I wondered if it would have been better to have died the day I left my parents’ house. To have fallen off that horse, to have broken my neck. Because no good ever came of my lamenting. I knew I’d always bear the shame of having been so naive, falling for Tobias’s flattering sweet talk, no different from that of so many other cunning men who’d carry young women away from their parents’ houses to turn them into slaves. Making their lives hell, hitting them till their blood, or their very lives, poured out, leaving a trail of hatred on their bodies. Complaining about the food, the mess, the
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