http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/nepal-girl-tradition-makeup/

Ayala had measured the scarf three times before she cut and sewed. She’d learned her lesson the first time around. Any mistake, no matter how small, could prove a crushing blow. Minka had suffered for that lax effort in the past. Emerella would not be subject to the same fate.

“How does it look?” the mother asked her younger daughter.

“Good.”

“Did you measure the lines? The black of the eye-extenders has to just brush the bottom of the forehead arc.” Ayala had a clipped tone when she chastised her girls. It sounded like she didn’t have time to complete every word, so eager was she to spit out the next phase of her chiding.

“Mom, it’s right,” Emerella insisted in her sing-song voice.

“Minka, honey, can you grab the tape measure to check?” Ayala asked without taking her eyes off the scarf, too busy examining the fabric for any imperfection.

For a moment, the older daughter didn’t move. She flashed a look of naked resentment at her mother, but of course it went unseen. Then, suitably resigned, she stood and walked to the bureau. She grabbed a small tape measure and went back to the couch.

“Is this really necessary?” Emerella asked.

“Nope,” Minka said. “Because you’ll-“

“Yes, it absolutely it,” Ayala said sharply. Minka looked over and, with a hot flash of victory, saw that she’d gotten her mother’s attention. Ayala shot her eldest daughter a scathing look.

“Fine,” Emerella turned her face to her older sister. “But I know it’s right.”

With a touch deft, Minka unrolled the tape measure and made a few quick measurements. Laterally and vertically. She measured twice despite herself, her muscle memory unable to break the habit.

“She’s right,” Minka announced without joy.

“Ok, let’s go over the schedule of events.” Ayala pulled out a checklist and began to read. “The procession is first, and you’ll take your seat on the east side of the aisle. The opening ceremony, some speeches, the announcement of gifts. Then each Potential is escorted to the stage and given a quick interview for which, I think, you have done a reasonably thorough job of preparing yourself. After that is the incantation, then the individual Orchid evaluations.”

At that, Emerella winced just a little. She turned to her older sister. She raised her eyebrow, asking without words something she’d demanded to know many times before. Minka simply shrugged, curled her knees up to her chest, and willed herself to forget her own failed evaluation.

Eyes glued to the checklist, her thoughts already hours in the future at the selection of the next Orchid demi-goddess, Ayala completely missed this exchange. There was a time when Minka would have raged against her mother’s inattentiveness, but she found herself more and more glad the less and less she was noticed.

“After the evaluations are the public thanks, which you really need to nail. It’s often said afterward that the best public thanks in the gardens are given by those who are eventually chosen by Her Immortal Beauty.” Ayala gave her daughter a stern look that she was sure conveyed the gravity of her point.

“Easy as that,” Minka said harshly. “You’ll be a deity by lunch tomorrow.” She popped up, took a bow that she hoped was as sarcastic as her intent, and strode toward the door.

“Minka, that’s not appropriate.” Ayala’s clipped tones returned. “Your sister has a real shot to be selected. You should be supporting her.”

“Or what?”

Ayala tapped her foot impatiently. “There will be consequences.”

“The whole world is cause and effect,” Minka said, laughing. “There are consequences if I do, and consequences if I don’t. I choose whatever path puts the most distance between me and some crappy tradition tied to a pointless, fickle god of one measly flower. Emerella, you’ll be chosen or you won’t. The only comfort I can offer is that if you aren’t, there’s good odds you won’t be killed. Hardly anyone at my Orchid selection was.”

And with that, she marched out of the room. She stormed out of the house and down the street, trying to leave behind her own failure, her mother’s misplaced desperation, and a life she didn’t want. But it was an impermanent rebellion. She would be back soon enough because she wouldn’t leave behind a sister who didn’t deserve any of this. None of the girls did. Not the ones that came before, not Minka, not Emerella or all the ones that would be paraded for the goddess in the years ahead.

She turned the corner and saw a clump of orchids at the corner of someone’s lawn. She yanked on one and it came free.

This is it. This is all we are. The gods do this to keep us down. All these girls with talents and brains and dreams, all lost in the cacophony of some pointless sideshow. She snorted in disgust and tossed the colorful petals aside. All the effort and time and money, all wasted. Thrown at a ceremony and where does it leave us?

Picked from the stem. Wasting our time on flowers.