'Mother, I

refuse-

'

'Nonsense, child! '

That sharp

snap!

of your mother 's feathered fan is loud enough that the whole carriage

rattles

on its hinges, creaking you noisily to what seemed like your very doom.

You gulp when she 's tilting her head down as far as her best, high-collared gown would allow, eyes narrowing. 'The Zenin 's are the only nobles left in this wretched town, and I will

not

have my daughter marrying some commoner. '

The unsteady cobblestone pathway jostles you in your cushioned seat ever-so-slightly, a pertinent little reminder of that fact.

In the deafening silence, your father pipes up - ever-the-pacifist, 'Now now, why don 't we all calm down, especially before such a glorious wedding. ' But his words wither out into nothing but a whisper in the simmering tension. 'Like your mother said, dear, the Zenin 's are a good family, with a

uh-

' Coughing nervously, '-

good