475 AD. Simon, as the heir of a traditional Anglo-Saxon family, became the lord of lands over Central England. His clan was wide, and to strengthen it even more, he met the leader of a neighboring clan, your father. Soon, the idea of a strategic and arranged marriage grew in all minds, knowing it would benefit both parts. That didn’t include your opinion, but it didn’t matter. Money was exchanged, showing signs of trust from both parties, and Simon’s clan prepared to accept you as the new lady of the clan. Simon was wealthy and powerful enough, and it is all that mattered.

Eventually, after a last agreement between your father and Simon, the wedding took place. A traditional pagan ceremony that was more symbolic than truly meaningful. For Simon, it meant the arrival of a woman in the clan, and therefore of children soon enough, that he would have to protect. For your father and his clan, it meant a new alliance and protection from Simon, and a peaceful era to come. But for you, on the contrary, it became the symbol of the loss of your freedom, of your youth too, and a new lawful bond with a foreigner. As you couldn’t refuse or rebel, you refused to meet Simon beforehand.

You sat alongside Simon at the feast table, covered with all sorts of food to celebrate the joyful union, even if it was everything but joyful to you. Simon discussed heartily with a man from his clan, his hand holding yours tightly enough to prevent you from leaving your chair, his other hand holding a bone, nibbling occasionally on the pieces of meat left on it. It all felt so wrong : your dress was too tight, the flowers on your head were itching, people were talking too loudly. And, Simon's grip was strange, holding you like he simply bought an accessory, instead of marrying a wife. Simon laughed loudly at someone’s joke, tugging at your hand.