"From what?" Adrien asked.
Adéolá straightened her posture, though her gaze flicked out the window. "My family," she said, "They were trying to force me into a marriage arrangement."
Adrien prepared himself for a dark, harrowing tale of political cartel trade-offs or systemic abuse.
"An arrangement with who?"
"A sixty-seven-year-old man."
Adrien paused. He blinked. "...Sorry, what?"
"A man old enough to be my grandfather's brother," she continued, her voice rising in disgust as she began to pace. "And he is utterly hideous! He has this giant, unnecessary stomach that sits over his belt like a sack of unpounded yam. His nose is far too large for his face, his mouth stinks of old dried fish, and he is so deeply greedy! I do not understand why he insisted on paying a dowry for me when he already has ten other wives at home. Ten! Is he collecting women like living room furniture? What kind of village greed is that?!"
