Masquerade

by O.O. Sangoyomi

It was this, even more than our seemingly mystical abilities, that made us so despised; our largest crime was being, not just women, but women without a man to belong to.

It was easy for Àrmọ to love me; it cost him nothing. However, it seemed that I was expected to love him by giving myself to him. I had already given him my hand; how much more of me must I give? What would I have left?

Men called us witches, they thought us demons, and yet, it was they who wished to possess us.