The third spoke of obedience, the fourth of lineage, and the fifth of beauty, all of them seemingly as though it were currency to be traded. And each time, Penelope smiled, listened, and asked, she learned that not one of them spoke of companionship, understanding, or even love.
To them, a wife was a structure built to function. There were known to be utility and assets, a necessary addition to their carefully constructed lives. And Penelope… Penelope found herself growing colder with every answer.
By the time she withdrew from the dance floor, her feet ached, her chest felt heavy, and her patience had worn dangerously thin. She thought she might be able to handle additional dances, but she was wrong.
Her fan fluttered once, twice, before stilling entirely. "I require air," she murmured to no one in particular.
