“Stop that,” Rosmerta complained, trying to brush the hands away from her. But the women only tittered in that annoying laugh that suggested they knew better, and they kept... decorating her. Like she was one of those stupid maypoles. Which were just giant penises for a fertility celebration.
It was aggravating, really. She was a fertility goddess. Did anybody build giant round piles of dirt, or cut... Rosmerta made a face and stopped before she finished that thought. But the point still held. No female genitalia were on display to promote fertility. Just male. How was that fair?
It was just as unfair that a woman had to be married or attached to some male to have any worth. She went from her father's, or brother's or uncle's, house to her husband's, and being a wife and mother were the only options open to her. Rosmerta was not at all pleased with that state of affairs, or that she was currently caught in the middle of just such a situation. Whoever thought that marrying her off was a good idea was definitely getting a piece of her mind.
And just look at who they were trying to wed her to! The perpetual husband! Rosmerta wasn't sure if her parents thought that she'd be the one to stick, or that he'd fall in love with her and want to stay, but she could have told them they were dead wrong. Because she had no intention of being winning and charming and sweet and pliable. She was going to be herself, and if he didn't like it, too damn bad. The lech got himself a virgin every year, she didn't seem much to like in him either.
Even less since it was because of him that she was currently being fussed over, and prodded, and things stuck in her hair. What were they sticking in her hair? She reached up to pull out several blossoms, receiving chiding from the women when she did so. This was ridiculous. She was a goddess for crying out loud. But there were so many people expecting things of her, and this would help the village with their fertility, and her parents anticipated a solution the problem of their unwed daughter, and everybody kept looking at her, and...
Rosmerta sighed. There was nothing she could do, she was stuck. With flowers in her hair. They were woven into her braids and there was a wreath set on top of her hair. Garlands were draped over everything and she felt like she was never going to get the scent of primrose out of her nose. It was swamping the more delicate smell of the violets, which was a pity. She really liked violets.
As they pushed her out the door of the cottage, she couldn't help but pluck at he myriad of flowers still on her person. Cernunnos was so getting a piece of her mind when all this was done.