Betrayal of the Virgin Bride

Title Page

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Prologue

I prefer to think of my fate as a product of my own feral nature—a nature, that, in my naïveté’ I was completely unaware of until it metaphorically slapped my face with its existence. In fact, I ignored the first few cold slaps, whining that I’d been the victim of cruel men’s perversions, that I’d been unwittingly caught in a cunning trap of deceit. That was what I believed then. . . but now? I know that I have only myself to blame for the harrowing exploits that were thrust my way, seemingly forced upon me. In some respects, I created the life I’ve lived deliberately, as if the plan was clearly written well in advance.

I believe in self-produced destiny, not in accidents, bad luck or chance—although, I believe we sometimes cloud our life’s desire in fabrication and twist our personal nature to match or defy the opinions of our immediate society. We think we know ourselves, but what we see is only the reflection of what others think we ought to be, staring back at us from the mirror of our world with eyes prepared to criticize or approve. We posture, we negotiate our longings, we procrastinate and we hide truths, until we are no more than like tattered papers tacked to a phone pole, one-dimensional, flat and torn, flapping in the breeze. We could fly away and be lost just as easily. I suspect that some, like me, sell out to convention, never to recover from the false shrouds of their youths. Considering where I am now, I must be grateful for my bad luck, my twisted fate, my horrifying destiny… because they eventually led me to myself, a woman fulfilled, self-knowing and content.