I couldn't bear to look at James the following morning. For reasons I couldn't explain, I felt a sense of shame and discomfort at what the previous night entailed. It was inexplicable- there was nothing shameful about sleeping with your husband. Yet I couldn't force myself to look him in the eye.

I pretended to be asleep as James got dressed for work. It wasn't until I heard the front door close behind him that I climbed carefully out of bed, my body tender from the surgeries and the events of the previous night.

I tiptoed out of the room and made my way back to my quarters, thankful I remembered the way. When the door closed behind me, I let out a sigh of relief, as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. In the hidden safety of my own quarters, I went into the large bathroom, took off my slip, and drew a warm bubble bath. As I slid into the porcelain tub, I audibly sighed, the hot water already easing the pain in my aching muscles.

As I stretched out in the balmy bath water, I thought back to about my consummation night. I couldn't say that I'd enjoyed the encounter, nor was I looking forward to the next time we would share James's bed with him. But I knew it was inevitable. It was the purpose of our union, after all; to continue having relations as frequently as possible to repopulate the world with children.

Children... the word reiterated in my mind. The idea of carrying a child was terrifying. I'd never been particularly fond of kids. They were cute, yes, but they were too energetic, asked too many questions, always seemed to be sticky for some reason. I had no desire to have one of my own. I had no doubt that I would be a terrible parent, and a child deserved better than a mother who bore them because she had no other choice. They deserved to be loved, cherished, to have a life full of happiness and adoration.

But whether I would be a good mother or not didn't really matter, I would have them either way. It was the most absolute rule in Grayson, the thing expected of all married couples. Even the church preached the responsibilities of childbearing, as though we were doing God's work by repopulating the Earth after the events of the war.

Worst of all was the realization that I could be pregnant at that very moment and not know it. My stomach twisted at the idea. I pushed the notion from my mind and focused on rinsing the soap from my hair with shaking hands.

When the bath had turned cold and my fingers and toes were pruned, I climbed from the water and toweled off. Then I ventured into my large dressing room, thrown when I no longer saw the fabrics of my youth, but clothes that a woman and wife would wear. The room was teeming with floor length skirts, tops with fitted bodices, cape dresses of every hue, and monochrome flats. Just another reminder that my childhood days were behind me.

With a sigh, I settled on a button-down cream blouse and a deep blue skirt with folds that flowed to my ankle. Then I stared in the mirror, barely recognizing the woman looking back at me. New clothes for a new person. Seemed fitting, I suppose. My eyes remained on the foreigner's reflection until a gentle knock on the door revived me.

"Mrs. Moberly?" a soft voice called from outside the room.

At first I didn't respond, still thrown by the title. It wasn't until a second knock came that I realized the voice was referring to me.

I opened the door to find the No Name woman waiting, her eyes trained on the floor. "Sorry to bother you ma'am, but I'm here for your undergarments," she mumbled, looking contrite by the request. I furrowed my eyes in confusion, but she offered no further explanation.

Only then did I remember one of the oldest traditions of Grayson. Today, the day after my Awakening Ceremony, the silk slip from my wedding night would be hanging from my new roof from dawn until dark as evidence of my night of consummation, proof that I have completed my duty as a woman by giving myself to my husband. I stared at the betraying white heap piled on the floor, spotted with crimson.

A deep blush filled my cheeks as I stepped aside and allowed the No Name to gather my blood-stained clothes so that my virginity could be on display for prying eyes of Grayson. The idea mortified me so much that I remained hidden in the bathroom for a long time after the woman had left.

By the time I'd gathered the courage to leave the bathroom and had wandered my way through the maze to the downstairs kitchen, fresh coffee had been brewed and a spread laid before me that was a thing of novels. From fresh fruit and yogurt, to homemade scones and danishes, to fluffy biscuits and tureens of white gravy, the kitchen was brimming with food. My nerves were still shot and I wasn't really hungry, but I couldn't endure the idea that the No Name woman had gone through so much work for just for the food to go to waste. I scooped a few pieces of fruit into a bowl, poured a cup of coffee, and sat on a stool at the kitchen bar.

Silence stretched through the house as I minced at the fruit, barely tasting it. It was strange that such a large house would have so little noise. My parents' house was different, smaller, but filled with merriment and chatter from morning to night. There was rarely a quiet moment.

The only sound in this house was that of the No Name woman chopping meats and vegetables for that evening's dinner. She kept her eyes on her work, not even acknowledging my presence.

"So, how long have you been working for Mr. Moberly?" I asked, hoping to strike up a conversation to dull the weightiness of the silence.

"Two years, ma'am," she said, her eyes never leaving the counter. I nodded, but she didn't elaborate.

"This is a very nice house. Do you like it here?" I asked, plopping a grape into my mouth.

"It's fine," she murmured.

I took a sip of my coffee, the silence weighing on me. "Where did you work before you came here?"

The No Name woman stopped chopping the vegetables and glanced around the room, a look of panic on her face. She didn't say a word, but simply stared at me.

"Is everything okay?" I asked, furrowing my eyebrows.

"Can I refill your coffee, Mrs. Moberly?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron and grabbing the pot.

"Err, sure?" I said, looking at my nearly full mug.

She poured the fresh, hot liquid on top, but never addressed my question. She simply went back to her work as though I had never spoken, leaving me to my own thoughts. I quickly learned that the woman wasn't going to be much for company. It seemed she only spoke when she absolutely had to. Realizing the No Name woman wasn't going to respond, I left the kitchen without another word.

I found myself roaming the corridors of the mansion in search of some form of entertainment. The more I explored, the more incredulous I found it that I lived here of all places. The mansion had to hold at least fifteen bedrooms, not including the conservatory, parlor, study, and the dozens of other rooms that filled the place.

I couldn't quite get used to the grandeur of the place, to the flowery wallpaper that shimmered as I passed as though the floral décor were made of real gold, the way each room had an extravagant light fixture that was always made of diamonds or crystal, or how each hallway and room seemed bigger and longer than the last. When hours had passed and I was too tired to continue my tour, I still hadn't ventured into every room.

I made my way downstairs, past the kitchen, through the sunroom, and through two French doors. As I stepped out onto the massive lawn behind the house, the sight took my breath away. It was, by far, the biggest yard I had ever seen in Grayson. The vibrant green grass stretched for as far as I could see. Tall hydrangea bushes were planted along the property line, creating a labyrinth around the perimeter and filling the yard with a pleasant flowery scent. Towering oak trees stretched high overhead, providing a cool shadow from the sun, their limbs full of blossoms as spring approached. Beautiful flowers of every shade and hue surrounded me, from prickly rose plants to towering lilies, each blossom making me smile at its vibrancy and engulfing me in pleasant aromas. I knew right away that this was my favorite part of the Moberly house.

As I wandered through the garden, sniffing the peonies and plucking a honeysuckle blossom loose and placing the sweet nectar on my tongue, I thought about my first day of marriage. James seemed okay, as far as marrying a stranger went. He wasn't the friendliest person I'd ever met, but he wasn't the foulest either. He seemed to keep his distance, liking his space as much as I longed for mine. If every day was like this one, with him at work and me alone at home, maybe I could be happy with him after all.

Even as I thought the words, though, I knew they weren't true. There was just something off about this union. James may not have done anything, but that didn't change the fact that I had no say in our marriage, that I was still a prisoner, trapped here by the laws of our city. It was disappointing to realize that I wouldn't be as happy here, not just in Moberly Manor, but in Grayson. I longed to be free, and that was something a woman would never be in this town.

I shook my head at the idea- I had been bound for less than a day. It was too soon to know that this wasn't a good fit. Maybe, if enough time passes, my longing to be unrestricted would dissolve and I would find a way to be at peace with my situation. It wasn't James' fault I still felt so uncomfortable around him. Perhaps he was just as nervous as I was.

My mother's words came back to me: "Never forget that the most important duty of a wife is to make her husband happy. Do that, and your marriage will be successful." Maybe I should make more of an effort to get to know James before I assumed this wouldn't work.

After exploring the courtyard, I found a white wicker lounge chair nestled in the vivacious garden. I plopped down, enjoying the cool breeze as I watched the clouds slowly pass by in the azure sky. The soft melody of chirping birds calmed my anxious mind, and before I knew it, their tunes had lulled me into a deep sleep.

**********

"Mrs. Moberly," a gentle voice said, shaking me awake. "Sorry to bother you, ma'am, but dinner is almost ready."

I opened my eyes to see the No Name woman standing over me. The warm spring sun was setting in the sky behind her, indicating that I had slept most of the day away.

"Right," I mumbled groggily, getting to my feet. "Has Mr. Moberly made it home?"

"No, ma'am. He phoned and said he would be running late, and to eat dinner without him," she explained.

"Does Mr. Moberly work late often?" I asked as I walked inside to the delicious smell of stew and freshly baked bread.

"Yes, ma'am. He's the head of the Population Growth Unit, so his days are very long."

I nodded, a part of me relieved by his absence. She sat a bowl of stew on the table before me.

"Thank you, err... sorry, I didn't get your name," I said with a shy smile.

The woman frowned. "I don't have a name," she mumbled, disregarding my question as she began putting the leftovers in the refrigerator.

"I feel silly calling you 'No Name'," I admitted, taking a spoonful of the stew. The food melted in my mouth, perhaps the most delicious thing I'd ever tasted. I kept shoveling it into my mouth, burning my tongue in my haste.

It takes me a moment to realize the woman was quite, still not answering my question. She acted indifferent, but her facial expressions seemed sad, like I'd reminded her of all the things she lost when she became a No Name.

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling guilty. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"You didn't offend me, ma'am," she murmured.

"Then why won't you talk to me?" I asked, unmistakable pain in my voice. Today had been a lonely day. I was in a new home with people I'd known for less than a day. I didn't have my parents or Charlotte to keep me company anymore. All I had was a husband who had been gone all day, and the No Name woman, who acted as though it pained her to speak to me.

The woman looked around the kitchen, her eyes bulging in alarm. "I don't mean to be rude. It's just that... I can only speak if it's in reference to helping my handlers," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "If I'm caught speaking for any other reason, I will be sent back to the Factories, or hanged in the square." Her breathing increased and her hands began to tremble.

"I had no idea," I breathed, setting my spoon down, my appetite gone. It could have easily been me who was deemed a No Name woman, so easily could have been me who was on edge, terrified this would be the day my life would end for something as trivial as talking out of term.

A flash of anger shot through me. To be unable to have a normal conversation with someone because of your standing in society was cruel and excessive. If I was determined to try to make this new life work, to embrace my marriage and my new home, then I would start by refusing to allow such hatred in my house.

"Well, from now on you can speak freely with me. And if anyone has anything to say about it, they can talk to me directly," I said, squaring my shoulders. "Come. Sit down," I told her, patting the stool beside me. "You eat and I will wash the dishes."

"Oh, no, Mrs. Moberly... please," she said, a look of pure panic on her face. She reached for the dish rag, but I got there first.

"No arguing. That's an order," I said with a playful smile, a smile which she could not reciprocate because of the internal battle she was enduring. Eventually she realized that I wasn't relenting on the matter and complied, sitting down, tearing herself a small piece of bread, and pouring some stew in a bowl.

As I scrubbed my dinner plates, I felt a sense of normalcy. I had been trained to be the perfect housewife, to take care of my home in the likely chance that my husband did not have servants. The chore made me feel a little like my old self, like I hadn't been uprooted from my life and replanted in someone else's.

But that feeling was short-lived.

The No Name woman was only halfway through her dinner when the front door opened with a bang. She jumped from her stool, her body folding in on itself protectively, just as James stepped into the kitchen, his work briefcase in hand. I smiled in an attempt to welcome him home, but he didn't return the gesture. As he takes in my hands in the soap dishwater, his face filled with shock, then confusion, then anger.

"What... in the hell..." he sputtered, his voice grave.

As James' face became a deep shade of scarlet, the No Name's face filled with terror. She backed into the corner of the kitchen, her eyes wide with fright and her body trembling uncontrollably. In the blink of an eye, James had dropped his briefcase and crossed the room, all in one fell swoop.

"So you think you can convince my wife to do your job? To treat her as though she's some lowly servant? How dare you think that she is on the same level as you!" he yelled, rushing toward her, filled with wrath.

The No Name woman cowered away, her hands up in a defensive gesture. I stepped between them, trying to mitigate the misunderstanding, to explain that this was just a misunderstanding, but this only seemed to infuriate James even more.

"Move," he spit at me.

"James, please. It was all my fault. I insisted she let me help," I tried to explain, but he wasn't hearing it.

"Quiet," he muttered, his eyes staring past me to the woman cowering in the corner. He raised his arm as though to strike the No Name woman, but I grabbed his wrist to stop him.

"James...please!" I begged. "Please don't hurt her. I can explain."

His eyes found mine and he slowly lowered his arm. I breathed a sigh of relief, but my respite didn't last long. James's lip curled with anger, and before I could blink, his hand made contact with my face.

I heard a sickening crunch and felt a jolt of pain in my nose. Blood pour over my lips, down my chin, fill my mouth. The stitches from my surgery burned, as though they'd been ripped open. My vision went blurry and tears swelled in my eyes as I fell to the kitchen floor.

The vigorous contact forced the air from my lungs and I was left doubled over, gasping for oxygen. I stared at James with my bloodied mouth agape, still trying to comprehend what had happened.

"Learn your place, woman!" he bellowed, his cheeks an alarming shade of burgundy. He was so close to my face that I could smell the putrid fumes of alcohol on his breath. "Let this be your one and only warning that if you speak out of term or undermine me again, I will put you out on the street like a common whore," he said through gritted teeth.

Then he pulled a handkerchief from his suit pocket and tossed it at me on the kitchen floor. "Clean yourself up. You're disgusting," he muttered.  

Thank you for reading! What are your thoughts on Mia's new life so far? And what about the ending to this chapter? Poor Mia! If you're enjoying "Bound", don't forget to vote and/or comment! :)