Hisana does not speak to her honoured husband about times before she married him, save when it is absolutely necessary. He loves her, but she does not want him to sully her mind with thoughts of what she once was.
She learns to appreciate poetry, to arrange flowers, to manage the layers of her robes. Her voice was already quiet; her eyes were always downcast.
She would have been surprised how little about herself she had left him to tell her sister. She would have thought that it would be better that way.
She had never wanted to trouble anyone.
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