In a near future that's harsh but not hard to imagine, can a young woman find the power to free herself from the pain of her past without becoming the perpetrator herself?
Introducing... Milly: a woman of the future. Her journey spans twelve birthda...
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Stepmother looked over from the stove. "No Mildred, no knives."
"I don't think I'll stab anyone."
"That's not what Father's concerned about. Wash the dishes."
Milly hopped on a step stool by the underground sink. Hot water pipes crossed skylights, providing natural warmth. Cool water pipes hugged earthen walls for natural insulation.
She knocked over a huge stack of plates.
The other kids mocked her. Even her little half-brother offered his best insult. "You bwake eb-wey-fing!"
Milly snarled.
Her stepsister shushed them and hugged Milly.
That single incident was reason enough for Father. "The kitchen wasn't where your mother's strengths lay, either. As she was, you are — but much more." He took Milly into his domain.
Father tapped his head. "You have my strength. My power." He grabbed Milly's thin arm. "But her complexion. It's a liability at your age. It will become an asset. Do a boy's chores, but protect your skin, especially your face — always."
Lifting hay and boxes on the hot surface, alone, she returned, complaining.
Father glared. "Go get a switch."
Milly returned with a thin vine branch from the underground arboretum. As he picked the leaves off, she watched, trembling. It wasn't the first time.
"Turn around."
She did, pulling up her dress.
"Higher." Father whipped the back of her thighs with the switch until there were welts, and again, until the welts bled. She cried in pain; Father laughed. "I will stop when you stop crying."
After the ordeal, Milly lay face down in bed.
Stepmother approached; Milly's tears stopped.
"You mustn't anger Father." Stepmother pressed a cold towel to Milly's wounds.
