Change

I don't even know where the hell this came from.

I wanted to write, and I started once again with "he" when I stopped myself. Too often, I feel as if I should write of men. Maybe it's because I'm used to the perspective of anything with a penis. I forced myself to instead write a woman as one of the main characters as an exercise, but also as an understanding. Throughout our lives, we meet many interesting, strong women who are unsung. Should we do the same in fiction?

It felt pretty good to write her. I hope that there's a future for the Parchen de Alsber. 

Maybe there's a universe waiting to be told.

"It's time."

Parchen de Alsber closed her book, a soft sigh leaving her lips.

"Already? How long has passed? A day? Two days?" Her wrinkled eyes crinkled with amusement, daring to be infectious. As always, her companion was innoculated by world weariness.

"Six years."

"Six years, already." She let out a low whistle, leaning back in her chair. Her worn scarf draped down, grazing the floor as she rocked on the seat's back legs. "Time flies while you're having fun."

"You have an odd idea of 'fun'," murmured the jailer. His eyes swept across the spartan cell, comprised entirely of damp stone that never dried, worn wood that was more a collection of splinters than any real furniture , and a sliver of light that was generously labeled a window. During the day, the room was positively sticky and unpleasant. At night, it froze. It was not an environment fit for a monk, besides the Parchden de Alsber.

As always, the jailer held his tongue.

"Why so grumpy, Alstair? Has my departure finally sunk in? Are those the first rumblings of loneliness in your eyes?" Her smile widened. It was the jailer's turn to sigh.

"How are you so jovial?" he shot back. "Your title, your wealth, your lineage, everything has been taken from you. Your life will soon be on that last!  Yet here you are, laughing and smiling as if nothing could be wrong."

"Have they been taken? Really? Then who do you consider me to be, Alstair? Am I merely some silly old woman to you? Have I fallen so far and lost so much that I am merely Myrlla, someone without history?"

His features softened. "No. You are, and always will be, Parchen de Alsber in my eyes."

"Yes. And in the eyes of many more. What is an edict if none recognize it? What is law if it's unheeded? They've stolen my name, but in name only." Parchen's eyes sparkled. Alstair groaned. Her notorious worldplay was atrocious as ever.

"I start to understand why they locked you up in here."

"Come now! Surely it's not that bad."

"It's worse, Parchen." He smiled despite himself. Perhaps he owed her something as simple as a little smile after all these years. At the rare appearance, the prisoner's own smile faltered and her eyes touched the ground. If Alstair was smiling, the circumstances were dire indeed.

"I'm terrified, Alstair. What if I start crying? Pleading? What if I give up what I took years to accomplish in order to gain a few fleeting moments? My existence has been poor, but it is at least an existence."

"Ash'tun will guide you. He will lead you through fallow fields and to grand harvests. He will be your strength when your legs fail you. He will be your courage when your heart fails you. If you will trust in no one else, trust in him." The words felt wrong on the jailer's lips. An assurance of eternity rang hollow placed beside an executioner's axe.

"P'ah!" Some of Parchen's old fire lit up in her eyes. "Ash'tun can kiss my pink rump! I'll trust in what I can see and hear. I'll trust in what has never let me down." Her voice softened and her hand extended, drapping over Alstair's. "I'll trust in you."

He jerked away as if burned. "Me? The man who imprisoned you? The man who watched you suffer? No. No, if you trust in anyone, don't let it be me. I--"

"Was just following orders. ... Was just protecting me. How many would have treated me as well in your place? They would have bowed to pressure. You risked your family and livelihood for me. You took everything on your shoulders, the threats, the violence, and still you shielded me from the Rising Star." Her hand reached out again, wrapping tightly around his. 

"You suffered for me."

"It wasn't enough," he whispered.  Still, he squeezed her hand. It had been so long since he felt her warmth. Six years, and he had held on to his inability every day. He couldn't save her from their crimson lances. He couldn't save her from their dark prisons. So he saved the only thing he could: her life. He didn't want Parchen to die, but death was inevitable if she tried to escape. So he played the jailer, and she the prisoner, and they watched each day tick by. They had lived as if the next six years would never end.

Tomorrow it would. She would die, and he would join her not long after, and perhaps it was fitting. They were getting old, and the world was no longer their's to seize. It was a place for young men and women to take, the Rising Star that had eclipsed them long ago. He believed all of this, but when Alstair looked into Parchen's eyes, he didn't care. Damn the young, and damn the world, and damn anything else that might get in their way. Alstair had spent too long being a scared old man. Alstair's fingers tightened around Parchen's hand.

"It wasn't enough, but maybe this will be."

They marched to the door.