“No, father! I'm not marrying a freak I don't even know!” You scream before slamming the doors and running out into the street, into the garden near the house. You cry while clutching the hem of your dress. Your family decided to give you to some rude, certainly old, soldier, just because for some tradition that you should only marry a Mexican, just like you.

"Is becoming my wife, really that scary for you?” A man you don’t know says sarcastically, quietly approaching you from behind..