Blythe kneels before the graven idol of Giakora, flaxen hair falling like pale gold as she bows her head. In Aaradivirsi, this is not an uncommon sight; most if not all women partake in this ritual before they make the journey to meet their promised one.
But Blythe has a lot more to ask of the Goddess than most. Rather than requesting a handsome lover or plentiful children, the young woman is begging the deity to bestow to her that which she has always been deprived of—a loving and kind family.
Suddenly, the rough sound of her father's voice cuts through the air. "Blythe, hurry up in there! We don't have all day, wretched woman!"
She rises, giving one last plea to the goddess before exiting the prayer room. Her heart is beating wildly as she approaches the carriage which will tear her away from all she has ever known.
Still, as Blythe watches her mother give her emotionless goodbyes to her only daughter, the bride-to-be can't help but feel giddy that she was finally escaping this wretched place. For 23 years she has been wrongly mistreated, hated, and enslaved to her unloving parents and siblings...Now, with the promise of a hefty dowry, she would leave this cold forest for the seaside.
So she climbs into the carriage without protest, giddy to meet the man she would spend the rest of her life with. As they head towards the coast, the forests give way to weathered cliffsides, and Blythe daydreams about how she will play her new role as a wife.
She pictures tender kisses from her husband, warm hugs from her mother-in-law, and days spent together with her future children who will frolic carefree in the warm ocean...She's being a little optimistic, she knows. But this is all she's had to look forward to during the hardest of times...could anyone blame her for being hopeful?
After a week of travel, they finally arrive. Blythe is nearly trembling as she exits the carriage, wishing desperately for someone to lend her a steady hand. Since it's just her and her stiff father, she resigns herself to gripping the fabric of her dress instead.
She allows a sharp intake of breath as her groom emerges from the cottage on the cliffside; Brenton Cage approaches, face stern as cold gray eyes meet ocean blue ones.
Blythe's heart flutters, cheeks flushing with warmth. But her fiancé doesn't greet her as warmly as she hopes. Instead, his gaze slides to her father. Her groom hefts a small coin purse from his hip, handing it over to the elder. "200 gold pieces, as promised."
Blythe's father scowls. "Typically, a dowry is also supposed to include an offering of wine and baked goods..."
Brenton meets the look with a sour expression of his own. He roughly shoves the coin purse into the elder's hands with a snarl. "Typically, when someone refers to a maiden as having hair the color of wheat, one pictures a golden hue. Not golden with streaks of dishwater brown."
Blythe's father scoffs, swiping the bag. He gives his daughter a stern look before turning back to the carriage. "Don't bring us dishonor, girl."
The blonde can only clench her dress tighter, knuckles going white, as her father turns to leave without another word. Her heart squeezes painfully as she watches the carriage depart, leaving her adrift in this strange new place.
Suddenly, she jumps as a stern voice rips her from her self-pitying thoughts. "Are you slow?"
Blythe blinks, staring dumbly at the raven-haired man. "Pardon?"
"You have yet to greet me." her groom growls.
"I'm sorry I—I was overwhelmed—"
Before she has a chance to finish, her fiancé is stalking off toward the cottage. "My mother is in the kitchen preparing for the wedding. You will join her."
Blythe twiddles a strand of flaxen hair as she attempts to keep pace with Brenton. "Actually I was hoping we could use this time to get to know—"
Brenton pauses, turning his icy glare on his bride. "We've just met, and you're already defying me?"
The blonde blanches, eyes widening. "No, I'm sorry...I just thought..."
"You don't need to think," He hisses, "you just need to be quiet and do what you're told."
The cruel words are like an arrow to her heart. They pierce her fragile dreams, leaving them bleeding and weak. Cerulean eyes fill with tears, overflowing until they threaten to spill over the sides of Blythe's pale cheeks.
The life she had dreamed of was a lie, wasn't it? She had thought that this would be the place she could finally belong, but it seemed fate had cruelly snatched away that idyllic fantasy.
Resigned to her fate, Blythe lowers her head, trailing behind Brenton solemnly.
Later that evening, the marriage ceremony commences. The priestess ties the couple's wrists together with thick vines, slicing through them with her ceremonial dagger. The blade gets stuck in the woody stems—a supposed omen from the Goddess of love. But the celebrations ensue anyway.
When the party is in full swing, Blythe takes the opportunity to sneak away, her husband too intoxicated to notice. Alone in her ivory finery, she makes her way to the seaside, gazing out onto the glassy ocean.
It seems so unfair that the sea looks so beautiful right now, with the water acting as a perfect mirror for the moon. If only she'd been promised to someone kinder, someone who would be capable of loving her, this would be a perfect night to meet them.
Uncaring of her dress, Blythe steps into the ocean until the waves kiss her ankles. Sure the guests won't hear her over the sounds of drunken revelry, Blythe lets her rage be known. She screams ferally, her voice echoing across the water as her tears join the sea below.
Her mournful keening seems to startle some aquatic creature, as she hears a splash from somewhere in the dark water. But Blythe hardly notices right now, falling to her knees as the silken fabric of her wedding dress sways gently in the water.
However, that uncaring attitude evaporates quickly as she notices a massive fin breaching the surface.