text: [Themes: grimdark fantasy]
  
  It is understandable that you are angry, but perhaps you should have been a little wiser. Conroy is stronger than you and he doesn't have a stain on his reputation the same way. In fact, he's part of a rather prestigious family in town. For some reason you have never been able to fathom, a man can get away with a great deal more things than a woman can. Of course, this is another thing to fuel your anger. Unfortunately, Conroy doesn't respect your right to express your feelings, especially when it involves his face. But you're not surprised about this, are you?
  
  The young man retaliates by backhanding you hard enough to make you topple over. You land in the mud, and he laughs unpleasantly. Your virtue is in tact, for now, but that hardly matters. Conroy spreads the rumor that he was seduced by you and your reputation is damaged even further, while he somehow manages to get sympathy. Sympathy! You might have saved yourself some trouble by giving in, but you couldn't have predicted that he would spread lies about you. For a moment you even wonder if your mother had done whatever had disgraced her. Perhaps she was a victim of lies as well.
  
  Whatever the case may be, it doesn't help you in the here and now. Life is pretty miserable for you. There is a lot more hostility from the villagers than there ever has been, and sometimes you even get 'escorted' home by the local constabulary for 'disturbing the peace' when all you're doing is simply walking. Anyone who cares more about their reputation than their money refuses to serve you, which is almost everyone. You start to become thin and weak, and must ration your food carefully because you're never certain whether you can buy more or not.
  
  You need to do something about this.
  
  > sell your house and leave.
  You are done! There is nothing left for you here, not friends, or relatives, or meaningful work. What is worse is that you have no hope of things changing in your favor either. You pack up your paltry clothes and what money you have left; you'll need it when you get to a village or town that doesn't know anything about you. The thought excites you, but in the back of your mind you have a gloomy suspicion that you won't be able to outrun your reputation. Still, even if there's only a sliver of hope, you're willing to take it. You can't continue on this way.
  
  Selling your house isn't hard; Father had been from an older family and the house was one that many in Endlemire would be happy to own. However, your bargaining position isn't very good, and you're lucky if you even got half of what it was worth. But even half is enough to send you on your way. Once you have the money in your hands, you can't leave fast enough. Walking briskly along the road, you head towards the nearest town.
  
  Stopping there in a tavern, you get information about the surrounding settlements. Although you aren't being treated with any hostility here yet, you feel this place is just too close to Endlemire to stay in for more than a night or two. The barkeep is friendly enough and after you buy a simple meal, he's more than happy to tell you about the area. From him you learn that there is another, similar sized town a fair distance to the west, a placed called Shorebrin. Only two days away to the east is a major city; Bluemont is the second largest in the region next to the capital. When you inquire more specifically after them, the barkeep shrugs his shoulders; it seems he's never personally been to either one.
  
  It boils down to whether or not you want something moderate size, or if you want to go big. Or, to look at it another way, ask yourself whether you want to travel more than two days.
  
  > go for the big city.
  After considering the options, you decide Bluemont is the place to be. Your reasons for this are many. First of all, a larger population increases the chance that you won't be found or recognized by anyone from Endlemire. It's just easier to hide in a large city; you're sure you'd just stick out in a small town. The second reason is that you have a vague feeling that a large city will be more accepting. At least, that is your hope. You've already seen first hand how narrow minded the people are in a small village; maybe those in a large city will have a wider world view. Lastly, you are guessing that it might be easier to find work in a busy place like a city.
  
  Since you've made up your mind, you only stay one night at the inn. The next morning you are up early and book a stagecoach ride into the big city. There are four other people in the six-seat coach; a mother and her son sit across from you, while a middle-aged couple sit on your side. You don't have much to say to the other passengers; for the most part you keep your head down and act demurely. It's not hard; you're not brazen despite what the villagers assumed about you. You consider it a bonus that the other passengers leave you alone too. Perhaps there's a general agreement between travelers to keep to themselves; you don't know for certain since you've never traveled before.
  
  While the trip is a new experience, it really goes without incident. It's true that your stomach feels rather queasy at the beginning, but a few hours in you start to adapt. Shortly after nightfall, the coach stops at a way stop; a very simplistic building with bunks and an open hearth. The coach driver stays outside with the horses, while the rest of you bunk down in very simplistic beds separated by heavy curtains. In the morning there's a bland breakfast of boiled oats and everyone is given enough time to see to personal needs before you're all on your way again.
  
  At the end of the second day you arrive at Bluemont. From your first glance of the place, you are in awe. Back home you could mentally bring up every building in town, recall who lived there, or who worked there. The sheer number of buildings in this city are overwhelming, and you can't imagine how far back they actually go. The style of the buildings is also quite impressive; some of them reaching as high as four-stories. Back in Endlemire, most buildings were only one or two stories. Most of the buildings also have pretty blue-grey stone tile roofs; you're guessing that is where the city got its name.
  
  "First time, isn't it?" You hear the question come from behind you, and you slowly turn around to see an older man standing there. With him is the young woman and child that had been in the coach with you. The three of them look at you patiently, but for a moment you just feel a bit dazed and it takes you a moment to realize they're waiting for a response. You don't think you can cover up your awe of the place, so lying wouldn't be very constructive. Meekly you shrug your shoulders and give a little sigh.
  
  "Yes, this is my first time away from home," you say. Though, technically at the moment, you don't even have a home.
  
  "What brings you to Bluemont?" the woman asks, speaking to you directly for the first time. The gentleman with her has gone to hail a coach.
  
  "I needed a change of scenery," you say. It's the truth, even if it doesn't encompass how bad your scenery used to be. "My home just wasn't the same after my father died." Perhaps mentioning the death of your father will discourage any further questioning. This has the desired effect, and the woman nods her head in understanding, falling silent for the time being. Moments later the gentleman returns and takes the woman's bags to the carriage. He briefly speaks to her in a hushed tone, then turns to you.
  
  "If you don't have any other plans for accommodations, perhaps you'd like to come with us; I have room to spare," the man says. "My name is Hiram. This is my daughter Hester and her son Thomas."
  
  Do you wish to take them up on their offer?
  
  > Politely refuse.
  "No, thank you, but I appreciate the offer," you say, sincerely. While you don't really trust them, the fact that they're willing to show kindness to you is a bit heart-warming. After all, you're sure that the people of Endlemire would never invite you into their homes.
  
  Hiram looks as though he is about to protest, but Hester simply shakes her head. Thomas tugs on his mother's sleeve and the three of them board their coach. You watch the horses trot off with a slight feeling of regret, but you maintain that it's for the best. No one has ever given you a reason to think the best of people. You just don't want to deal with any questions about your past, and you'd feel obligated to tell them the truth once you were a guest in their home.
  
  For now, you have to figure out where to go. You find lodgings in a place that is clean and reputable, but has very few frills. After all, until you have a way of supporting yourself, you'll need to be cautious with the money you have. You spend most of your days looking for work, and your evenings alone in your room. Unfortunately, finding work is not easy. The simple life you led in Endlemire left you with few skills other than home-making. You don't have the references to work inside the homes of the upper class, and all the positions for the middle class are filled. You've been hesitant to apply for work at any of the public houses, reputable or not.
  
  Eventually you withdraw from your lodgings to find someplace cheaper, as you have not managed to find work yet. Sometimes you can find a few odd jobs cleaning or doing laundry, but these are few and far between. Being in a big city is certainly different than your life in Endlemire. There you were subject to scorn and ostracization. Here, you are ignored, a nobody in a sea of faces. You haven't decided which is worse.
  
  Time passes, and you discover that starving is worse than either situation. Your money has dwindled down to almost nothing and you've found yourself living on the streets. The weather is moderate enough that you'd rather spend what remaining resources you have on food rather than shelter. And even in that case, you find that you don't get anything to eat unless you start to feel faint. You still try looking for work, but it's even harder now that your clothes are tattered. Even in these dire straits there is one thing you will not do. You're sure it's just stubborn pride, but you won't turn to prostitution. It feels as though you would have gone through all this misery for nothing if you back down now.
  
  But it is here on the streets that you start to feel that perhaps your childhood hadn't been so bad. Really, it's only your starved state that makes you look back with an odd fondness. Certainly, the villagers were mean, but they had never starved you, or physically abused you. The people were generally peaceful, if stuck up. Here you see quite a bit of violence, though you've been lucky enough to avoid anything more serious than some bruising as you're pushed into a wall or grabbed too roughly.
  
  When winter comes you notice a little girl selling matches. One day you notice that her shoes and shall are missing, and she's shivering pretty badly. Still, no one buys her matches, and by the time night comes, she has started lighting them just to keep warm. Eventually you wrap her up in your shawl, which is a little large for her, and tear the bottom of your skirt to wrap her feet in. You sit and keep her company though the night and eventually fall asleep curled around her in an effort to keep the both of you warm.
  
  The next morning you're found stiff and dead, still curled around the little girl's body. Miraculously she survived the night, and the story got out, bringing attention to the problems of child labor. Her father was heavily ostracized when it was learned that his daughter would have frozen to death outside because she feared being beaten if she returned empty-handed, if a stranger hadn't died to save her. Within a decade the city has changed greatly, heralding a new era of rights. There is even a statue, dedicated to you, even though it's wildly inaccurate. Too bad you're not around to see it.
  
  Your life has come to a close; but in a way your legacy lives on.