vi.

Picture this. A pretty young girl, clinging lovingly on to the arm of her boyfriend; a strong, kind boy who stares down at her lovingly. Picture her wearing something modest, yet pretty, to please him, picture him shyly holding her hand. They might be walking down a path in park, strolling along the beach, it really doesn't matter. Picture her looking up at him, and knowing that there is nothing more she could want anywhere at all than what she has right here, with him.

Just remember, as she always does: when you have to picture something, it isn't real.

(Smile. These broken fantasies are all you have left, after all.)

vii.

Once a month, she lies in her room and is a cat, just because she can be. Once a month, when the moon is at its fullest and she can stare into the sky and not feel incomplete, she will become a cat because every month, every time this happens, she tells herself that by this time next month, she won't have to look up at the moon and feel complete only one day a year, she'll be able to gaze up at the night sky and know that she isn't alone.

Cats have no sense of obligation, after all.

(She can't break a promise, she never will. Honour, honour, she knows this. Do they know how hard it is to have someone you love think you're only doing this because of honour? She doesn't think so.)

viii.

She looks down at the blade given to her, given to her on her first day as a warrior. If you cannot keep the traditions, if you cannot treat our most valued customs with respect, then you cannot keep a life here. Or anywhere else. She knows better than anyone, ever her grandmother, what the consequences are if she cannot win him as her husband. Of course she knows the consequences. If she cannot get him as her husband, her tribe will forsake her. But that matters very little to her now, because if she fails, so shall her life.

(He doesn't realize that by being with her, he's taking away everything that matters to her. But if he did and nothing changed, she'd still love him. Probably.)

ix.

Why does she look at her with such contempt. Stupid girl, why should you care if I'm trying to win my love. Why would you care if I only wanted him as a prize, either? It's not fair, not fair, not fair! I love him, and you hurt him, and you abuse him, and never trust him with anything, and he still goes back to you at the end of the day. I… she gives him everything, and yet she cannot win his heart. Why, then, why do you hate me so much, if all I ever do is give?

(She would love to be her friend, they might actually get along well if her mind wasn't so clouded by hatred. But as long as she loves him and she acts like she owns him, they'll never cooperate.)

x.

"No." Her voice is a strangled, choked sob, and she sinks to her knees. "No. This can't be happening." She says, and looks at the wedding invitation. So this is her reward? This is her prize for helping him whenever he asked, saving his life and sometimes, saving hers?

For a fleeting moment, she considers giving up, letting him. But for so many reasons, because of so many things, she just can't bear the thought of that. So even as the tears pour down her face, she vows to herself, to anyone who will listen that she'll never stop fighting.

(She'll smile at him, all dainty like and exactly like always, but a festering hurt is building up inside her heart. Why won't he even look at her?)