I am faced with an abundance of suitors upon my entry into the room. Everyone is dull, and to be frank, unappealing.

I twirl the front pieces of my hair, the locks wrapping around my finger as I wait for this to be over.

I scrutinize each and every noble, and I can almost see the disappointment on my mother’s face because of my refusal to all of these suitors.

“At least she’s letting me choose.” I mutter, and my train of thought is disrupted by the door opening.

Behind the other side of the door, I notice three more men my age walking in. Great. More suitors for me to reject.

When will this end?

After talking with each suitor, I ended up rejecting all of them. Just as I expected.

I tried to give them a chance, honest. But they were only here for the status and the wealth they would receive from marrying me.

And I knew this would happen. I had just hoped that I could find love in an arrangement like my parents did.

But this was always going to be a possibility, and now I am faced with the fact that I will not get the honor of choosing the person I marry.