauldron of ignorance, and served up this steaming pile of misogynistic nonsense.

"It sounds dreary," I say aloud, my voice pitched high with feigned disappointment. I take a step towards the door, eager to escape this suffocating conversation, when suddenly a vicious cramp seizes my lower abdomen. I double over, a grunt of pain escaping my lips before I can stifle it.

Aislin glances up from where she's burping baby Larisa, her brow furrowing with concern. "Lile? Are you alright, child?"

I force myself to straighten, gritting my teeth against the pain. "Will... will this torment happen every month?" I ask, my voice trembling with what I hope passes for childish fear rather than the frustration I truly feel.

Oh, the joys of puberty in medieval Ireland, I think sarcastically. As if the constant threat of plague, famine, and marauding Vikings wasn't enough excitement for one lifetime. Now I get to experience the miracle of menstruation without so much as a Midol to ease the way. Truly, the wonders of womanhood never cease.

Aislin bobs her head, her blonde braid swinging with the motion. "Aye, 'tis natural, child. You'll learn to anticipate the cramps and bloating eventually. All women must bear this burden."

From her perch on the bench, Maeve lets out an unladylike snort, barely concealing it behind her hand. "Poor Lile looks ready to birth a babe herself from these monthly pangs," she quips, her amber eyes glinting with mirth.

I aim a withering glare in Maeve's direction, but the effect is somewhat diminished by another wave of cramping that threatens to double me over again. Maeve, seemingly unperturbed by my attempt at intimidation, rises gracefully from her seat, hoisting Nuada higher on one slim hip.

With a fluid motion that belies her peasant upbringing, Maeve glides towards the warped wooden door. She pulls it open, letting in a gust of crisp autumn air that does little to dispel the musty odor of our hovel. "Atlas! Fionn!" she calls out, her voice a dulcet melody that carries across the muddy yard. "Come inside and eat before the day's labors commence!"

Two grubby faces peer around the doorframe, their eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Maeve graces them with a smile that would have looked more at home on a noblewoman than a former tavern wench. "Be good lads and help fetch some kindling for the fire, won't you?"

Seizing the opportunity to distract myself from the relentless cramping, I clasp my hands earnestly and turn to Aislin. "Mama," I say, injecting a note of childish eagerness into my voice, "may I take care of Larisa while you help Maeve prepare the meal? It doesn't make sense for both of us to fall behind on chores while enduring these... womanly pangs."

Aislin's laughter rings out, a rare sound of genuine mirth in our usually somber dwelling. "Why, bless your heart, Lile," she says, already passing Larisa into my waiting arms. "Such a thoughtful girl you are. Thank you, child."[...]