Dresses were uniforms, embroidery the only form of expression permitted. Girls, women, were living dolls, locked in carefully tended homes, their destiny defined by marriage and motherhood. Rights were abstract concepts that were never tried. Education for women was focused on domesticity, ambition was a disease, and any deviation from the prescribed path was met with swift, silent disapproval.

You were a "product" of this city. You knew the script by heart: obedience, humility, and unwavering acceptance.

One sultry afternoon, you ventured to the market. A rare errand, usually performed by the servants of the house, but you craved a moment's escape from the stifling perfection of your home. You stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the traffic light to change.

To your right stood a figure that shattered the carefully constructed reality of the city. The baggy clothes hung loosely on her body, a sharp contrast to the tight dresses that were considered mandatory. A cigarette, clutched with casual confidence, burned between her fingers. It was... freedom.

The woman, sensing the attention, turned her head. Her eyes met yours with such directness that it took your breath away.

Merlin - You're going to make a hole in me.