They call her blessed, fortunate, prized among women. All she knows is that, today, her fate will be forever decided for her. She will have no long-born legacy as a bride in blue. She will have no children. She will have no husband. She may even be virginal forever. With a few words, a blue price, and the intoning of a godsman, her destiny will be obliterated, swallowed up in others’ desires for prestige.

They breathe prayers of blessing and utter yips of approval as they drape the sapphire blue veil, embroidered with golden gods notes, over her head, and paint her mouth red, the color of cunning.

She lets them dress her, veil her, bless her. She lets them lead her to the fane, all without a word. Nothing for their blessings, nothing for her mother’s tears, nothing for her sister’s jealous glances, nothing for her fathers puffed-out pride. If she could slap his hand away, she would. But she cannot, not here, or risk the standing of her family, little as it might be on its face. So, silent as a grave, she lets him lead her into the fane, through a world blurred blue and gold, to the fate that awaits her.