text: [Themes: grimdark fantasy, fantasy]
  
  This is probably the wisest course of action, even if it's a painful one. Children often feel helpless against the adults in their life, especially ones as oppressive as those in your village, but it's all you've ever known. Sadly, you make your way back to Endlemire, fortunately before anyone discovers that you're gone.
  
  Things become worse once you hit puberty. Despite the fact you can't control the way your body changed, the women seem scandalized by your very presence. You can't seem to cover yourself up enough to please them, and they accuse you of flaunting yourself, of trying to corrupt their sons and husbands. This confuses you at first; you weren't given the information to know what they were implying. But when that knowledge finally comes out, it doesn't help matters much. No matter how demure you try to act, or how modestly you dress, it isn't enough. Proper men and women look away from you. Younger men, or those of rakish reputation, won't stop looking at you, and their looks seem rather hungry to you. In all of this, Father never stands up for you. He pretty much ignores the whole situation; at least he doesn't join in with the crowd.
  
  During your seventeenth year, Father passes away. You feel almost nothing for the loss of your only known family member, though you do feel a niggling guilt for not being sad. You've been taught that filial duty and affection are important, but the only things you felt for Father while he was alive were resentment and fear. And with his death, you think, perhaps, you might find some peace and quiet. This, however, is not to be. Without Father around, you find yourself under almost constant harassment. Often your house is pelted with rotten produce, mud, or other unpleasant matter. In proper company, you are shunned and when you find yourself is less proper company, you find that people treat you with uncomfortable familiarity. One day a group of young men, just a few years older than yourself, corner you and rip your clothes until they're hanging on you in tatters. While they do you no physical harm, their taunts and your sudden lack of modesty shames you. You return home in tears, listening to the shouts and jeers of the villagers.
  
  After that incident, you find it hard to even buy food half the time. What money Father left you apparently has become tainted by the fact that you own it; at least, that is how the villagers seem to act. It is now hard to keep the less reputable elements away from you. In particular there is a young man named Conroy who always seems to have his eyes on you. Eventually he catches you alone behind the blacksmith's shop and propositions you. Or, to be more accurate, he starts pulling at the fabric of your high collar. Your first instinct is to pull away from him, but he puts his arms on either side of you, making it harder to get away. You've never been very big or strong, even for a girl.
  
  "Now, now; don't pretend you haven't dreamed of this," he says, leaning in closer to you, making you even more uncomfortable. You try to come up with some sort of response, but your words seem to be failing you right now. Taking this as tacit consent, Conroy reaches again for your clothing. You try to squirm out of the way, but you're effectively trapped.
  
  "You don't need to put on the shy act for me; I know all about your kind." His smugness is overwhelming. Briefly you wonder how he managed to know a know about any kind of woman that would give in so easily, but then you remembered that he spent time in one of the larger cities. Or maybe men just talk about things out of earshot of the women. You don't have much more time to think about such things though, because Conroy is being very insistent. The loud sounds from the blacksmith's shop make it even harder to concentrate. What is it that Conroy is saying now?
  
  "You're not likely to get a better chance; no one respectable will ever want to be seen with you."
  
  You have conflicted feelings towards this.
  
  Which impulse do you follow?
  
  > give in; You can't fight a reputation
  Your intuition tells you that resisting would be a lost cause. You have no affection for Conroy, or even a real interest in him, but it seems to you that if it isn't him, it will be someone else just like him. At least he seems physically clean and healthy, that has to count for something. Other men you have seen don't even have that much to their credit. Still, a deep sense of anger wells up inside of you. Choices made by others have brought you to this point, the point where you have to surrender something special to a practical stranger. Once you go down this path, you cannot go back. Innocence, once lost, is never to be reclaimed. If you had thought anyone would be on your side, or champion your cause, you might have fought this. As it is, you concede to Conroy's advances.
  
  While not deliberately cruel in his actions, he cares little for your pleasure or even your comfort. Certainly, if he had, you wouldn't have found yourself pinned against the back of the blacksmith's shop with your skirts hiked up to your hips; it takes a lot of will to not scream and run. The event is a blur of motion and heat and noise. From the other side of the wall you hear each time the hammer strikes against the metal on the anvil, and it coincides with each motion that pounds you against the stone bricks. Conroy's sounds can barely be heard as they turn from exertion into pleasure. Meanwhile you are only feeling physical discomfort and a sense of being diminished with each passing moment. At the peak of his pleasure, your stomach churns with disgust, but you remain outwardly passive, just as the metal neither hinders nor helps the blacksmith; a fact Conroy doesn't seem to notice at all. When he is sated he leaves you without another word, though not before giving you look that almost comes across as speculative.
  
  When you get home, you bathe yourself until you feel raw, but you can't scrub away the horrible feeling of becoming a mere object to be used. You chide yourself for giving in so easily. For a few days you seem to enjoy relative peace as far as outsiders go, though inwardly you're still conflicted about your decision. But you know you can't turn back time; you must live with your choices. In a small village like this one, however, news travels fast, and it's only a matter of time before someone else comes knocking on your door, looking for a good time. By his age and general appearance, you're guessing he heard from Conroy directly, although you do not recognize him. Perhaps you should have said something to him at the time, but considering the fact Conroy didn't care enough about you to respect your wishes the first time, it's unlikely he would have bothered listening to anything else you had to say. Either way you have to deal with the problem on your doorstep.
  
  How will you respond?
  
  > invite him in.
  You're too tired to fight it. For better or worse you've let your reputation rule your life. Apparently accepting the proposition of one man equates to accepting it from all men. At least, that's the impression this second 'gentleman' is giving you. Sighing in resignation, you let the man in. He doesn't seem interested in small talk, so it isn't long before you're both in the bedroom and he's removing your clothes. His hands roam over your body with a greedy intensity and you just lie there and allow his explorations. Once or twice you even feel a brief moment of something that is almost pleasure, but it never lasts long enough for you to truly appreciate the fleeting sensation, and you're too emotionally exhausted to encourage the man to indulge you.
  
  Again, you experience the same heat and motion as before, the man's heavier body impacting yours in an urgent rhythm that becomes quite rapid. But this time both your disgust and your discomfort seem to be lessened. Your first sexual experience had paved the way for this experience and those that would undoubtedly follow. The thought makes you shiver in dread, a motion that is misinterpreted by your partner, who shudders as he finds fulfillment. Making himself presentable again, he leaves you with a brief word of thanks. You find that you can't even bring yourself to care about this.
  
  In the days that follow, this becomes your life. The same small group of men frequent your home, always for the same thing. With each visit you feel your soul getting smaller, and though there is little change on the outside, you feel like you are becoming someone entirely different. And while you are resigned to your fate, you never really learn to enjoy these visits. The small consolation to you is that at least now you've done something to earn the villager's disdain. When word gets out to the general public that you've been entertaining men in your bedroom, you find you can't get service anywhere. Eventually you have to convince the men to bring you food and other necessities in exchange for your 'time'. It isn't the best arrangement, but it beats starving or freezing to death. After a few years you even start to get visitors from nearby settlements; with the emphasis on purity in your society, some traveling might be necessary to sate those urges.
  
  Miraculously in all this time, you never get pregnant, and never seem to catch anything unwelcome from your partners, which is more than what you can say for some of the men. Oddly enough, those who treat you the worst seem to find things going wrong in their lives and often don't come back for a second round of abuse. In fact, Conroy doesn't even make it past his twenty-fifth year. You don't pay this much attention except to feel a vicious sense of satisfaction that your life isn't the only one that is hard. Despite the difficulties in life, at least you manage to keep your health, your looks, and your home. Your latter years become harder, for even though you remain rather attractive, you no longer have the youth and softness that appeal to many men.
  
  Your life goes on, but your story has come to an end.