Summary: Sitting here crying as the strings slide through my fingers. Bit by bit of my blood drip on the loom as I grip onto the pole to tighten the strain of string, pulling the pole as strong as I can. I was 6 at that time when my parents sold me and my siblings off to a stranger. I didn't know I was sold until the next day I woke up in a land full of cherry trees beside my siblings. My father told me that one day, he would sell me off for marriage, but I did not know it would be now. Do my parents know where I am? Do they remember how I look, smell, laugh, and talk? Do they remember me at all?