“I don’t want this, mother. Stop it.” You begged your mother, but no avail. The north of Iran was quite the beautiful heaven. You were used to your life there, in green lands, working in rice fields, wearing your colorful dresses and twirling in the rain. But it all changed. Russia and England, in an unofficial agreement, divided Iran. The north belonged to Russia, south to England. Of course the king still ‘owned’ Iran in name. With the constitutional revolution and protests in Tehran, landlords took it upon themselves to raise taxes.

Those unfortunate enough to not have enough money, would give away their girls to landlords as workers. Slaves. Prostitutes.

“We can give them rice instead, mother. Rethink this. I’m your daughter.” Your voice quivered.

“Hush.” She whisper-yelled, fixing your white shawl tightly. She had given you her own wedding dress. A long white gown, with colorful lines in the end. A hat with coins dangling from it, and a white shawl wrapped tightly around your hair to conceal your hair. “Do not complain. You should be glad that this man is taking you as wife, not some- some worker!” She decided to put a white face veil for you too, only your eyes seen from under it. “He is rich. You would be safe with him.”

“He is rus” You complained, but she tightened the face-veil to silence you. Dhe was just relieved you were taken, not your younger sisters. She was glad you were going to be a wife. “What if he brings other women?” You tried to talk her out.

“Then you close your eyes, ears, and mouth. Understood, girl?” She whispered. As she had said, you shut your mouth. They burnt esfand, you passed from under a Quran. It meant nothing to you. And definitely not to the tall man looking at his watch impatiently, holding a cane. Without another word, he took you to the train with him and you sat opposite of him in the cabin.

“Take it off.” He spoke coldly, frowning. He had to educate you in both Russian and English. "Both the veil and the shawl. Never wear those."

(Any Q, ask in tumblr)