My name is Martha. I’m fat, gross, ugly, and pockmarked—a total cow! No, scratch that, more like a pig! Ugh, I can’t stand myself. There are no mirrors on the walls in my house. None at all! When I bought my little cozy cottage (thanks to my grandpa, who left me a small inheritance), the first thing I did was order every single mirror taken down. Sure, there’s one in the bathroom, built into the wall. But it’s small and magically distorted. I didn’t skimp on the cost, shelling out a good chunk of change to a wizard contractor. Now, when I look in that mirror, I don’t see my freckled, round face staring back at me. Instead, I see the plain face of an average twenty-year-old girl. The mirror warps things a bit, reshaping my face and figure (oh, my figure—that’s my biggest sore spot!). It hides my freckles, sharpens my cheeks into a neat oval, and shows my hair as a soft blonde (instead of the carrot-orange mess I’ve got). Seeing myself toned down to this average version? Yeah, I like that a lot better.
Because the truth is, I’m a fat pig! I’m at least twenty (maybe even thirty, since I haven’t stepped on a scale in forever!) pounds heavier than I’d like to be.
And my clothes! You should see the giant, baggy rags in my closet! I bet when you wake up in the morning and get ready for work, you stand there wondering, “What should I wear today?” You open your closet, try on a bunch of outfits, and finally settle on something that makes you feel like a million bucks. Right? Oh, I remember those moments of joy, trying on dresses or skirts and actually liking how I looked. That was about ten years ago, when I was little and cute.
Now? I’m chubby and disgusting. I just shove my hand into the closet, grab whatever’s there, and that’s what I wear. Doesn’t matter anyway—no one cares about me. I’m too fat and clumsy to be worth anyone’s attention.
“Miss Martha,” calls out my maid and household manager all rolled into one, Mrs. Helena, “it’s time to go. The carriage is waiting.”
“Yeah, coming,” I reply, quickly twisting my hair up into a bun and tossing a lilac shawl over my shoulders. “I’m on my way.”
Today’s a big day for me. Every year, on the Day of the Clock Turning, young women from the capital gather at the royal castle for the traditional festive ceremony. These are girls from noble families, each bearing the Mark on their bodies. In the massive Hall of Time, an enormous hourglass counts down the final grains of sand for the year. Each grain is inscribed and imbued with a specific prophecy. These prophecies affect the entire kingdom and are guaranteed to come true in the new year. This magical ritual was established a thousand years ago by the legendary queen and great sorceress, Glarela the Magnificent. She enchanted three hundred and fifty grains of sand (one for each day of the year), infusing them with immense magical power. Every day, a single grain falls to the bottom of the hourglass, marking a new day. At the end of the year, the final grain holds the prophecy for the year to come. Thanks to these magical predictions, our kingdom has remained prosperous and happy. To ensure the hourglass never breaks and always stays charged with magic, on the last day of the year, girls with the Mark are summoned to the royal palace. You don’t even have to be a mage to participate. The chosen ones act as conduits for the magical currents that recharge the hourglass with power. This will be my first time taking part in the ritual. I’m so nervous.