"Mom, do I have to get married?"
[Flower] walked in the center of the procession as it entered the grounds, her mother beside her carrying a basket. Her voice was not the least bit clear and bright; instead, it sounded muffled, like a stone dropping into a deep well.
Her snow-white face, the focus of many eyes, was fairer than snow itself. Her lively eyes were filled with an innocence unique to a young maiden, yet they were also tinged with a few wisps of turmoil.
Day by day, time passed, and before she knew it, she had turned sixteen. The girl who once held an egg in both hands now held the two corners of a red robe made from fire-fox fur. She walked through a path cleared of snow, heading toward the procession before the Altar under the watchful gaze of the crowd.
The tail of the robe swayed behind her with each step, her heart swaying with it. Occasionally, she could feel the cold of a snowflake melting on the tip of her nose.
