They called it the Broken Basket, even though it wasn’t broken.
Large and woven, it was ordinary enough. Inside were sheafs of paper for each eligible citizen of Jorevian. Ordained by the Lords, each card dictated the names of acceptable gene pools that the individual could marry into. As if they had a choice. Most cards had less than half a dozen names on them, some only one or two.
That’s why it was called the broken basket: it was full of broken hearts.
My little brother and I had only been with the Jorevian clan two months before I turned eighteen. We were still learning so much about the vicious hierarchy system, mostly by accident. I had been afraid to approach the basket, and then a naive hope flared in my chest when the dictator presented my card. It was blank.
Was I free to choose? I immediately thought of Han. Stupidly. For the hush that came over the crowd should’ve been indication enough. It was the silence of pity.
Soon, I learned what happened to girls with blood deemed ineligible for the gene pool. As I stood before the silent crowd, I should’ve been more afraid. Much more.
What do you think??
This idea came to me in a dream, down to the opening sentence. I hope to write it someday, but for right now, I wish my dreams would help me solve present plot holes instead of bogging me down with new ideas...