My tongue slides atop my upper lip as I glare at my opponents with a weakened smile.

“It would be a disservice to my daughter simply to introduce her with words alone,” says my father, Lord Embers. “She began talking six months after being born. At seven months, she took her first steps. At five years old, she was aiding our Chef Rumsley in the kitchen, crafting innovative foods and gear that have made our lives easier. This was while she was finishing her education in continental politics and war.”

The recently revamped throne room is filled with people. Politicians, merchants, and high-ranking military officers decorate the halls. Large tables splay around the middle of the auditorium.

Marriage happens one of three ways in this world. The first, and most common, is a proposal from two people that love each other. Great. Totally endorse that.

Next, there are arranged marriages where one family sets up their child with one from another family. Usually, this is a system meant to benefit both parties, minus the ones being set up.

Then there’s the third option: a ball. It’s a mix between the first and second choices. The marriage is still arranged by the parents as they choose the guests, but the one being set up gets to choose from the eligible pool. A massive party is thrown to demonstrate the eligible person’s skills or beauty. People then try to court the person and said person makes a choice at the end of the event on who they want to marry. This process is usually reserved for very special individuals like a King’s daughter or a beautiful prodigy.

Apparently, my father had always wanted to go with the third option for me since I’m so exceptional. It was Harold’s father, Lord Astra, that brought up the arrangement. As Harold fit all the criteria Father would want for my husband, he agreed to a meeting. And I ruined it. Now we’re back on option three.

Yaaaay…

The marriage rules in this world are odd. The focus is entirely on procreation. Even male and female couples that cannot create children are forced to dissolve their marriages if they do not have at least one child within the first five years of marriage.

It answers a question I’ve always had about my parents. Why was there such a gap between me and Conrad? Well, I was a necessary birth to solidify their union. My birth then created a gap between my mother and father which seemingly shortened, but never closed. It closed enough for them to give me a brother many years later, but that’s about it.

A single light source highlights my general vicinity within the darkened room. Six people surround me. Mercenaries. Beyond them, the guests watch me from a distance while my father continues speaking.

“Under the tutelage of Master Raphael Talbert, grandmaster swordsman of the Kingdom of Zalevet and decorated soldier in the Bastion Rebellion, my daughter Scarlet trained from the age of five until now with the sword,” continues my father.

The crowd murmurs.

“She trained under Talbert?”

“I’ve heard the legends. He’s brutal but effective.”

“She must be impressive.”

Annoyed, I glance around the room.

I don’t even want to be here, yet I still have to listen to these complete strangers judge me. Stupid Father…making me go through this shit….

“At the age of thirteen, Scarlet was granted a Divine Treat. The Gods ordained her as a Dyad possessing both light and dark gifts,” Father speaks. “Choosing to support her family rather than enter the service, Scarlet fulfills her duty as my daughter, granting further prominence to our family through the bonds of marriage.”

Ha! Get fucked and die, bastard. Goddamn liar.

The muttering around me shifts into confusion.

“A Dyad?”

“How was she granted access to a Divine Treat?”

“Light and dark gifts? At the same time? Impossible!”

“That’s nepotism. Family politics.”

“Lady Scarlet was trained by Master Talbert? And she’s a Dyad? The Gods surely blessed her.”

“A suitable choice. I already see the value in her.”

“Why would she choose marriage over the military? She’s a Dyad. Shouldn’t the guard’s captain have lobbied harder?”

“Must be a coward. I don’t know what to tell you. If I were the baron, I’d have made her join.”

“I don’t blame her. The pressure to join was probably crazy. It would have been too much for me in her shoes, I’ll tell yah.”

“She’s beautiful. Gifted. I’d love to make her my wife.”

“Indeed.”

“Gorgeous.”

“She’s not that great.”

“Ugly bitch.”

“You’re just jealous.”

“Why’s she got two swords?”

“Wonder what her body looks like under that armor….”

“Lots of build-up. Hope she can execute.”

“In any marriage, a father expects a strong son to carry on his name. My daughter is as powerful a warrior as she is intelligent. Any child from her will likely be just as gifted,” says Father. His voice silences the crowd. “To prove that point, I’ve hired six mercenaries. They will be given a large sum for incapacitating my daughter. If not, they forfeit payment. I want there to be no doubt in her abilities.”

The crowd mutters onward while I largely ignore them.

“The castle healer will be on standby if there are any mortal wounds, as he is a gifted Admix healer. Everyone should feel free to try hard, but no deaths, please. I’d appreciate it.” Father pauses for dramatic effect. “Begin!”

Guards light torches surrounding the area. The dark room brightens and the partygoers are suddenly illuminated. There are likely a hundred people in the room, probably more. I heard them walk in while I was dramatically hidden away, but actually seeing them is an entirely different thing. The remarkable hearing I developed as a baby from staring at the ceiling listening to footsteps actually paid off.

Light leather grieves adorn my feet. They guard all the way up to my knees. Above them, my skin is bare so that I can move freely. A chainmail skirt sits at my waist. Black fabric is laced over the top so that the metal isn’t visible. Upon my chest is a tight piece of flexible leather. It’s dark to match my battle skirt. A dark-gray chest plate sits over the top. It’s built with plates rather than one solid piece so that it hugs tighter to my body, allowing for better maneuverability. It’s the same way with my shoulder pads. From the bicep down, my arms are free.

If it were up to me, I wouldn’t be wearing armor. Speed and flexibility are my strong suits. It’s difficult to make dramatic movements with stiff gear in the way. Unfortunately, I was overruled by my father and mother. What an odd time for them to care. As a result, armor was made for me. I hate it so much. It’s itchy.

Not that it matters, anyways. This’ll be simple. I could do this naked with the same results.

Ha! That’d have been the talk of the town. Hell, there’s still time. Maybe it’ll embarrass my parents enough to call this whole thing off.

On second thought, it might have the opposite effect with some of the men here.

There’s no winning, is there?

Six men swirl around me. They are all different sizes wearing varying levels of armor carrying diverse arrays of weapons.

One holds a spear.

Three have swords and shields.

One uses two hammers.

Finally, the last guy uses dual swords.

“We’re getting paid a hefty sum to fight you,” says the man carrying the spear.

“It doesn’t matter what gifts you have nor the training you’ve endured,” says the man with two swords. He wears a helmet. While speaking, he points the sword in his left hand at me. “You’re a small woman playing a big man’s game. This won’t end well for you.”

“Forfeit now, and we will not hurt you,” coos the man carrying the two war hammers.

“No thanks. I’m good.” I shrug off their meek concern.

The crowd laughs at my blatant sarcasm.

“Then you’ve been warned,” says the one carrying two swords.

My tongue rubs the top of my lip. “Come at me then.”

The six men tighten the distance between them and me. Those three carrying shields bash their swords in a rhythmic pattern against them. The crowd cheers. My father and mother watch me from their thrones positioned at the back of the room.

Steps sound at my rear.

I step to the right, ducking as I do.

The flat of a blade swings over my head.

I shift out my foot.

The weight of a body topples over it. The person attacking yelps as he crashes to the floor. It is one of the shieldmen.

I smirk.

With the tip of my blade, I carefully sever the strap to his shield.

The front of my right foot tips forward, hooking the shield. I flip it into the air.

Before it can get too high, I rotate my body and swiftly bring down my left foot. The heel catches right above the shield, and it shoots downward.

The metal lands hard on the back of the man’s skull. Even though he’s wearing a helmet, the force is enough to put him down for a few moments.

The crowd is stunned into silence.

“Oh, hell yeah!” a voice shouts. It’s Alexander. I cannot see him, but it’s nice to know my friends are watching me.

“Close in on her! Don’t let her pick us off one at a time!” the man with two swords bellows. He points about with his weapons as his attitude grows increasingly more serious.

The crowd ramps up their rowdiness once more.

“Attacking me from behind first? Really?” I chide my opponents. “Too afraid to face me head-on in a fair fight?”

“Tell em, girl!”

I roll my eyes at Alexander’s outburst.

A spear lunges towards my face out of the side of my vision.

I narrowly duck. My hair is the only thing that remains in place. The spear parts the strands. The sharpness of the tip even severs a few.

I bring up my swords into an x-shape. The spear is caught in between.

Leaning forward, I move the blade towards the man’s hand. It shreds the wood. Splinters fray off. They rain to the ground like earthly hail.

Faster than the man can react, my blades catch his fingers. The tips on his left hand are severed. Blood drips. He drops the spear in agony.

My face hardens at the sight of blood.

The two other shield bearers rush towards me. I don’t have time to react.

Instead, I follow my momentum ahead. My back lifts over the spear user’s shoulder and glides down his own until I’m directly behind him away from harm.

I flick out a sharp kick backward.

The contact sends the spearman forward. He stumbles as a trail of blood sprays the floor from his mangled fingertips.

The shieldmen move around him. They trip and their paces falter.

The core of my inner muscle tightens. What feels like strings from my arms and legs pull together as a warm energy surges within my body.

Black tendrils snake out of my back. The crowd shouts at that development.

The shieldmen freeze in place.

A poor choice of action.

My tendrils lash out quickly. They pierce through both shields, ripping them from their owner’s hands.

They fly forward past them.

I press the momentum back suddenly.

The edges of the shields surge, hitting the backs of their former holders’ skulls.

The two men fall forward. Neither move.

Spearman attempts to stand.

I sprint forward quickly. The weight of my swords lightens as I enhance my body with my light gift. Gripping both blades together, I keep them on the flat sides so that their strike is non-lethal.

The swords hit his helmet and the side dents.

The spearman, now incapacitated, lifts off the ground, traveling some distance until he slams into a nearby wall. The crowd is barely able to part in time.

Quickly, I turn around, bearing my swords.

Clang!

I deflect away the man with dual blades.

Behind him, the mercenary with two hammers comes up the side. His weapons rise like uppercuts.

I dodge back.

The dual swordsman goes to stab me.

Tendrils I’d let linger in the ground lurch forth through the floor.

The black strands wrap around the dual swordsman’s body. His voice grunts at the motion, but he cannot move.

My final opponent is hammer man. Purposely, I save the dual swordsman for last.

I brace the sword in my right hand over my head. My left points forward. I smile. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t chip my swords.”

The hammer man glares.

I plunge forward with an overhead cut.

A hammer goes to intercept it.

At the last moment, because I purposefully made the cut weak, I divert it away.

With my free hand, I bring the edge of my other sword forward. It connects with the back of hammer man’s hand. Sliding it across, I lacerate his palms deep between his pinky finger and wrist.

The hammers drop. “You bi—”

Using the momentum of the slice, I swirl around, bracing my swords in the air. The flats hit his temples hard on both sides, cutting off his words.

The man’s eyes roll into the back of his head. He goes slack, and his body plummets to the floor.

Quick and efficient.

Enormous cheers attack my eardrums. The admiration and glee fill me with an earned sense of fulfillment for the first time in this world. I allow the shouts to inject me with the acceptance I’ve desired for so long. Sometimes it’s nice to be admired.

“Finish him!”

“She’s amazing!”

“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen!”

“Ewww! Blood!”

“She didn’t kill any of them.”

“Wonderful!”

Yes, yes! Loooooove me! Damn, this is the best feeling in the world!

“Finish him!” the crowd shouts. “Fiiiiiniiiiiish hiiiiiim!”

I walk before the final man. My tendrils dissipate. He stumbles forward. His breathing is staggered. An annoyed look peers through his helmet.

“How long have you used two swords?” I spin both of mine in my hands in an intricate pattern as I gloat about my continued success.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

The man staggers forward. “Longer than you’ve been alive, pup.”

The swords swing at me.

I deflect none of them. Instead, I merely watch them sail by as I evade them with ease.

“I can see why Master Talbert was leery of teaching me two-sword style,” I testify as I dodge the man’s advances. “You only attack with one sword at a time. The other lingers back. You don’t plan your next move, only switch hands in obvious ways. There are no intentions in your swordplay. Your mind cannot separate the actions efficiently. You should just use a shield.”

“And what of you?!” The man’s swords swing past me without so much as a scratch. “What makes you special?!”

I intercept his non-dominant hand with my blade.

Shunk!

My stroke cleanly removes his left hand at the wrist with accuracy honed from over a decade of obsessive practice.

Blood squirts into the air with pressure, much like a force of water suddenly gushing from a pipe. The man’s reaction delays, but he drops to his knees nonetheless. A fraction of a second ticks by. Pain passes through his eyes. He screams.

“I’m doing you a favor,” I explain over his shouts. “You’ll only end up getting killed if you keep with that style. Your defense is unnaturally weak. Focus on one sword alone. It’ll be better for you in the end, I promise.”

“I needed that hand! It’s my livelihood!” The man stares at the stump. “Gaaaaaaah!”

“Learn from this. Get better. I’ve saved your life.”

“That she has.” Master Talbert walks up dressed in formal attire for the night. He swiftly brings down his hand on the back of the man’s neck. It knocks the now handless man out.

“What are you doing?” I ask my Master.

“Resolving the fight. Any longer, and you’d have lost the room.”

I look around. The room is deftly quiet. Blood splatter drips from my forehead down my lip. Bodies line around me and all of them are groaning. I’m entirely unharmed. Gore and sweat drip from me, but only the sweat is mine.

“Ha, that backfired, didn’t it, father?” I whisper to myself.

Silence.

“Amazing!” Alexander slides towards me on his knees. “You kicked ass! You were all like, slice, kick, slice, bam!” He gestures as he speaks. “Too cool!”

That overly exaggerated response elicits some chuckles. I notice that the vast majority of men don’t seem disgusted, just the women. Ah. That’s why Father did this. “Sports.” It shows that I’m not only strong, but I also have similar interests to the men. Dammit, that just ups my value; a pretty, athletic, big-breasted girl who likes the same things as the guys. Shit.

“Thank you,” I whisper with an admittedly awkward smile. I lick the top of my lip out of nervousness. It accidentally tastes blood, so I spit immediately. Stupid habit!

“Any time, bud,” Alexander answers back.

“I think it is safe to say—” Father booms. His voice rings throughout the room. “—my daughter is an efficient fighter. She will produce a strong heir.”

Murmurs of agreement flutter about. Guards begin pulling bodies away from the floor. Servants with mops clean up the blood while another drops the severed fingers from the spearman into the same water bucket. Our healer, Clyde, rushes towards the man missing the hand.

“Though my daughter is ferocious, she has a soft side. Now that she’s introduced herself as a warrior, let her do it one more time as a woman. We shall clear the room and prepare the food. Then we shall see her again, but for now, feel free to drink.”

At his words, waiters come bursting from multiple different entrances. Soldiers and servants set numerous little candles on fire with their gifts. The room lights up more than before.

It’s a “magical” moment.

•

“Get her cleaned up! Come, come!” calls my maid and metaphorical mother, Sonya. “We must get her out of this sticky armor and into something more suitable! Quickly girls!”

Armor falls to the floor. The noise splits through the chatter as these women strip me bare.

“An impressive display, Lady Scarlet,” says one of the maids.

“I was terrified when you cut off his hand,” mentions another.

“Good to know your practice has aided you greatly.” Sonya moves in front of me and offers a smile.

Oh, I agree with her. It’s one thing to learn the sword. It is an entirely different thing to actually use one. I’ve never cut someone on purpose before. I’ve nicked my friends and Master Talbert, but not deliberately. This time, I made conscious decisions to mar flesh. Remove fingers. Sever a hand.

A far cry from filing shit in court, that’s for sure.

As psychotic as it may sound, that was the most exciting thing I’ve ever done. I was meant to fight; I realize that now. It gives me a rewarding sense of accomplishment.

Maybe I can be a hero in this reality? It was an ideal in my past life, but hell, maybe I can actually be one in these lands.

Hmmm. That might be fun.

I could be a traveling swordsman helping the weak, protecting the innocent, and taking down foes but never taking their lives. A moral better to society!

But...that’s after I figure out my current situation...

If I can.

I might be dreaming of a life that will never be.

“...”

My chest piece is released.

“Oh, thank the Gods!” I breathe out.

Sonya’s face contorts. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” I put a hand to my chest. “The gear was pushing my tits into my lungs.”

The maids behind me giggle.

Sonya frowns. “Don’t be vulgar, dear.” She points behind her at a tub. “Get her in the bath. Clean the gore off quickly. Time’s wasting!”

It’s honestly odd to go nude in front of a bunch of people...is what I would have said in my past life. But it’s a level of pampering reserved for me as nobility. People bathe me. It was only weird when I was a baby, yet it continued after I grew in age. It still unnerves me to some degree, but not as much as it did in the past. The far, far past at this point.

I am placed into a bath with warm water. My limbs are scrubbed quickly while my hair is brushed and styled. Any fragments inside, be it unwanted matter or fluids, are removed.

“Quickly! Dry her off! Get her changed! The guests are waiting!”

I am pulled from the tub as quickly as I was placed inside. Towels immediately hit my body. They scrub at me though my hair is avoided.

“Lift your legs,” a maid orders me.

“Lift your arms,” another asks.

“Move over,” says a third.

“Get between the legs. You never know how the night will go,” jokes the first.

The maids laugh in unison.

Embarrassment floods through me.

“Enough chit-chat. Work quickly, ladies,” urges Sonya.

I comply with all their requests. After maybe ten minutes, I’m fully clothed in a brilliant, tight red dress.

Looking in the mirror, it’s hard to believe that this is my body. Even after all this time, I can’t feel comfortable in this skin.

Hmm, I suppose that’s not entirely true. I recognize that this person is my reality, but I cannot help looking at her through the eyes of Felix. Well, looking at myself as my prior self.

Beautiful red hair floats around my shoulders. My almost offensively big chest warps the front of my dress. While my hips are somewhat curvy, I’m significantly more average in that department. I’m muscular but in a petite way. I can run for miles without much trouble. Overall, I’m beautiful. Life is different. People interact with me in ways I never experienced before.

Hell, even in my depressed Felix state, I’d be attracted to Scarlet, to myself. I’m very, very hot. Almost painfully so given that I have to see myself all the time. I’m not a perfect ten, but I’m close. A high seven or a low eight maybe?

Beyond the physical, I’ve noticed emotional changes in my psyche. There’s no doubt female puberty and two decades of being raised as a girl has altered my psyche. I’m not one hundred percent a girl nor can I say with a clear conscious that I’m completely masculine. I’m something in the middle. A hybrid.

It’s confusing, but it’s how I rationalize this. It makes sense I would change given all that’s happened to me, but the degree to which I have is startling.

“Let me look at you.” Sonya stands before me. She blocks my view of the mirror. “Beautiful!” She smiles. Her arms gesture me back towards the door from which I came in. “Come! Guide her out! Back to the ball. Let’s go, let’s go!”

•

This is it.

My time to find a fiancé, unfortunately.

The fun part of the event is over. I’ve shown my value as a warrior. It was the only part I was looking forward to of this whole charade. It lets people know I’m not just a pretty face. That, as my father unfortunately put it, I have decent, robust genes.

My thoughts are broken up as I emerge back into the guest-filled ballroom.

The tables have been moved away from the walls more towards the center. Arrays of food and drink sit upon them. Even so, servants still move about treating the guests to the delicacies of the lands. A band has begun performing. Their stringed instruments mix with brass and drums to create a delightfully folksy tune that one could easily dance along with.

“My daughter returns!” Father alerts the room upon seeing me, breaking off a conversation with a local official.

The crowd is caught up in the commotion, and their attention gravitates towards me. Once again, there is silence, though little mutters break through the emptiness.

“She looks different without her armor.”

“What a gorgeous woman.”

“A treat for the eyes.”

“Wouldn’t mind plowing her somewhere private.”

“That dress doesn’t leave much up to one’s imagination, eh?”

“Oh, her eyes are gorgeous in that dress! And her hair!”

“Stunning.”

“Nice rack.”

“Lovely.”

“A beautiful warrior. The full package. Yes, she will be my bride.”

“I must have her.”

“I want to bury my face in those tits, damn!”

“Where’s the booze?”

“I think I stepped in blood.”

“Quiet down!”

The reviews are in, as vulgar as most of them are: I’m a keeper. It does little to stroke my ego. I get it; I’m being ogled like a piece of meat. Then again, I never got this kind of treatment as Felix.

Honestly, this is the best part about being a beautiful woman. The admiration. The sheer respect from simply being pretty and existing. It’s the hidden perk I didn’t know I always wanted until I got it. Not that it has genuinely helped me yet. I still have to do this shitty party.

“Now that our purpose for the ball has returned, we must bring out the more expensive liquor!” Father claps his hands. “And to my hired band, an upbeat tune suited for dancing, if you will.”

I will have to give it to Father; he is in rare form tonight. I’ve never seen him act like this. He’s a natural-born salesman. I suppose he’d have to be to get to where he is today. If he were only a mere soldier, even as a high-ranking officer, Father never would have been appointed as a baron. Certainly not over a place with such critical infrastructure for the country. He’s a sweet talker. That much can be said. A word here, a lie there, a promise later, and boom! He’s baron. I can see it all now.

My hand is taken from me. I’m abruptly dragged forward against my will.

My eyes widen in surprise. I reach for my sword but tense up. I don’t have one. I’m in a dress. And this isn’t a threat; it’s a boy.

As I am now, that’s kind of the same thing, I suppose.

“You were brilliant tonight,” expresses my current captor. “Terrific swordsmanship. And dare I say, you look lovely.”

The man is a bit older than me. He leads forward towards groups of people already dancing then grabs my other hand.

Damn dancing. I’ve had lessons throughout my life. But like my formal training as nobility, I felt no need to go over it in boring details. I’m at least “above average.” That’s what my teacher said, likely due to the footwork needed to use a sword.

Recently, I was given what equates to “sex ed” by the same person teaching me all the other boring shit, a woman named Serine. She’s got to be fifty at least. Her official role is head aide to my mother, whatever that means. I mean, she’s nice. Her lessons are always easy to understand and helpful.

Even so, the “sex ed” course was the most brutally embarrassing, cringy thing I’ve ever done in my entire conscious existence. The “class” consisted of Serine and two other women that work for my mother and father.

First, I was checked to see that I was still a virgin. Nothing like getting fingered and probed by strangers to ruin an afternoon. They were so relieved that I was. I’m sure if I weren’t, I’d have been pulled into a very uncomfortable talk with my parents shortly after.

One of them even commented, “We were worried about the blonde one.” That could only mean Alexander. I mean, sure, he gives off the vibe of a player. Nigel has too much regality to have dared try to seduce me. My only other friend is Remi, and she’s a girl. Little do they know, I’d probably pick her before the other two. Regardless, by default, Alexander was apparently a worry, and I doubt he’s done anything to assuage those fears. Fortunately, I was able to do it on my own, embarrassing as it was.

Afterward, I was instructed on my role and how it would depend on the “sexual appetite” of my suitor. Apparently, men come in two types: aggressive and passive. For the aggressive type, which Serine said is my most likely result, I’m to be flexible, probably literally, and do all that is asked of me without complaint.

For the passive type, I was told that I’d need to take the lead. As they then noted, a virgin wouldn’t know how to do that, so I was handed a phallic-shaped device and told to “practice for pain.” I was also given a book with positions and motions and told to “study.” They said the information would help regardless of the type of man I ended up with.

Needless to say, I took in all that information, smiled, and left the “class” without issue. The phallic is somewhere in the forest. I chucked it with my light cloak on, so it’s somewhere far, far away.

As for the book…it had a lot of information about the female body…so I read it….

I don’t plan on using the information in there. Ever. But…knowledge is power, I suppose.

Why is this my life?

Hopefully, none of that shit will matter.

Based on the eyes staring at me as I dance, the general information Serine gave is likely true.

Here at this ball, every man looking to marry me will be between twenty and twenty-five years of age. While women are married off between fifteen and twenty due to “beauty” reasons, men use those five years to build up reputations that raise their stakes in marriage. Some will join guilds to fight for glory. Others will start businesses. Most screw to their heart’s content until their parents make them settle down.

As for my current captor, sandy brown hair is slicked back atop his head. His face is clean-shaven. Murky brown eyes sit upon his face. His square-shaped head gives his jaw texture. He’s big, but not in a fat way. More of a college linebacker style. His voice is gruff, but there’s a poetic nature to it. And clearly, he’s an extroverted guy by the way he snatched me up before anyone else could talk to me. I’ll give him that.

My head dips slightly. “I appreciate the compliment.”

We begin our movements with the music. I sway with him as he clings to my body.

“My name is Wes Caterwault,” the stranger, well, Wes, tells me. “My family breeds horses and builds wagons. We’re the largest distributor of both in the country.”

Ahhhh, so a marriage here would mean better access to cheaper transportation of goods throughout the country. Good thinking, Father, you manipulative bastard.

“Impressive,” I remark. “You must be very proud of them. Do you plan to take over the business?”

Sadly for this guy, I’ve already ruled him out as a marriage partner.

As my father allowed it, I get to pick who I wish to marry at this event. It doesn’t make me feel any better. In the end, there can only be one, and there must at least be one. Beyond staging an escape with a potential massacre, I’m trapped in my current position until a better option presents itself.

Wes here is too impulsive. His personality is strong, and it takes little imagination to see him expecting waaaay too much from our relationship. Sorry, buddy. Based on where his eyes keep lingering, he’s probably imagining me naked on top of him. I should know; I used to think like him, too.

I’m looking for a puppy, not a dog.

If I can get someone to love me, to love my body, adore me, then respect me, I’ll have control. I can dictate the terms of the relationship until I find a way out of it. A “dog” will use and abuse me. A “puppy” will follow me around and do whatever I want.

I listen to Wes talk for a few moments. Eventually, I’m broken away from him by another man.

“Hello,” announces my new kidnapper with long blonde hair cascading down his face. He flashes me a smile. “Lewis Macklemore.”

I force a smile back. “Charmed.”

This offensive goes on and on from person to person for a while until a hand much different than the others pulls me away.

A woman?

Ah! Much better! Wait. I’m not allowed to marry a woman. What’s happening, then? Why is this stranger pulling at my arm?

The female hand drags me from the dance floor. I watch a bundle of blonde hair in a dress lead me towards a table where many other women sit. I’m placed in a chair, shockingly, as I examine my new reality.

Oh Gods, a table full of girls.

Oh, wait, I’m one too. Damn, I forgot. No need to be embarrassed! I can do this! Even though I’ve never gotten the opportunity to participate in “girl talk,” I should be fine. It’ll all be good...I hope.

“That dress looks absolutely lovely on you,” says the blonde that brought me here.

“Oh.” I look down at myself. “Thank you.”

“You’ve been blessed by the Gods, it seems,” says another girl. She’s flat-chested with dark hair but has the prettiest face I’ve seen in years. She gives off a gothic Natalie Portman vibe. “Your body is made to draw in the men.”

“I-I suppose so. N-Not that that’s a good thing or a bad thing or even a thing at all...haha....” I trail off nervously.

Ow, that hurt me. I suck.

The girls eye me.

“So, um, what’s...up?” I question. “Am I in trouble?”

“Trouble?” says gothic girl.

“Nonsense!” The blonde waves me off. “We wished to speak with you!”

I take a seat. “About...what?”

“Do we need a reason? It’s a party! We can talk about whatever we like!” speaks a third girl. She has brown hair with unreasonably curvy proportions. Even I look lacking next to her. “None of us here have had the pleasure of meeting you before, but I suspect we’ll see more of each other in due time. Circles like these are tight-knit,” she says as her finger lightly gestures around the room.

Gothic girl looks about. “There are always familiar faces at these things.”

“Some of whom are even good in bed,” adds the curvy girl. She laughs soon after saying so.

Yeah...I hate this...

“You’re lucky your family let you have a ball,” complains curvy girl. “My parents set up a meeting with an influential family, gave me over to their son, and that was it. Not very romantic.”

“Likewise,” admits the gothic girl.

“Mhmm,” clucks the blonde. “Goes to show how special you are,” she directs at me.

“Ah, I appreciate you saying that. You honor me,” I lie.

“We wish to know you is all!” says gothic girl. “Once you’re married, we’ll see much more of each other. Events like this are common. Not balls per say, but weddings and formal parties in general. My husband and I are always traveling to these types of things since we’re in the age range for all this shit. That’s how the three of us became friends.”

The three girls nod.

“But we also decided as a group to help you out,” mentions the blonde.

“Oh?”

“Just because you’re married doesn’t mean your life is over,” alludes gothic girl. “There are still plenty of ways to have fun.

My ears perk up. “Hm?”

“You can still sample what else is out there,” curvy girl suggests. Her eyes linger on a guard. Oh, that’s Alexander. She stares at him like a snack. Lucky him? “As long as you know which bed you must lay in at the end of the night, you’re free to do as you wish.”

“That’s...immoral,” I mutter.

I can’t help it. I was kind of a prude in my previous life. That’s carried over into this one as well.

“Your husband will likely be the same way. Do not let it bother you,” the blonde girl assuages me. “It’s common. Marriage is simply a tool for power. You’ll have to lay with him to produce heirs, but that’s the extent of it. You can find fleeting excitements in travels and at home if you so desire.”

What a great conversation! It only validates my worst fears.

“I don’t even want to get married in the first place,” I admit meekly. “All I want is to find my purpose. I know it’s not that. Producing children. Being in a loveless marriage. It’s out there in the real world, not this sheltered nothingness.”

The group grows silent.

“You poor, poor girl,” says curvy.

They stare at me sadly.

I wince.

“Oh?” I feign a look as if catching something in the distance. “Ah, I see,” I whisper to myself quietly as if taking in information. “Sorry, someone is getting my attention. I shall talk with you three later?”

They nod. “Please do.”

“And let me know the situation with that one.” The curvy girl visibly points over to Alexander. “He’s built like a bull. I’d love to see how long I can ride him.”

“Ha ha ha!” I fake laughter as I walk away. I wave to them before moving out of sight.

At each corner of the ballroom, the building rounds into small sections with lit chandeliers overhead. Two doors are perched at either end of the corners that lead to balconies on both sides of the room.

I need air.

Heading towards a particularly deserted one, I look back at the party and linger a moment in thought.

I cast an annoyed glance at the scenery before looking down at the ground. My hands unconsciously rub each other as a million different thoughts traumatize my head.

Moments later, I find myself out on the balcony. I lean my arms over the side as the crisp, moist sky dampens my skin.

“Is this really going to be the rest of my life?” I mutter to myself sadly. “I have no freedom. My friends cannot help me or else they’ll lose their jobs, maybe even their lives. Even if they could or were willing, they have their families to support still. My worst fears have been ratified by a gaggle of clueless whores. Dammit.”

I stare into the sky.

“Screw that! I'm going to make whoever I marry my bitch!” I say as I flip off the sky, smiling.