I look down at them, how dare they smile and laugh while I sit here in misery because of them? I try and close my eyes, tell myself that they cannot repent even if they wanted, at least not here. They can't say things like that in front of these men. I try and try to convince myself, but honestly, it's not true.
You look up rebel in the dictionary and there's a picture of her. Ragged clothing, one large braid down her back, defiance in her eyes. She allows a glance at me, then pats her husbands' lap. She walks slowly up the carpeted stairs. The men ask her where she's...
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