There are only two outcomes for women and girls—death or servitude. We are bred to either survive or perish. But what is survival of the body if the mind still decays? If the heart still breaks and our flesh is not our own? What becomes of us then?
“Imogen, you are unkempt. Get yourself washed up so you can help Mama with supper.” Papa never helped. It was always expected of us—me and my sister, Lucy. But after tonight, it will just be one of us.
“What does it matter? You’ve sealed my fate. Let me sit in my filth while I enjoy my last meal,” I grumble back.
Papa backhands me. It leaves a sting on my cheek, and no doubt, a handprint in its wake. “Don’t sass me, Imogen! It is your duty as the eldest daughter. You know how important yoursacrifice is. Don’t you care what happens to this family? To your sister?”
I choke back my tears.Never let them see you weak. I’m going to die to fill his belly, and to ensure that my sister lives a joyless life whilst being bedded down by her future husband.
She was only twelve years old when Papa sold her, promising her to a man twice her age. And for what? So he and Mama could have an extra cut of beef each winter? It is a cruel world we live in, but even more so for a girl. Now, at seventeen, Lucy has mere months left of her freedom.
I hang my head, conceding. “Forgive me. I spoke out of turn. I’m honored to fulfill my duty.”
He huffs but nods in agreement, satisfied that I’ve come to my senses. “If it is any consolation, I’m told it’s a merciful death. We will celebrate you for the rest of our days. Stories will be told of your great sacrifice.”
The taste in my mouth is bitter, metallic. I bit my cheek when he hit me. But the pain is nothing compared to the hopelessness that I’ve carried with me since I was a child. Ever since they sat me down and spoke of the great Saint Nick and his Four Horsemen. The Wild Hunt, as it’s called here in this dreadful town, takes place every year on the eve of Yuletide.
I am cursed.
This town is rotten to its core, but the curse has curled up around my ankles and sunk its teeth into my flesh. These wretched people offer up their eldest daughters just so they can sleep cozier in their beds, their bellies stuffed to the brim. It’s a sickness. But if I don’t comply, if I somehow manage to live, they’ll send Lucy in my place. Then they’ll drop me in a well and starve me until I die anyway. My family would be disgraced.Don’t be selfish, Imogen. My mother’s warning plays in my mind.
I wait for my father to dismiss me before scurrying off to the barrel out back. The water is stale and full of pollen and dead mosquitoes, but it’s all we have to clean ourselves with. I scoop out as many of the rotting bugs as I can before dipping my rag in.
As I wipe away the sweat and dirt from my body—starting with my hands, then my arms, and finally, my chest and face—I wince slightly at the tender spot on my cheek. I try not to think about another life. I force myself to forget the fantasies of my youth, the ones where I imagined some great hero would come and save me from this twisted fate.
I never cry. Tears are selfish. And I’m not allowed to be. But it’s not the death itself that frightens me, nor the act of violence against my body. It’s knowing that it will continue through every generation. Every eldest child will be picked for slaughter on her eighteenth birthday, plucked from her home like a pretty wildflower, while being stamped out like a weed.
It will never stop. I am one of many who came before me. Their blood and wasted dreams permeate these roads and these woods like a plague.
We sit at the table in silence except for Lucy’s quiet whimpering. Papa doesn’t scold her the way he does me. He ignores it. To acknowledge her cries would be to admit there’s something to cry about.
Mama was the youngest child in her family, so she has no peace or comfort to offer. I cannot blame her. She’s a prisoner of this life, the same as us, bound to her father first and then later her husband. My only hope is that Lucy breaks the chain. That she’ll somehow get far away from here and raise her children in peace. Or better yet, I pray she doesn’t have any children at all.
I can barely stomach the boiled potatoes, but I shove them down my throat and force myself to swallow. I’ll need my strength tonight. I accept my fate, but I will not go quietly. I will put up a fight. I won’t let them kill my spirit nor my will. Andwhen Death finally delivers the final blow, I will look him in the eyes and smile, knowing that I saved my sister from this fate.
Lucy’s fork rattles against her bowl. “Tell them we changed our minds, Papa. I don’t want Imogen to go.”
He sighs and shakes his head. “Be proud of your sister, Lucy. She has offered herself to Saint Nick. It’s the highest honor.”
Bastard.I didn’t have a choice. And everyone at this table knows it. But he will fill his head with his own lies and fantasies so that he may sleep better at night.
Outside, as the sound of drums grows nearer, my stomach knots.
I steal my sister away to the bedroom one last time, facing her with a forced smile. I remove one of the blue ribbons from my twin braids, a blonde strand still coiled around it. “Take this. As long as we each have one, we will always be connected.”
She bursts into tears and throws her arms around me. “It’s not fair, Imogen. Why must you sacrifice yourself to a god we can’t even see?”
I pat her back, consolingherover my impending death. “Because people fear what they do not know. They believe in what they cannot see. Wrong or right, it is the way of man. And we are at their mercy.”
She hugs me tighter. “Let’s run away.”
The Horsemen will find me no matter where I go now. The sacrifice has been made, and they will seek payment. I cup her face in my hands. “You must find a way. It’s too late for me. But I, too, believe in things I cannot see. I believeyouare destined for greater things than being a child bride. Be smart, patient, and cunning. When the hunt is over, there will be a window for you to slip away. Promise me you’ll try.”
Lucy nods and wipes her face with her tattered sleeve. “I promise.”
I kiss her cheek. “Good. Someday your daughters will know a better fate.”
“Imogen,” Papa calls from downstairs. “It’s time. They are waiting.”
