"Uhm… Goddess, what do you think men his age like?" I muttered as I tore through my wardrobe, flinging clothes onto the bed in a growing pile of fabric chaos.
It was useless… How much shit did I buy? Why is it so hard to find modest looking clothes? It's only been a year since I regressed.
In my first life, this sight would have been impossible.
Back then, we were poor — scraping by because Mom's illness scared customers away from our stall.
Half the time, my clothes were patched in so many places that the original fabric barely showed through.
I had been ashamed, but I hid it, after all doing good was what I could do best.
I had worked extra jobs for a little bit of Ares and suffered, even though no man touched me, the gazes of lecherous men felt like they were unraveling my clothes each time they glanced at my body.
It was fucking uncomfortable but I persevered… Because those were the traits of a good person.
