"Everyone sees what you appear to be, few experience what you really are." -

Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince

The young woman stood at the edge and looked down the old building. Her long bridal gown shimmered in the bright summer sun. It was a photographer's dream; an attractive young bride, obviously in deep thought, standing in front of the old church's stone walls. But what the photographer couldn't see, what no outsider would ever see, was the turmoil raging within her. The serene setting inside the church was the mirrored opposite of the chaos churning inside her head.

She'd stumbled across a sight that had drawn her out her mental confusion. At her feet was a grasshopper, struggling to free itself from a spider's web. She watched the parroting of her own feelings play out on nature's stage.

She smiled, recognizing the similarities to her life. She noticed her wedding gown had intricate patterns common with spider lace. A web of her own choosing! She watched with morbid fascination as the spider sat perfectly still on the edge of the web, waiting for the grasshopper to either free itself or resign itself to its fate. It eerily resembled her groom standing at the altar, waiting for her, the beautiful bride. But would she be walking down that aisle, presenting herself as a willing sacrifice?

Sacrifice, what an interesting word, she mused. It was a term that she'd heard and seen played out most her life. Her mother and father had used it at her first trial and her grandmother had used it at her second. It was the one word that had swayed an inane legal system to provide therapy in a hospital rather than prison time. The judge had even used it to justify his ruling.

Her grandmother had used the term as well. That was no surprise since her mother had taught her its meaning all her life. She'd taught the young girl early that sometimes a person had to sacrifice parts of themselves in order to get what they wanted ... what they needed.

She remembered those happy days when she was a little girl. Once, she'd watched her father as he dealt with a pest problem. They had mice in the house! First he'd put out traps but they hadn't worked. Then he put out rat poison...

She'd become enthralled one morning when she'd come across a mouse in its death throes. She'd watched intently as its tiny body convulsed, spasm after spasm, until it finally went still.

She thought it rather hypocritical that everyone was shocked when she'd tried to take care of her pest problem. It had worked so well for her father.

Besides, she grinned to herself, Jimmy was a pest. Or at least he was.

Jimmy Clark had been the epitome of a schoolyard bully even at the ripe old age of nine. He'd terrorize the other students by taking their lunches, their money, anything that had value even if only sentimental.

It hadn't been difficult to add some d-Con to her juice box. When Jimmy took her lunch that day, she'd even told him he'd better not drink her juice. He did it anyway.

It only took a short time before they took him to the hospital. He survived but it changed him. He wasn't a pest anymore.

The adults had become overly excited when they'd found out about her solution to the situation. She had, of course, confessed. Why not? Honesty was supposed to be the best policy. Apparently not, she learned.

She'd spent the rest of that year in a special place for children with special needs. A 'Kiddy Nuthouse' she'd later call it. She learned very quickly two major things while she was there. Nuns have no sense of humor and honesty is never the best policy.

Disturbed, deceptive, manipulative, words that were lost on a seven-year-old but keeping secrets, pretending, hiding, those she'd understood. She'd gotten very good at those.

When she'd returned to school the next year she'd discovered the other students had a new found respect for her.

Maybe respect isn't the right word. Maybe fear would be more accurate.

She learned quickly how to use their fear to get what she needed, what she wanted. However, by the time she'd reached junior high she realized what she really wanted were friends. So, she began the difficult process of disguising herself, using kindness and sweetness to draw the attention she craved.

Then nature gave her an additional weapon ... puberty. It took her no time at all to learn to use her developing body to gain the attention of the boys in her class. She wondered what high school dating would've been like had fate not stepped in.

She'd watched her mother's bedtime routine for years. On those nights that she and her father would lock their bedroom door, her routine was always the same. Her mother would make them both drinks.

Then one night she'd seen it. She watched closely as her mother carefully removed a small plastic bag from its hiding place in the top cupboard. She carefully measured out a small amount and put it into both drinks. Then she crushed up a small blue pill and put it into one of the drinks.

She'd followed her mother up to the master bedroom that night. Over the years she'd done that countless times before but had always found the bedroom door locked. But not that night!

She'd waited until she heard those familiar sounds before she crept into the massive bedroom. The grunts and groans and the harsh commands were no longer muffled by the door as she silently stared at the sight before her.

She saw her mother on her knees in front of her father. They were both naked. She was gently stroking him, begging for a taste. Soon he nodded and she slowly took his cock into her mouth. She took him deeper and deeper, inch by inch as he groaned his pleasure and commanded her to take more. Then she began to gag as he reached down and grabbed her head, forcing the rest of him into her mouth.

She'd watched in shock as he used her mother that night and heard her beg for more. When they were through, she'd snuck out of the room and back into her bed.

Back in the safety of her room, she'd tried to come to terms with what she'd seen.

She concluded that it was another example of sacrifice. A trade-off for the financial protection and security her father provided. But it was obvious that her mother wasn't strong enough to stop it.