The first person to betray me was my own mother. The day she left my twin brother, Archie, and I on the doorstep of the most treacherous man I'd ever come to know was the beginning of our end. The couple who took us in initially were excited to have found two small babes asleep in a basket on their front steps. Until we got a little older. My brother, with his short temper. And me, and my voices. 

 You see, this couple, William and Margaret Thomas, were unable to have children of their own. My mother, unmarried, fortunately was able to hide her pregnancy up until the end. 

 She was afraid of the punishment she would receive for conceiving a baby, especially two, out of wedlock. Death by hanging, stoning, torture chambers, to burn at the stake, and much more. But she knew of a woman her mother often spoke of whose womb was barren. Whose husband was close to getting rid of her to make room for the next woman who could give him a son. 

 And so, after the shock of another baby coming after the first, my mother wrapped our tiny bodies in thin sheets, packed us in a basket, and set about the Thomas household in the dead of night. 

 Margaret was ecstatic. A boy and a girl. Surely, William would be happy. And he was, for a little while. Around three years of age, my brother began having these… episodes. Bursts of anger, violence, and hate. I was never the target of his anger. He was only ever gentle and kind with me. But as for our parents… it wasn't good for Arch, at all. 

 At age four, I began telling Margaret and William of voices and whispers that I would hear, at first, only at night. Then night became morning, and gradually became an all day thing. A "hello" here. A "look out!" if I was about to miss my step. 

 And thus began the abuse. My voices and my brother's tantrums were such a bother, that we were condemned to live in the basement of the family home. Only to come out to do chores or to eat. We endured beatings, starvation, weeks without a bath, and much much more.

 Eventually, around age eight, a miracle occurred. Margaret had conceived after all. Nine months later, and a boy, called William II, clawed his way out of Margaret, literally. Taking her life with him. Leaving eight year old me to care for the newborn until someone else became readily available. Two weeks. Two whole weeks I fed William the II goat's milk, changed his soiled flats, and woke with him every hour or so during the night. 

 I soothed him, I washed him, and I fed him. Until finally, Abigail came along. William had told us it was her job as a wet nurse to feed the babe. Really, her baby had gone to sleep in the night and didn't wake the next morning. So she had all that milk and nowhere for it to go. Abigail was kind. And young and beautiful. It didn't take long before William made her Lady of the house. 

 At age ten, my brother's temper had subdued. Probably due to the beatings and starvation he endured because of it. But my voices were still there. Whispering in my ear in any time of need or just to say hello. 

 "If William asks, just tell him they're gone." Archie had proposed, "Perhaps he will give us our old rooms back and we won't have to spend another freezing winter in this smelly old basement." But William didn't give us our old rooms back. Not ever. Even now, I lay on the same cot in the same smelly old basement. 

 Abigail gave William two more sons. James and Nikolas. They have Arch and mine's old bed rooms. William has grown tired of Abigail. He comes to the basement in the middle of the night to speak disgustingly to me. To tell me of the things he wishes to do to me. He says I am no longer a girl, but a woman. And that I owe him. I am sixteen years of age, but a woman here. One who has budded into her mature body thus deemed able to marry and bear children. But he won't touch me, no, he couldn't.

 Because it is the law that no man should lie with an unmarried woman. So he tells me his treacherous plans to kill Abigail, and then to marry me. After all, I am not really his daughter. 

 On the night he first told me this, my brother, unbeknownst to William, lay awake in the cot on the other side of the basement. In the morning, Archie said he wouldn't listen to another night of William's retched thoughts. Looking back, I should have tried to stop him. But instead, I silently wished my brother would kill him. 

 And he did try. Seven years ago today, Archie made good on his word and when William came down the basement stairs and began telling me his usual sins he wished to commit, Archie shot up from his cot and attacked him. My brother was not successful in his attempt to rid the world of a wretched man. William sent him away after he'd given him the nastiest beating I had ever witnessed. And the beatings were always bad. I haven't seen or heard from my brother since that night. 

 I toss and turn in my cot every night wondering if he's dead or alive. And if the latter, where could he be? 

 I awoke to loud, clunking footsteps marching down the stairs into the basement. My heart jumped, thinking maybe it was Archie. Instead, it was William's ugly old mug behind the candlelight. And dread coursed through my veins. I could smell the whiskey from my cot. He was so far gone, I don't know how he managed to make it down here safely. 

 "Devaney," William whispered, his spittle splashing on my face. His whiskey breath burned my nose. "You must wake, I need to tell you of the news." I sat up, silently praying he stayed on the topic of whatever news he felt the need to share with me before his wife so I didn't have to hear the nasty things he wanted to do with me. 

 "What is it?" I whispered, as I began to crack each of my knuckles. A habit of mine when my nerves begin to falter. "I spoke with the bishop. He says since I intend to marry you, I may take you by touch until our wedding night." 

 My stomach dropped, my head began to feel light, and I could hear a roaring in my ears so loud, I had to ask him to repeat himself. "I can take you."His tone as sinister as the smile on his face. My stomach roiled as he went on into a long story about how the bishop says it'd be welcomed by the Gods should he take me, since his intentions are to wed me soon anyway. 

 "What say you, girl?" he asked. I knew better than to say what I really wished. So I nodded, and prayed to the Gods that whatever he had planned to do on this night would go by fast. 

 With my blood still rushing in my ears, and my heart still thundering, William began to remove my nightgown from one of my shoulders. The candlelight made his face look even more menacing. He was practically drooling. I could wake up in the morning, and run out into the streets and tell anyone who would listen of William's plans to kill his wife and marry me. 

 But my realm hates women. We are nothing but a place to put your future sons, to secure your bloodline and ensure it carries on forever. We are to cook, clean, and push babies out. We are good for nothing else. 

 Each Sector has a Marked Family, a family that governs over their sector thus making them wealthy. A Marked Family is of course the man's family lineage. Therefore, their wives are excluded from the cooking and the cleaning. Her only job is to lie down for husband and produce successors. She is, however, still subject to beathings, lashings, or public humiliation if she cannot do her job successfully. 

 That is why I do all the cooking and all the cleaning. I take care of the children while Abigail rests in her room, doing everything the doctor tells her to assist in giving William another son. She will not, because William is going to make good on his plans for Abigail. And it's only a matter of time before all of these plans come into play.

 William did not stay long tonight. He had his fill, or rather feel, of me. His hands scanned every inch of my body. I gritted my teeth so hard, I was sure they would shatter. I would not give him the satisfaction of a reaction. I fought urge after urge to squirm beneath his disgusting touch. And when he finished and began stumbling up the stairs, I left my cot and walked over to my bathing tub. The water was ice cold but I didn't care. I needed to be cleansed of his touch. 

 I have plans of my own, though. I have a friend in Sector One, she's called Aeryn. Her father is the man who delivers fresh dyed linens and clothes to the Thomas household. He brings along one daughter, Aeryn, and his only son, John. 

 I first met them when I turned eighteen. Thus began our friendship. Every two weeks, I am allowed to sit in the garden to, as William would say, entertain Aeryn. Sometimes, John joins us. It didn't take Aeryn and I very long to become close. By the third visit, I had spilled everything William had been telling me all these years. 

 Aeryn stayed quiet, she listened carefully and offered support here and there. It was John whose eyes burned with such fury and rage. I had not noticed he was near while I was rambling on. John confessed to me that he wished to marry me himself. That his sole purpose of accompanying his father here was to get to know me. 

 His father and William had arranged it and a bride price. And as much as I hated feeling like property, John was a much better alternative than what I had been told would be my future. Over the next five years, Aeryn had taught me to read in secret. And John and I spoke of our future with excitement. I didn't mind that I would, or could, be his wife someday. In fact, I welcomed it. Embraced it. It would get me out of this smelly old basement. And my brother… he's never coming back. But if I were free from the Thomas household, I could inquire of his whereabouts.

 But, tonight, I realize how serious his threats have been. When I finished my cold soak, I dried and dressed back into my nightgown. I stood at the small slant of a window and whistled. My bird, a pigeon John had trained to play messenger, landed on the sill. 

 "I need you to deliver a letter." I whispered to the bird. I scribbled down what I needed to say, and then tied the note to the bird's foot.

 Tonight, he touched me. We must make haste with our plans.

 -D

 John would be angry. Very angry. But his anger could help in fuelling his plan to help me escape from here. He's due to bring the fabrics the day after tomorrow. Then, we will quietly make our escape. William does not plan to sell me to John's family. He never did. 

 It is as Aeryn expected. He had to make a show that the unmarried girl in his home would be married soon or face consequences himself. That is why he spoke with the bishop. His plans to have Abigail killed could start as soon as the morning. I wrung my hands, unable to fall back asleep. I decided I'd get the day started early so that my evening will be free from chores and I could disappear for a little while.