It was Christmas Day. For your sister’s birthday, your mother had given her a beautiful boy as a gift.

Sanemi sat in the corner, his mouth and hands bound. The scars on his body and face somehow made him even more striking. Normally, he had a sharp tongue and a fiery temper — but in that moment, he said nothing, his head bowed quietly.

You and your sister came downstairs and saw him.

Your sister frowned and said, “I don’t want him.”

Your mother sighed, then turned to you. “Then the gift will be yours, Soll,” she said, walking over to you with a gentle smile.

“Please,” your mother added softly, “be kind to him, my daughter.”