The sun sweeps across a golden land, far, far away.  Tillia is watching a cloud, wishing she was up on it.  There is nothing to do here, nothing at all.  Except starve.

It was the worst famine on Lilia Island in many, many years.  Tillia wondered if the cloud would bring rain.  It was floating over the mountain towards them.  No grey tendrils were below it, so perhaps…

“Girls, come in,” Tillia’s great-grandmother called.  She obeyed.  It was in Tillia’s nature to obey.  She was a listener, not a talker; a follower, never a leader.  She was the second-youngest of five and left the rebellion up to the rest of her headstrong siblings.

Five years later, and Tillia was a young woman, small but strong.  She was living back with her mother now, up on the mountain.  Her great-grandmother was dead.  The drought was over, but life on Leli Mountain was still difficult.

She’d never forget that day, not for as long as she lived.  Tillia, her mother, and her older sister Leana walked to the village to trade for food and other goods.  While they were there, Tillia noticed a pretty girl about her age.  She was the sort of girl Leana had always wanted to be like.  Her brown hair sparkled in the sunlight.  It was fine and flowing, unlike Tillia’s thick hair.  The girl was wearing a very pretty dress instead of a homemade dress of undyed wool.

“Tillia, stop staring,” her mother said, shoving her.

“Sorry,” she muttered, out of habit.  She kept stealing glances at the girl throughout their time at the market.

Later, her mother reprimanded her.  Tillia confessed that she thought that the girl was pretty.  “You are a girl, Tillia.  You don’t bother about girls.  Someday, you will marry a fine young man.”  It was almost a prayer.

The years slipped by.  Tillia’s sisters got married and had children.  She never found anyone.  She pretended not to notice other girls.  Her mother might nag, but Tillia would always say that no man ever asked.  It was true.  She was not a noticeable sort of woman.

They were good years, despite the troubles in their country.  Tillia worked on part of the resistance movement as well as coaching gymnastics.  She was happy.  Worried for her country, but happy.  This was her lot in life—to never find anyone.  Because no guy would ever be good enough, and because she was a woman.  Women didn’t marry women.  It was wrong, she knew, for her to even look at another woman her age, to imagine…