"Oh, lands! Look at the dirt beneath her fingers."

"And those gashes must be infected. See how black they are?"

"Ladies, ladies, give her some room! She's coming to."

Something cold touched Carissa's cheek, and she startled. She peeled her eyelids back, and immediately regretted it as the glare from the evening sun stung her eyes.

The nightwoman she'd met earlier leaned over her, holding a bowl of broth. "Have some of this, dearie. It will help."

She thought about rejecting the offer only until she caught a whiff of the broth. The smell made her stomach tighten with hunger, and she took a few spoonfuls. As the fog was clearing from her head—and surprisingly, the pain vanishing from her body—she glanced around.

Where was she? Had she been taken to a nighthouse? Would they demand pay for this, indebting her to them and forcing her to work as a nightwoman?

No. No one could force her to be a nightwoman ever again. Elon wouldn't allow it.

When the woman held another spoonful up to Carissa's mouth, she shook her head. "How much do I owe you for this?"

Her lips creased in a smile. "Nothing at all, dearie."

"No!" A nightwoman appeared over her shoulder, sporting exotic red hair. She reminded Carissa of Avril. A light sprinkling of freckles winged out from the nose to her cheekbones, and her eyes were a captivatingly bright blue. "Our condition is that you go to the dance tonight with us. Everyone has been wondering who the new mystery girl is—and how she obtained so many blackened scars. If you accompany us, the other women will be immensely jealous."

The blond nightwoman swatted her shoulder. "Leave her be. She's exhausted, seriously injured, and in no condition to go to a dance."

A third nightwoman appeared on Carissa's other side, her hair so pale it was nearly white. "But Dove, think what fun we'd have! And what fun she'd have! All the men would want to dance with her."

The first nightwoman, Dove, arched her finely plucked eyebrows. "I doubt she'd enjoy our type of dancing, Renata. She's married."

There was a collective gasp as both women leaned closer.

"Married?" asked the redhead.

The white-haired woman fixed wide eyes on Carissa. "To whom?"

"Elon." Carissa nodded toward Dove. "Dove says he passed through here within the past few days."

The excitement on their faces melted.

"Oh. You mean the 'King of Nysia'?" The redhead snickered.

The Renata woman offered her a smile ripe with pity. "I see. But you don't have to be married anymore if you don't want to. You can be a free woman here, start a new life." She touched Carissa's dark hair. "Even with your short hair, you're really quite lovely. Instead of having one man, you could have all the men."

Before Carissa could decide which of her emotions to express—she was torn between shock, outrage, and disgust—Dove said, "Actually, she's come here looking for her husband."

"Oh," Renata said. "How sad. But he does seem like a nice man, except that he's..."

"Out of his mind," the redhead finished, a snort bursting from her delicate nose. "He kept spouting this nonsense about how if we joined him, then we could go an after death to Second Life. Naturally, I wanted to know what benefit joining him would have for me right now. After all, what guarantee do I have that he'll fulfill his part of the bargain if it's after I die? And you know what he said?" She rolled her blue eyes. "He said that it would free me. I am, of course, already a free woman, so I asked what he meant. He said that nothing in my situation would change, but I would change. I have never met a more unconvincing salesman in the whole of my life! Honestly. What was he thinking? That I would dedicate my life to him, allow him to make my decisions for me, so I could be 'free'? Ridiculous, I say. Positively ridiculous."

It seemed these women were quite a bit more jaded than the caravan members had been. But, given their occupation, that wasn't altogether that surprising. "Perhaps the only way to change your situation is to first change yourself. And considering that we have more control over ourselves than our circumstances, doesn't it make sense to start with oneself?"

They were all silent for a moment, their gazes thoughtfully drifting to the ground or the ceiling. Then they burst out laughing, the redhead's snorts marring the tinkling giggles of the blondes.

Renata, the white-haired girl, held her hand over her mouth to stifle her fading giggles. "Forgive us. We simply didn't expect you to be so..."

"Philosophical!" the redhead supplied. Then, in a lower voice, "I can see how you ended up with such a husband..."

Even though Dove's laughs had subsided, a smile lingered on her lips. "I'm sure you two must have such interesting conversations."

Carissa suppressed a hot surge of frustration. They were simply ignoring what they didn't understand—or didn't want to understand. But how often had she done the same in Zonah? When she refused to read the rest of Elon's letters? When she chose to prostitute herself rather than seeking Elon's help?

As if she sensed Carissa's anger, Renata patted Carissa's shoulder. "We didn't mean any offense. There's just so much darkness in this world. If he really has the power to change things, why doesn't he do so? I have six younger siblings, two of which starved to death before I found employment."

"Perhaps following Elon doesn't mean changing your situation so much as your perspective."

"And what would that solve? It wouldn't feed the starving or shelter the homeless. It would do nothing but offer me paltry comfort, a fantasy of living in luxury after death. I prefer the truth, even if it offers me no solace."

"But it's more than that. By changing you, you have the ability to change the lives around you. To change the world, even."

Renata smiled sadly. "If you had lived the life that we had, you would understand."

"I understand perfectly, because I have lived your life. Before I met my husband, I was a nightwoman."

The nightwomen fell completely and utterly silent—even the redhead. Nothing could be heard but the groaning of the wooden building, making Carissa once again question the integrity of the structure.

"Surely you jest," Dove said softly.

"I don't. I found myself deep in debt and eventually resorted to becoming a nightwoman in order to pay for it. But it was a trap. The nighthouse charged me for even the most minute services, until I was deeper in debt than I'd ever been before."

The nightwomen's gazes skittered away from hers, looking at the windows, the floorboards, anywhere but at her.

"I know what it's like to feel disgusted at my own actions, yet helpless to change them. Every night I was reminded that I was more object than human, a new toy for a man to use until he tired of me. My pain mattered little to them, and my pleasure even less. And, eventually, how they treat you becomes ingrained into your identity. After all, if they treat you with such disregard, how valuable are you, really?"

A stuttering gasp from Dove broke the silence. She covered her face just before her chest began heaving with sobs. Carissa moved to touch her, but Dove nearly flew out of the room as quickly and gracefully as her namesake.

The spell her words had cast had been broken, and the redhead was arching her eyebrows in disdain and amusement while Renata was shaking her head in pity.

Carissa was tempted to become frustrated again, but they reminded her too much of herself. Her old self. A man born blind didn't know he was blind, after all, unless he was surrounded by people who could see, who would tell him that there was something he was missing out on. These women has never been told they were blind before, so how could she expect them to change within the span of a day?

"Well," the redhead said, "now that Dove isn't here anymore to protect you. How about let's go to that dance?"

***

Author's Note: I'm in a bit of a rush today, since I have guests coming over in a bit and I'm trying to get ready for them. They live where I go to college, and they're driving 11 hours to see me. <3 Anyhow, I'm afraid I don't have time for a sneak peek today! Sorry about that. :(