She was adjusting her hair, the tiny little wisp wouldn't settle down. She painted her lips, a light red, for the third time by looking into her hand-mirror, bejeweled with small ruby- like pieces around its curvature, handcrafted and parcelled, all the way from Jaipur. Her eyes missed a tad bit of Kohl. She dabbed it again, subtly. She did all of this, through her thick veil, as she was being carried on the palanquin. She was happy it was the day of her wedding and she would finally get to see her husband-to-be. Little did she know that she was being taken on the palanquin, literally for a ride and that a gory altar awaited her bridal hair-do, only for being the bastard child.