Beauty was a blessing they said. They would kill to have a pretty face they said.
However, something they didn't know—or perhaps chose to ignore—was that beauty could also be a curse. It could lure someone straight into their own demise.
Primrose had been admired by men for as long as she could remember. But most of them only saw her through the fog of their own lust. They didn't see her as a person, just as something they wanted to possess.
And the women? Some of them weren't kind either. Jealousy turned to bitterness, and bitterness turned into cruel rumors meant to tear her down.
Unfortunately, society had always forbidden a beautiful woman from complaining. The moment she did, they would say she was being dramatic. That she was ungrateful. That someone so "blessed" like her had no right to feel pain.
Primrose had lived through all of that. She was used to being seen as an object of desire, something pretty to look at, but not someone worth listening to.
