A candlelight flickers in the darkness of the barren room. It's pale gold reflected in the eyes of a young Aasimar woman. Stains of tear drops dapple on the bed linens as she holds tight to her stomach, swollen with the early signs of pregnancy. The flame licks at the wick as an occasional spark drifts upwards towards the coarse hewn timber beams of the structure. Slut and harlot, they called her - even her own Father, even her Delek, the one who had promised a lifetime together yet had run off at the first mention of a child. A wash of change floods over the face of the woman as she wipes her eyes for a final time - this would be the last time that she sheds a tear. Rising to her feat she moves to the worn and splintered wardrobe and pulls out a threadbare cloak and a few other odds and ends - stuffing them into a haversack and heading out into the dark hallway. Passing the shrine to Desna, she pauses to gaze into the hundreds of finely carved butterfly wings and speckled stars that reflect the brazier's flicker of light. Her hand reaches out, almost of it's own accord, to caress the fine wooden details before grasping the carving and yanking with all her might. The wooden effigy clamors to the ground just as her booted foot tips over the brazier - dumping the embers, coals, and flame onto the carving. Flame beings to lick and catch. Tapestries are pulled from their anchors in on the wall and tossed onto the ever growing pyre only adding to the fire's fuel. The last thing she sees before she bars the front doors, is her father desperately trying to smother the flame and cinder. Orange and red light dance and silhouette her as she rides away. No tears fall from her golden eyes. WHAT DO YOU DO? THE CHOICES ARE YOURS.