At some point during the early hours of the morning, I must have fallen asleep. A bang on my bedroom door jerks me awake and I sit up, feeling groggy.

I stare at the grey porridge on the kitchen table for ten minutes before pushing it away. My mother gives me a sympathetic look.

“Go on up, Jane. I’ll come and give you a hand to get ready.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather be by myself if that’s okay.” I force a smile. She can’t know what I’m about to do.

I lock myself in the bathroom and spend the next half hour scrubbing my body and washing my hair. As much as my siblings tease us for still having an old-fashioned plumbing system and shower, I’m glad of the soft water that cascades over me. It’s soothing.

In my bedroom, I wedge a chair under the door so my mother can’t get in and sit in front of the mirror that’s propped up on my dresser. It’s the first time I can ever remember having a mirror in my room. The face that stares back at me is different to the face I’d pictured through touch, yet also familiar. The contours of the nose and jawline are the same. But the hollows of the cheeks and the smoothness of the skin are not features my fingers have felt before. The birthmark is still there, but it’s no longer the first thing you notice when you look at my face.

The pots of paste that my mother prepared are lined up on the dresser. Carefully I scrape them into the waste bin and cover the mess with pieces of cloth so she doesn’t know I haven’t used them.

I start by brushing out my hair. It hangs to my waist, but as I keep it permanently braided back, I rarely bother to brush it. It feels like it takes forever. Tugging at each knot brings tears to my eyes, and when I can finally run the brush through my hair unimpeded, I’m sorely tempted to cut it all off.

There’s a bang on my door.

“Half an hour, Jane. Are you sure you wouldn’t like some help?”

“No thanks!”

I wrap my hair back up in the towel, hoping it’ll dry some more, and get to work on my face. I don’t have the first clue about makeup, but as Mother doesn’t own any, it’s not a problem I have to worry about. I tweeze out a few stray hairs around my eyebrows and fill them in with an ancient eyebrow pencil I found at the back of the bathroom cabinet. Then I rub some of the expensive face cream that was a gift from my sister into my face.

The tattered old dress Mother’s picked out for me hangs in front of the wardrobe. She’s even rubbed mud into the hem, for added effect. I hide it back in the cupboard, behind my winter coat, and pull out my best dress. Mother had it adjusted a couple of months ago for my upcoming school graduation, so at least it should fit. It’s the colour of the needles on the trees in the deepest, darkest part of the forest and, I suspect, very old-fashioned in style. The waist cinches in and the neckline is two inches lower than what I’m comfortable with. It used to be high-necked. Damn that dressmaker.

Once the dress is on, I unwind the towel from my hair and brush it through again. This time when I look in the mirror, I barely recognise the woman staring back at all. Brown waves, highlighted blonde by the sun, frame a heart-shaped face. My skin is a light gold, tanned by the sun despite the protective cream I put on every day. As a final touch, I dip a finger in the bowl of crushed blackberries I’d collected yesterday and dab it on my lips. A dash of oil makes them shine. Who needs lipstick.

I look almost normal. Better than normal, perhaps. Though, not as beautiful as the Swans. My heart sinks.

“Jane, it’s time!”

My hands tremble as I take the pendant from its box and hang it around my neck, tucking it inside my dress. I pull on my boots, polished black last night, and wrap my large cloak around me. It hides my dress completely and I pull the hood up, shading my face.

My father’s still in bed, too unwell to attend the ceremony. He’s groggy as I kiss him goodbye and a pang of guilt hit me as he murmurs, “See you later.”

I walk downstairs, straight past my mother and out into the farmyard. Her cry of annoyance follows me up the track to the village as she races to catch up. I slow slightly but keep my head down as she draws level with me.

“Sorry. I just want this to all be over with,” I mutter.

She rests her hand for a moment on my arm. “I know, Jane. A few hours and we’ll be back home.”

Another pang of guilt.

When we arrive at the village square, I’m herded off to one side to sign in. To my relief, they don’t ask me to remove my cloak. Everyone here knows who I am. The ugly girl from the farm.

We’re lined up in order of age. I’m last as usual. I peek out at the other girls, all of whom I know from school. They must have been up since dawn getting their hair and makeup done. Anoushka, who’s next in line to me, gives me a sympathetic glance. She’s wearing a richly embroidered red dress that clings to her curvy figure and high heels. I look down at my practical black boots.

There’s a murmur from the crowd. A white pod hovers above the cordoned-off space in the square. It’s not a big village and there’s barely room for it to land. A rush of air and dust hits me and I have to grab my hood to prevent it being blown back off my head. Inside the cloak, it’s stifling hot and I can feel myself beginning to sweat.

The belly of the bird-shaped pod opens and guards stream out, forming a line to separate us — the candidates — from the villagers behind. There’s a fanfare and two women emerge from the doorway. The first has auburn hair and bright green eyes. She jokes with one of the guards and smiles warmly out at the crowd. The second is the white-haired woman I met on the road last week. She is more aloof, scanning the crowd as if looking for someone. A frown of disappointment clouds her face.

I came to last year’s Selection Day and hid at the back of the crowd, so I’d know what to expect. The Swans introduce themselves. I don’t catch the auburn-haired woman’s name, but the other woman is introduced as Isolde.

The auburn-haired swan gives a speech about what an honour it is to become a Swan and how grateful the king is to the village for hosting this Selection Day. The words wash over me as I get hotter and hotter inside my cloak. Please, hurry up.

Finally, the speech finishes and the Swan is handed the list of names for this year’s candidates. Isolde moves forward and it’s clear that, although the other woman may have taken the lead in making the speech, this lady is the more senior of the two.

They pass over the first three girls quickly but pause for a few minutes by the fourth. There are some murmured questions and she’s asked to turn on the spot. The anticipation of the crowd is palpable. There’s a murmur of disappointment when Isolde shakes her head and they move on to the next in line.

The next girl is also passed over, but they stop at Anoushka. My heart’s hammering in my chest and a bead of sweat drips between my breasts. I strain my ears to listen to what they’re saying.

“Her colouring is unusual and very much in demand at the moment,” the auburn-haired woman says.

“But her eyes are a little bit small and her jaw a fraction too wide,” Isolde replies. “And she’s a bit on the chubby side.”

“Some men like that.”

Anoushka stares straight ahead, the smile on her face looking more forced by the second.

“We’re behind our quota this year. If she’s not needed, we can always…”

Can always what?

There’s a huge cheer from the crowd as Anoushka gets the approval of the Swans. The smile on her face is genuine now and there are tears of pride in her eyes. It’s been many years since any girl from our village has been selected to become a Swan. But the noise of the crowd fades when two pairs of delicately-clad feet come to a halt in front of me.

My mouth is suddenly dry and the air around me seems thick and hard to breathe.

“Remove your cloak,” Isolde commands.

This is it.

I lift my head and throw back the hood, unclipping the cloak from my neck. The thin material slips through my fingers and falls to the floor. I force myself to ignore it and lift my chin.

Isolde smiles. “Jane Anas.”

She motions with her finger and obediently I turn on the spot, grateful for my flat, ugly shoes. In heels, I would have almost certainly tripped and fallen.

There’s a collective gasp from the crowd, then a stunned silence. My mother looks as if she’s seen a ghost.

There’s no conferring between the two Swans. When I turn back to them, the auburn-haired one steps to one side and motions towards the white pod. “Would you please come with us.”

There are no cheers for me, just muttering and murmurs.

“No, Jane!”

I hear my mother push through the crowd. The guards hold her back and she curses them in between heart-wrenching sobs.

“The money.” I clear my throat, trying to get rid of the lump that’s developed. “Give me the money. And a chance to say goodbye.”

Isolde raises one perfectly-arched eyebrow. She holds out a hand and one of the attendants places a bag of coins on her palm.

“Here. You have two minutes.”

Clutching the bag, I run to my mother and wrap her hand around the bag of gold coins. “Here. It’ll be enough for everything. The loan, father’s medicine, a worker to help at the farm until he’s better.” Tears are streaming down my face. “I love you both so much. I’m sorry … I couldn’t tell you. You would have stopped me.”

I cling to her, each of us soaking the other’s shoulder with our tears.

“Jane.”

Rafe’s voice is rough and choked with emotion. It’s like a dagger in my heart. I pull back from my mother to look at him. His eyes search my face. He doesn’t have to ask why I’ve done this. He knows. I tug the grass ring from my finger and place it in his palm, curling his fingers around it.

“You have to forget about me, Rafe.” I smile at him through my tears. “Find someone else.”

“No,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I-I’ll come and find you, Jane. I’ll get you out of that place.”

His eyes are dark and there’s determination and anger in his voice that I’ve never heard before. Not from kind, gentle, calm, Rafe.

“Don’t you even think about trying. They’ll kill you. And I can’t have that on my conscience as well as everything else.” I know it’s cruel to put it like that, but it may be the only way to stop him.

I kiss him softly on the cheek and whisper in his ear. “Please, Rafe. Let me go.”

Then I turn and, without looking back, walk towards the pod.