Rosemary had heard of this happening. Where she'd came from, girls had been disappearing for a long time. They disappear from their beds or the side of the road.

Now it was Rosemary's turn. She knew girls disappear, but any number of things could come after that. Would she become a murdered reject? Sold into prostitution? There was only one other option. She could become a bride. She'd seen them on television, reluctant yet beautiful brides, on the arm of a wealthy man who is approaching lethal age of twenty five.

But most girls don't make it to the television screen. With every man in their generation dying by twenty five, and every woman by twenty, unless people had children the moment they were able to, society would die out.

Girls who don't pass their inspection are shipped to a brothel in the Scarlet districts.

Rosemary was stood in a line with the other girls, as they were being inspected. Their hips are measured to determine strength, lips pried apart so the men in the gray coats can judge our health by their teeth. Rosemary watched as all the girls were decorated. One girl, and then a dozen after, are taken to the back of the truck.

A man in a grey coat followed behind them, other than rosemary, there was two other girls. The gaps of the other girls are still between them.

When Rosemary awoke, she was in a room with a man, Arthur. She could see she was in a manor of some kind, gardens stretching out for yards from the window. She was wearing new clothes. Laters of petticoats, reminiscent of the eighteenth century.

"Oh, God." she said, watching Arthur calmly fix the bed as she got off of it, adjusting the pillows and then smoothing out wrinkles in the duvet. "I'm going to get killed, aren't I? Or I'll be forced to have children upon children, upon.." Rosemary trailed off.