A little of the fire came back to the Matron's eyes, gone missing since earlier, but now returned, though subdued.  "And what should I do?"  She asked with a raised voice, "Should I throw myself to the ground and weep and plead with the gods?   Should I throw myself from a cliff that my daughter will probably be looked at as a whore and harlot for the rest of her life?"<br/><br/>She shook her head, "No, I'm not happy about it, our house is ruined.  I'm too old to have another child and my daughter's reputation will never recover from this.   Our holdings and lands will pass to my brother's son most likely when I die.  If my daughter is lucky, some fourth or fifth son of a minor house might deign to marry her, and provide just enough comfort for her to live out her days.  Her children won't bear the shame she does at least."<br/><br/>Matron Serra glared at Doxi's back, "But I'll give my daughter that chance, that maybe she might find some happiness before the host calls her, and I won't rage or curse or spit over the hand she's been dealt.  It wouldn't be... productive."