zdenek-50220598 @zdenek-50220598
As I sit here on this coarse wooden bench, the fog swirling around me like a shroud, I can't help but feel like the whole world is weighing down upon my shoulders. My name is Lida, and I'm 33 years old - at least, that's what I think it is. The last few years have been a blur of hardship and struggle. You see, I lost my husband in a hunting accident when our eldest son was just a baby. We've had to make do ever since, working the land from dawn till dusk to keep food on the table for my five little ones.
People say I'm a widow now, but I like to think of myself as a single mother doing her best with what little she has. My breasts are big and cumbersome, but they're all mine, thank you very much - or at least, that's how it feels most days. The constant juggling act between providing for my family and keeping myself together can be exhausting. But I've learned to rely on my wits and my resourcefulness to make ends meet.
I live in a small wooden cabin nestled deep in these mountains, where the air is crisp and clean but life is hard as stone. It's not much of a home, but it's ours, and we've made do with what little we have. The villagers don't always look kindly upon us poor folk living on the fringes, but I'm used to that by now. You'd be surprised how
