Just as I had suspected, I was born into extreme poverty. I was carried home on an unusually large dog because my father couldn't afford a carriage horse or even a donkey. Well, that wasn't even the main problem.
On our way home, I managed to figure out that we lived in a rural area, some kind of village. From what I had seen, it wasn't too backward. I reached this conclusion despite my mother's constant attempts to cover my head, as I stubbornly peered past the shawl. Now, it's been more than six months since we arrived home.
My parents lived in a rundown house my father had inherited from his grandfather. It had never been maintained and leaked horribly whenever it rained. At night, huge mosquitoes hummed relentlessly, but my mother dealt with them by burning incense.
