There was nothing.

No, that was wrong, there was everything. The world moved around you, and you moved within it, but there wasn't a connection. You stood a part from the world around you, comprehending it as a separate space, and reacting to it only when moved to do so.

Maybe it was more correct to say the world moved you. A prompt from your mother, a word from your father, a smile from a stranger. The world carried variables along the lines of time and place and when those items collided with you, you'd react.

You were. Weren't. No, even less than that.

You were nothing.

No, that was wrong too. You were everything, at least as far as The Plan was concerned. You were the primary piece of it. The keystone in a manner of speaking. No matter how well everything else was done, if you didn't play your part flawlessly it would all crumble to dust.

Your only struggle, brief and weak and worthless as it was, was whether or not you wanted The Plan to fail. Sometimes you felt you did. If The Plan failed you would be free from it. Free from it, but would you be free?

An unanswerable question. By fate or will, you lacked the knowledge to figure that part out. Would you be free in jail? You'd be free of your parents, free of your part to play in The Plan, certainly, but you wouldn't be free to live as you pleased.

How did you please to live?

If you couldn't sort that much out, then there was no reason to fight against the external wills that compelled you. Moved you. Motioned for you. The will of your mother and father who sought to thread you effortlessly through the steps of their decades long plan.

The Plan.

The two words trickled more emotion through your face than anything else, and the slight twitch in your features was unnoticed by those around you. Your mother spoke to you and you smiled, catching up on the conversation and responding with all the words she approved of. Your father called you over and you spoke well-practiced verses and emotions to the people around him about your hopes and dreams.

Your face moved into the smiles you knew they liked, the ones that left everyone at ease, even if there was no easiness in your own heart.

Everything was for The Plan. Your hobbies, your grades, your manners, your clothes. The way your hair was cut and styled, the kind of makeup you applied in the morning, it was all decided by someone else. Ever under the pretense of wanting to make sure you were paired with the best possible match when the time came.

Years ago the world changed. The details didn't matter to you, it was irrelevant to The Plan. The important part was that the world needed more people in it, and to that end the World Government had enacted the Match Program.

The Match Program was a comprehensive review of the populace and citizens, on an island by island, and sea by sea basis. Not only was it meant to help recover the population, but it was intended to do so as kindly as possible for everyone involved. Matches were based on a staggering number of criteria, and then Match Books were hand delivered to people who had been matched by the program and its overseers.

There were other aspects to the program, like the Early Match Program, and Rematching in certain cases. The overall success rate was surprisingly high, and Rematches were rare, both in how often they were requested, and how often they were approved.

It hadn't taken long for the population to adjust to the entire concept, with some people finding relief in the process. What fear or worry was there to be had in being provided the love of your life? How much easier was the very concept of marriage and family when there was a comprehensive and objectively successful process already in place?

At one point in your life you had wondered if you would've been raised differently if not for the Match Program.

You don't doubt that you would've been pulled into some role or another based on your parents whims, but maybe more of who you were would've survived. Or at least dared to exist in the first place. Would you have enjoyed dancing if you had learned it differently? Would you find solace in art if your strokes and paints hadn't been decided for you?

Maybe you would know more than just what you enjoyed. Maybe you would know how to start a conversation, instead of simply being invited into one. Maybe you would know how to speak about yourself because you'd know the parts of you that were important to you.

Maybe you would know how to smile your own smile.

How to choose your own clothes.

The pastel colors matched perfectly, the hues shifting and accenting based on the most popular trends. There was lace, but not so much as to seem over stated, there was silk, or the shift of it. No expense was spared in curating the smallest detail of your outfits, even how the folds would settle against your legs when you sat down.

You never wondered what to do with your hands, because their location was as predetermined and controlled as anything else about you. Folded neatly, holding your clutch when needed, by your sides with your elbows bent just so, or shyly behind your hips, just a little. Not enough to push your chest into the forefront, at least not too much.

You must be a sight to see, and not unsightly.

Everything on the proper side of civility and femininity. Not a grain of coarseness in your voice, a laugh made of notes and bells, but nothing loud or out of control. Your voice must be much the same, clear and firm but not commanding or demanding. You are to be pleasant and deferential. Debate is not for a good and proper young lady.

You are a trophy to be awarded. A great gift to be won. A flawless saint upon which any good - read, wealthy - man would be completely delighted by.

Knowledge and skills enough to be engaging and useful, but opinions muted enough to not ruffle the feathers of your suitors, and suitors you had.

The World Government Match program was not fully and completely objective. There were certain tiers of quality within the program itself. Whether they existed in truth, or were simply avenues of manipulation available to your parents, you couldn't honestly say, but unlike most ladies your age, you did indeed have suitors.

Not that your mother or father intended to see you hand in hand with any of them. Well enough to do to be worth the time and kindness of your family, but not in a position to satisfy their desires and hopes for you.

That was where your father's friend came into play. You knew nothing about him, save his importance in The Plan. So long as you played your part well, he could play his part to greater effect. If you were good enough, flawless enough, gentle and kind and wise and demure and malleable enough - if there was nothing left of whoever you were meant to be, then it would be a success.

You played your part so well that when your Match Book showed up, the man delivering it handed it to your father.