I remember what happened next as clearly as if it had happened just yesterday. The image of the house behind me got smaller and smaller as I ran, the pack on my back weighing my scrawny legs down. My lungs burned with contempt for my exercise, but I pushed onward, trying to get as far away as possible from my home.

In the back of my mind, I worried that the turtledove I had given my servant clothes to had been discovered, but I didn’t stop to look back. I didn’t stop to check if I was being run down by men on horses or if the hounds had been let loose. Hopefully, the girl could pass as me for at least a day or so before they noticed it wasn’t me. They hardly ever bothered to look at me, but Cristyne would know the minute she decided it was time for another degradation. She would look into the face of who she thought was her little stepsister and she would find only a young, redhead with a criminal record and enough gall to make her pose as someone else for nothing more than the promise of escaping death.