I walked over to the drawer and pulled out two vials of ink. She held them in her hand and thought. Is it worth it? After all, this is really meanness.

"It's worth it," whispered an inner voice.

"Costs!!!"

What about my dowry? Who gave them the right to plunder my chest? Who allowed them this infamy?

Who said that I can not become a wife? That there is no one who does not look at lameness?

Who let them trample my future into the dirt?

Who gave me permission to take my last? Cutting clothes. mock. Sneer at my pain.

Who?

Nobody!

Squeezing the ink tighter, she glanced at...