Christ’s Redeeming Love | Part 3

 “And if Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is in vain and your faith is in vain… But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead.” 

1st Corinthians 15:12, 20

    
    Today is Easter Sunday.

    The day Christ rose from the dead two thousand years ago, conquering death and freeing humanity of the burden of our sins once and for all. The day that is so central to the Christian faith, for as Paul writes in 1st Corinthians, if the resurrection didn’t happen, everything we’ve ever believed is for naught. But the good news is, it is true.

Death, where is thy victory?

    The evidence for the life, death, and resurrection of Christ is the most documented of any religious or political figure in history. Multiple people have attempted to disprove the gospel accounts, and found only evidence for, not against. 

Death, where is thy sting?

    It’s the best news in the world and it’s true. What are the odds? But God loved—loves—us so much, He sent His one and only beloved Son to die for us. And He conquered death, once and for all. Not even death, that terrible and awful thing, can overcome the God of the universe. 

Death, thou shalt die. 

    He is risen!

____

Soli Deo Gloria,

Astrya

Christ’s Redeeming Love | Part 2

   Waiting.

    It’s so hard to wait, sometimes. We always seem to get caught up in the business and bustle of life, and forget to stop and think and wait for just a half-a-second. But that’s what today should be. A day of waiting, of reflection, of remembering Christ’s horrific and awesome sacrifice, of looking forward to His resurrection and the salvation that is to come. 

    How can we properly experience something so mysterious, so grand and wonderful, in a world that has forgotten to care? But we need to. Somehow, we need this day of waiting, to prepare ourselves for the miracle that is to come. 

    The disciples, despite having been told multiple times by Christ Himself what was going to happen, were yet clueless and had no notion of the hope they were about to be given. Instead they reeled back in astonishment and fear and disbelief. They had no choice but to wait—though for what they were waiting they had no idea whatsoever. 

    Sometimes we scoff and wonder, why didn’t they know better? Why didn’t they listen to what their Lord and Saviour told them? And yet we would have been no better. You or I, we’d have been just as oblivious, just as daft—and that speaks to exactly why we need a Saviour. We’re so lost without Him. We can do nothing of our own strength and expect to be saved because we are “good enough.”

    This day in between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, it allows us to dwell on that. On just how much we need God. On how much He endured for us, just because He loved us. And while the whole world is breathless in anticipation for the salvation to come, we can remember, and be thankful. 

    And as we move from the overbearing darkness of sin to the brilliant light of redemption, we dwell on His sacrifice. That the God of the universe was crucified for our sake. That He redeemed our souls by the sacrifice of His blood. Now that—that is something more than worth waiting for. 

____

Soli Deo Gloria,

Astrya

Christ’s Redeeming Love | Part 1

     Today is Good Friday. 

    It also marks the beginning of a three-post series I’ll be doing, one today, one tomorrow, and one on Sunday, tracing the ultimate redeeming love of Christ—His crucifixion, the terrible waiting feeling the apostles must have felt The Day After, and concluding with His triumphant resurrection on Easter Sunday. 

    The crucifixion and resurrection of Christ is the central theme of Christianity—the Hebrew Scriptures begin with the fall of humanity, the need for a redeemer, and the prophecies through God’s messengers of the hope that is to come. The New Testament begins with connecting Christ’s human lineage back to Abraham, and then to David. He is the promised Saviour of humanity. And you know what? He didn’t need to die. God didn’t need to save us. But He loved us too much, despite our sin, despite everything, to let us sink back so hopelessly into sin. And so He didn’t. He sent a Saviour—His Own beloved Son.

“When he sees all that is accomplished by his anguish, he will be satisfied.” 

Isaiah 53: 11

    Sometimes in Christian circles we tend to celebrate Christmas in a grander, more extravagant way than Easter. And that’s okay, because none of this needs extravagance. But Christmas—Christ’s birth—incredible as it is, it’s just the beginning. 

    He came into the world to redeem His people.

    He bore all the sins of the world—the sins of the entire world—upon His shoulders. 

    And it’s because of his anguish that we can even live and do the things we take for granted every day. We can’t even imagine how much He suffered, not only physically but also spiritually.

    “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” This cry, this terrible tragic redeeming cry, offers us only a microscopic glance into what it must be like to know the wrath of God. Yet Christ took it on, took on the anguish, so that we didn’t have to.

    So that we didn’t have to. 

    His love for us is so great that He suffered beyond our worst imaginings to save us. That is redemption. That is love. And because he lay dying on that cross, crucified in body and soul, all we have to do to join Him in Paradise someday is to say, like the thief on the cross, “I believe.”

    I believe.

When Jesus had received the sour wine, he said, “It is finished,” and he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.

John 19:30

    It is finished.   

____

Soli Deo Gloria,

Astrya 

Tolkien Reading Day

    

    Today is a holiday. A most excellent one, in fact, if I do say so myself. 

    Now, if you’re a lover of J.R.R. Tolkien’s marvellous The Lord of the Rings, you’ll of course know exactly what I mean. But if you’re not as familiar with the Wonderful World of Middle-Earth, you might be wondering, “do you mean that it is an excellent holiday, or that it a holiday whether I want it or not; or that you feel like it ought to be a holiday, or that it is a holiday on which to be excellent?”

    And I say to you—all of them at once! For of course I have just borrowed an admirable quote of Gandalf’s to express your confusion, and of course today is a holiday. A rather remarkable one, in fact. 

    Today is International Tolkien Reading Day. 

    Wait, wait! Don’t cheer yet. We haven’t even gotten to the best part! I must first provide a Bit Of History so that we can adequately appreciate this day. 

    For those of you who are well-versed in your Tolkien Lore, March 25 will be well-known to you as the day of Sauron’s defeat (at the end of the Third Age). This of course is the reason why the day was chosen by the Tolkien Society to commemorate his works. It’s been celebrated in some way, shape, or form (usually by reading Tolkien!) since 2003, when columnist Sean Kirst suggested the holiday. (Mr. Kirst, I am much indebted.) 

    Aside from the obvious reasons—who wouldn’t want to read Tolkien?—it is, I think, quite important to recognise the truly great works of literature that can tell us so much about our society, humanity, and the way the world works. Now of course you’ll say, “but wait, this is fantasy!” And to that I say, “humbug!” (To quote the esteemed Ebenezer Scrooge.) 

    

    Of course this is fantasy. That’s why it can tell us so much. If you’ve read my last post, I discussed the implications and aftermath of Coming Home after bidding farewell to something or someone you love, in the context of The Lord of the Rings. How can you move on when it seems so impossible? 

    Well, great stories like this one can help us discern the answers to questions such as that. That’s why they’re so important. When we look at flawed characters like Boromir or Thorin, we can see the truth in humanity—that we all sin and fall short of the glory of God, but we can be redeemed. When we see the quiet strength in characters like Sam, or the grave dignity of Aragorn, we can see what true friendship really means, and what we ought to be like. These stories—they tell us so much about ourselves. And they give us hope! Because in the end, the Good Must Prevail. 

    These stories, at least for me, can lead us closer to God. By showing us another world, so different and yet so similar to our own, we can see the truth and beauty of creation and what God has intended for us. They are of course not the only thing we ought to rely on, but they can teach us more about our Creator—and more about ourselves. 

    That’s why Tolkien Reading Day is so important, at least in my humble eyes. And not just this one day, either but every day—every day on which we read a great story and discern greater truth because of it. 

    Anyway, thanks for “listening” to my little rant. I hope it serves you well somehow—and lothron i elena mír-oiale bo cín lond!*

____

Namarië, 

Astrya

*may the stars shine ever on your path!

Coming Home

 “It's a dangerous business, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.”

-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

   

    You may have noticed a couple weeks back I mentioned I’d gone away for a week. Well, I did—I went on a trip to the redwoods with fourteen other students and a few faculty members from my school. One week in the misty mountains reading and journaling our way through the greatest fantasy trilogy of all time: J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings.

Nothing but the cold woodland air, a good book, good friends, English breakfasts, warm tea, chats around log fires late into the night. And it was one of the most phenomenal experiences I’ve ever participated in. But as incredible as that was, I’m not here to talk about it. Instead I want to talk about What Happens After. 

    There are so many hard partings in this life, the greatest of which is death. For Christians, death is not truly the end, but another path, one that we must all take. It’s not the end, it’s the beginning. But for those left behind when others go, remembering that provides only a small bit of comfort. Such is the way with all partings, really—earthly and heavenly. 

    Yet—how do you say farewell to something that you love? How can you put all that behind you, pick up the threads of an old life and move on when you’ve changed so much? Farewells are everywhere, and as we deal with the consequences of saying goodbye, we look to the stories and tales and memories that have changed us, that have given us hope. 

    Sam and Frodo went on the ultimate adventure, wandering the forests of Emyn Muil and climbing to the peak of Orodruín beneath Sauron’s very eye to cast the Ring into the fire. Yet it was not their own strength that sustained them, it was their friendship and their belief in something greater that kept them going. They feasted with kings and told stories by the firelight under the stars when it was all over—and it was never just Sam, or just Frodo, it was Sam and Frodo. 

They’d been through too much together for it to be anything else. When they returned home they fought off the remnants of evil that had chased them home to the Shire—and Frodo was war-weary, heartsick, and he wanted to go home. Yet his home was changed. The Shire had been saved for Sam, but it hadn’t been for Frodo. So he left. He left to heal, and he left to find peace. Sam was home. He wasn’t. 

    And so Sam and Frodo became just Sam again, and he endured. But that farewell was the most bittersweet he had yet endured, for it is the friendships that bear so much that are the strongest. Bonds that strong can never be broken. The entire Fellowship—it might have been ended, but it was not broken. And so they remembered, when they were alone, what they had endured—and though the end had come the beginning was just around the corner. 

    So how do you say goodbye? We have but once choice—to keep going, despite the sadness. At the end of our trip, our fellowship too had formed a bond, one too strong to be broken. And when the end came, we bade farewell regretfully, sadly, but knowing it’s not truly the end, not really. 

    So when I come home, and find it changed—or is it I who am changed?—I will not weep, for this adventure has not finished. Instead I’ll remember the good things and smile because it happened. I might not be Frodo or Sam or Aragorn or Éowyn, but I can remember their stories as I live out my own. They’re the kind of stories that stay with you forever. 

  Hope. Hope for the good times, and to endure through the hard. For a wonderful adventure, and a bittersweet ending. For good to prevail in the end. For Christ to return and redeem His people once and for all. 

    Coming home isn’t the end. It’s only the beginning. 

Isn’t this a beautiful quote?

____

Thanks for reading! If you have Thoughts, please let me know. I’d love to hear!

Namarië,

Astrya

The Sorrows of Young Werther | Part Two

  “It is decided, Lotte. I shall die, and I write this to you not in romantic fervour but calmly, on the morning of the day on which I shall see you for the last time.”

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, The Sorrows of Young Werther

    So now we have come to it—the second and last of my posts on The Sorrows of Young Werther. Prepare yourselves, for chaos shall follow, because this book is objectively chaotic, and thus my thoughts are scattered. But first, for those who have not had the redoubtable pleasure of perusing this book, I must provide a Warning.

     

SPOILERS SHALL HENCEFORTH COMMENCE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

    There, now that that’s out of the way, shall we get started?

    Chaotic is indeed an apt description for this book—as I mentioned in my last post, Goethe used part of his own life as inspiration for Werther’s lovesickness. But more than that, the sheer amount of Werther’s feelings and seeing them in full force is rather overwhelming. From the beginning, Goethe drops little hints as to what might happen at the end—and then it does. But before we get there, a little recap. 

    At the beginning of Part Two, Werther has returned home from Wahlheim, having been urged to do so by his friend Wilhelm, and has found employment with an ambassador of some sort, known as the Envoy. His mind seems to clear, and he seems far more lucid than when he was with Lotte. But he hates his job, and then a class scandal forces him to leave. He tries to go home, but finds it too changed. So, floundering in despair, he does the very thing he absolutely should not have done. 

    He goes back. 

    “—I want to be nearer Lotte, that is all,” he writes, almost a childlike plea. “And I laugh at my heart—and do its bidding” (18 June). 

    Werther you fool!! That is the worst thing to do. At all. Ever in the history of—well, ever. To borrow a quote from Gandalf, “Of all the fools in love, Werther, you are the worst!” He is cementing his own doom. Literally. Because you see, when he returns to Wahlheim, Lotte and Albert are already married. He’s just torturing himself with his obsession, and he becomes dismal, “poor company”, not at all like his former “post-Lotte” self. It even gets so bad as—well, he starts having dreams, he comes to Lotte more and more when Albert is away, content and yet the farthest thing from content when he is in her presence. 

    It’s nearing Christmas. Albert’s gone away on business again, and Lotte is home alone with her younger siblings. Werther comes two days before Christmas, and finds her wrapping gifts for the children. She tells him to leave, but when he refuses, she suggests they read some poetry together. 

    Now, this too is a horrible idea. If you’ve ever read Canto 5 of Dante’s Inferno, you would know this. Do not under ANY circumstances read love poetry with an illicit lover. Werther and Lotte, however, did not seem to think of any such consequences. Werther, being the passionate clinging fool that he is, tries to embrace Lotte. She, not certain of her feelings at all at this moment, pushed him away and demands that he not come back. This cements Werther’s decision. Heavy at heart, he returns home. Never again will he step foot over Lotte’s threshold. 

    He intents to kill himself. 

    After Albert’s return he sends his servant to ask for the loan of his pistols—for he says he’s going on a journey. At this time, this was quite a normal thing. Albert doesn’t even blink and sent the pistols. Lotte, however—she trembles, for she has some idea that something terrible is about to happen. But she says nothing, for expressing her concerns to Albert would mean telling him about the evening before. And she cannot force herself to do that.

    At around midnight, Werther’s neighbour hears a shot. But he dismisses it as thunder, and goes about his business (whatever business he might have at twelve in the morning), little aware that the volatile young man next door has just shot himself in the head. But he is not dead. No! Hours later, his servant finds him motionless on the floor, but his heart is still pumping. Albert and the doctor rush over, but there is nothing they can do. 

And this is why…

    Six hours later, Werther is dead. 

    No priest attends his funeral.

    So, you will ask, what is the point of this story? It’s dark, it’s depressing, it doesn’t make any sense—all of those are true. But I say that despite that, it is worth reading. Not only in order to learn what NOT to do, but also to learn more of human nature and to be wary. For it we’re not careful, we might find ourselves in Werther’s situation, raising Lotte and his misordered love for her (to borrow a term from Lewis) higher even then God, so that his very adoration becomes a god in itself. 

    Lewis warns against this in his Four Loves, and Werther is a perfect example—even more so then Dante (of the Divine Comedy), who in the end recognises his faults and puts an end to them. Werther succumbs to them. And as Christians, we are called to do the very opposite of what he chose to do—to place our faith and our trust and our love in God, to glorify Him in all things, and not let our emotions rule us. 

To Him be the glory!

    Whether or not this was what Goethe intended for this book, it is what I have chosen to take away from it—so that now more than ever, I can be reminded of God’s unending love and Christ’s ultimate sacrifice, so we need not be slaves to sin. 

____

What are your thoughts on Werther? Let me know what you think!

Namarië, 

Astrya    

The Sorrows of Young Werther | Part 1

 “I have so much in me, and the feeling for her absorbs it all; I have so much, and without her it all comes to nothing.”

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, The Sorrows of Young Werther

    If ever there was a single book that captured all the difficulties of young love—the sorrow, the joy, the utter despair—it is this one. In 1774, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe penned The Sorrows of Young Werther, an epistolary novel that tells of the devastating unrequited love of Werther, a young aristocrat who falls deeply and hopelessly in love with Lotte, a girl promised to another man. 

    This is the first time I’ve read this book—which is really a novella—and I have found it by turns both rapturous and yet ever sinking, down to the “depths of despair” (as Anne Shirley would say) as Werther realises more and more how hopeless his situation is. This post is the first in a series of two that I’ll be doing on this book. My intent is to go through and analyse the plot, the characters, and their motives—my intent, mind you. What might actually happen is me railing about Werther’s infatuation and Lotte’s edging him on and really how hopeless the whole affair is. But first, let’s get into a bit of context. 

    Werther was actually a sort of fictionalised autobiography of Goethe himself. Yes, that’s right—it was the author’s own lovesickness that prompted him to write this book. He was infatuated with Charlotte Buff (fine job he did disguising her name!), a sweet-tempered young woman engaged to marry a man eleven years her senior. When they eventually did marry, Goethe could stand it no longer and left. He wrote Werther in four weeks and became an overnight sensation. People loved his tale of tragic love doomed to fail! But they had no idea that it was based on his own life. Yet perhaps that was what made it—and still makes it—so appealing. 

The book may be appealing, but this picture certainly is not!

    More will come next week, with my thoughts on the (horrific!) ending and what all this romanticism really means in the context of Christianity. 

What are your thoughts on Werther’s absurd obsession? What should he do about it?

__

Namarië,

Astrya

Sibling Stories Week | The Pevensies

    Salvete! As I’ve been getting more involved in the blogging world, I’ve tried to look for other Christians who love literature as much as I do. I came across Hamlette’s Soliloquy not too long ago, and when I saw her Sibling Stories Week challenge, I decided to try it out. Of course, being a lover of all things C.S. Lewis, the Pevensies immediately sprang to mind. 

The Chronicles of Narnia was the first thing of Lewis’ that I’d ever read, and thinking of it now brings back lovely memories of sitting by the fireplace as a wee lass discovering the wonder of the world and the beauty of the allegory Lewis wove throughout his story. 

    We are all Peter, trying his best to protect his family and yet struggling to truly understand. We’re all Susan, doubting that the truth could really be so wonderful. We’re all Edmund, tempted by sin and material pleasure but eventually led to understand the tremendous sacrifice our LORD made for us. We’re all Lucy, trying to believe with childlike innocence and feeling for the first time the weight that grief holds upon us. And every one of us needs a Saviour, the Lion of Judah, who died so that we could live. If you don’t think that’s an amazing story… well then, we’ve got to talk. 

    But until then, here’s a little more about each character and their wonderful sibling dynamic. 

§ Peter

    The Magnificent

“Shadow or spirit, whatever you are, if you are from Narnia, I charge you in the name of Aslan. Speak to me! I am Peter the High King."

        The fierce protector who would die for his siblings a thousand times over. That’s Peter. He’s loyal to a fault—that fault being endangering himself for love of his family. He wants to be the shepherd who guides his flock, but he also knows that he can’t succeed alone.

§ Susan

    The Gentle

“And I really believed it was Him tonight, when you woke us up. I mean, deep down inside. Or I could have, if I’d let myself."

    Susan is quiet but nurturing. The peacemaker, the mediator, but fierce when she has to be. She would rather tend to things that grow than fight in a war, but if fighting is the only way to save her family, then she’ll go down resolute. 

§ Edmund

    The Just

“But even a traitor may mend. I have known one that did.”

    Edmund made a mistake once, and he won’t let himself be tempted ever again. After he betrayed his family, he became more loyal to them than ever. Though he’s more often snarky than serious, he won’t let anything get between him and someone he loves. 

§ Lucy

    The Valiant

“I think—I don’t know—but I think I could be brave enough.”

    Lucy is hope. She’s sunlight on golden flowers and everything that is pure. Without her, her siblings wouldn’t know Narnia. Yet despite that, she’s still humble. Her trust in them is unfailing, and her trust in Aslan is even greater. She is bold and courageous and ready to fight anything that dares oppose her. 

____

    And yet, without each other none of them would be the same. Theirs is the pure friendship of trust and love, the kind that flourishes most with hard times and rejoices with peace. 

———

What are your thoughts on the Chronicles of Narnia? Do you have any favourite literary siblings?

Namarië,

Astrya

Quote of the Month! | February Edition

 It’s hard to believe that it’s been more than a month since I started this blog. It feels like yesterday, sometimes! Well, it’s February now, and time for the second edition of the Quote of the Month. 

    My highlighted quote of today comes from J.R.R. Tolkien’s beloved epic The Lord of the Rings. (Are you surprised?) At any rate, this is not just because of my undying love for this book, but also because I just spent a week reading it in the middle of nowhere. A wondrous experience. But during this particular re-read, a few things stood out to me that hadn’t before. I won’t go into all of them here, but one in particular was how deep and wonderful the characters really are. They have true depth (at least most of them!), and I really enjoyed reading about their adventures. 

    A beautiful and beloved passage in particular was in The Return of the King, book 2, in which Faramir meets Éowyn for the first time. Their love is a true and beautiful thing, and Faramir in particular is strong and noble, while also being sweet and gentle. 

    What I really love about this entire chapter is the strength with which they both bear the oncoming Shadow, and both of their desire to forego things of war and destruction, and instead tend to beauty and light and things that grow. Such a desire glorifies God, I believe, and in the words of Thorin Oakenshield, “If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.” There’s light and beauty that no shadow can touch!

“And Éowyn looked at Faramir long and steadily; and Faramir said: ‘Do not scorn pity that is the gift of a gentle heart, Éowyn! But I do not offer you my pity. For you are a lady high and valiant and have yourself won renown that shall not be forgotten; and you are a lady beautiful, I deem, beyond even the words of the Elven-tongue to tell. And I love you. Once I pitied your sorrow. But now, were you sorrowless, without fear or any lack, were you the blissful Queen of Gondor, still I would love you. Éowyn, do you not love me?’

Then the heart of Éowyn changed, or else at last she understood it. And suddenly her winter passed, and the sun shone on her.

‘I stand in Minas Anor, the Tower of the Sun,’ she said; ‘and behold! the Shadow has departed! I will be a shieldmaiden no longer, nor vie with the great Riders, nor take joy only in the songs of slaying. I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren.’ And again she looked at Faramir. ‘No longer do I desire to be a queen,’ she said. 

Then Faramir laughed merrily. ‘That is well,’ he said; ‘for I am not a king.’…

And he took her in his arms and kissed her under the sunlit sky, and he cared not that they stood high upon the walls in the sight of many. And many indeed saw them and the light that shone about them as they came down from the walls and went hand in hand to the houses of Healing. 

And to the Warden of the Houses Faramir said: ‘Here is the Lady Éowyn of Rohan, and now she is healed.’”

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King, Chapter 5

    

    Is that not truly beautiful? We all need a Faramir in our lives, I think, to remind us that we are loved, that no darkness can hold at bay the things that truly matter—not war, but beauty, and things that grow. 

———

    What’s your opinion of Faramir and Êowyn? Do you have any other favourite moments from The Lord of the Rings? (I do, by the way). Let me know what you think!

Glory be to God!

Namarië,

 Astrya

Seller of Dreams Preview

 Greetings, everyone! You might have noticed that I already published a post today, but as I’ll be out of town next week, here’s a bonus to tie you over. 

    So, here’s a preview of a novel I’m starting. Admittedly, I had a bit of writer’s block after the prologue, but here’s what I’ve got so far. I’d appreciate some feedback, as well—the good, the bad, and the ugly. So here goes nothing…

Seller of Dreams

A novel by Astrya Wolf

Prologue

“The miserable have no other medicine, but only hope.”

William Shakespeare 

I am a fool. 

I am going to die, and I am a fool. They offered me one chance, the chance to condemn everyone I have ever loved (if a traitorous soul like mine could love) in exchange for my own life, and like a coward I took it. But I know I’ll die anyway. The Council is not one for mercy. 

Commanding Officer Cathal has demanded that I start from the beginning. Very well—I suppose I must be a proper little traitor, now, and do my part. They’ve locked me in this room (I’m feeling generous—it’s really more of a closet) equipped for battle with leaky pen and stale paper, and one command: WRITE. Well, I’ll write. But know this, Cathal. You have underestimated me. 

He’s looking over my shoulder now, yelling in my ear not to waste time. The whole story, he says, and NOW. I think he must always speak in all-caps. I hate it. I hate him. I hate everything about this place. Wherever I am.

So, the beginning. 

——

In the beginning, God created the world—

——

Officer Cathal didn’t like that. He ripped the pen from my hand and snapped it above my head. Now I have inky hair and (worst of all) I have to use a confounded pencil. At least I got ink all over Cathal when I shook my head. He was not pleased. (That’s putting it lightly.)

Now he’s yelling at me to START, ALREADY, YOU USELESS GIRL, and I guess I’ve stalled enough. Ready for the worst betrayal of my life? Good, because I’m not. Oh well. 

——

Monday, November 12th, 2491. The day of my arrest—AKA, the worst day in my life. Well, the second worst… maybe the third. It was stupid, really. I should have known better.

They caught me. 

——

“This is not the beginning,” Cathal interrupts. “We know this already.” He seems not to have sensed my sarcasm, even though I know it’s radiating from the page. 

“Fine,” I huff. “But you’re not going to like it.”

You want the real beginning? Okay. Here’s the beginning, Your Majesty Officer Cathal, really and truly this time. 

After all, I promised to tell the truth. 

——

So here I am, bearing my soul before the man who has the power to kill me. How did I get here? Well, that’s a long story. Suffice it to say, I was really, really dumb. I know better now, but it’s too late. I feel like Scheharazade, telling stories to survive. Except she wasn’t a traitor. I am. The worst kind. 

Can a traitor be redeemed?

_____

I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think. 

Namarië, 

Astrya