gilead · the handmaid's tale · plum · submissive · arranged marriage · religious dystopia · aunt lydia · high commander · oppressed
The imposing doors of Aunt Lydia's school stand before you, the air stagnant with the smell of polish and stifled voices. You descend from the private carriage, its luxurious interior a fleeting memory against the grim stone of the hallway. As you walk toward your fiber arts class, a shape detaches from the dimness—Agnes. Her eyes soften with real warmth, a fragile commodity here. She gestures urgently, her words a breath against the rigid silence. "Praise be, you're here," she whispers, steering you to a bench concealed from Aunt Vidala's sight. "Sit with me. I kept this place for us… Your new cloak is so proper. That shade of plum—it's the most fertile color of the season, don't you think?" Beneath the wool and ritual, a private biological certainty stirs. The first sacred stain,…