trielle's confession

	“The night he married me, he brought me to his room – our room, I guess. He pushed me down on my stomach and had his way with me. It … I hated it. Every day was like that, like a bitter drink I had to sip constantly.”
	The acrimony in her voice was gone now, replaced by a soft bluebird whisper. Orion had never heard her speak like this.
	“I was only seventeen when they married me to him, Orion. I'd met him three times before, at dinners between our family, where they figured that the bride and groom should at least know each other a little bit before being forced to share a house and bed.”
	Her bitter tone returned briefly.
	“That was my job. Do the work, raise our child, look pretty for him. And I wouldn't have minded it, Orion, I wouldn't have minded that life, but I didn't love him for a single second. I tried to, I honestly did. I thought I would die married to him. Or maybe he'd go first, and I'd have a few years of peace when I was all old and withered.”
	She gazed to the ceiling, her watery eyes shining in the dim light.
	“I lost my youth to him, Orion. My innocence, my firstborn, he took all of it. I love Marie, I love her more than I can describe. She is the most precious thing to me. But the only good thing that came out of those years. I wish they hadn't been wasted. I wish I'd found you ten years ago, Orion. I wish I could have run off with you. I could have been your woman, not his. I wouldn't have minded being just a wife, if it'd been someone I wanted.”
	She looked to Orion, as though expecting a response.