I danced at their wedding. Mora and the miller’s son were married soon after I received my flower. Many said it was a good match. Overlooking the bruises that colored her arms. Or the indifference that she paid him. She asked me to be her bride’s maid, and I said yes. I didn’t want to, but I knew my family could not afford such an insult.

The ceremony was large and expensive the whole village had been invited. My father wanted to refuse, but my mother reasoned him out of it. It was not the fault of Moira’s family. I received my flower, and we had no proof. Moira would never be willing to go against her family, and no one would believe the old woman in the woods. Many believing she was a witch. It would have been my word against his, and with his father running the mill there would be few who would stand against him. My sister squealed and played with the other children. Oblivious to the pain around her. Not knowing the pain that the world had in store of it, and that was as it should be.

After the wedding life went on as normal. No not normal. The world was just a bit greyer after my birthday. I hated being touched. I couldn’t shake the memeory of his hands upon me. I turned down suitors for my hand. Many thought I was too proud. I am teased constantly. No matter how nice I am to everyone. It doesn’t go away. So I stay within my house. I do the word at home while my mother goes to the mil, and does the shopping.

My mother says that the miller’s son asks about me. I just feel frozen inside. Nothing makes the memory go away. I work till I’m exhausted.  Until I can’t think for want of sleep. Taking on extra chores to get my mind off of the inevitable nightmares that come. Taking my thought form the day I must get married.

It is time my mother tells me, and I know she’s right. All of the girls my age are already promised. Their wedding won’t be as grand as Moira’s, but they will at least be wed. By refusing to wed those that have asked me. I continually paint myself in a corner. I must either wed or become an old maid. Like the woman on the far side of the village they make fun of and throw rocks at as she comes into town.

Many girls would rather die the deal with such a fate. It is something I am resigning myself to. I le no one close to me. I want no one near me. My skin crawls at the thought of the touch of man. Yet I am afraid to be alone. My days are filled with such thoughts. I continue to work my fingers until they bleed running from thoughts that comprise my daily nightmares.