Role

Chapter 3

It was hours later when Apsalareia gasped awake, shooting upright in her seat and glancing around. She had been sleeping face-down on the table, hardly the pose of a lady, but thankfully the room remained empty.
Yet that was not what caught her notice. As her lids lifted and her vision became clear, she was gazing unerringly at one particular book, a book she had never seen before.
Worn and battered, it was a small tome, a handbook or journal easily stored and showing the marks of travel. Upon the cover, a single image held pride of place, a sleek jaguar in mid-pounce.
It was as if it was another's hand that reached out and took up that book, a motion Apsalareia did not register as her own until she held it in her palms. As she began to read, that spark within her chest sang, a string plucked to accord.

When they found her, she was deep into her second reading, the tenets and ideals of Baerinika Jaguar spinning through her mind. "Lady Apsalareia."
A male voice, one of the personal guardsmen of her mother. "Lady Apsalareia. Your carriage is waiting."
"My carriage? Verily, what could you mean," she asked, perplexed and, she had to admit, a tad annoyed at the interruption.
"At your mother's will, your belongings are packed and your carriage awaits, to take you unto the Monastery of Moudrilar. A penned missive awaits you within."
As her mouth fell open, the guardsmen helped her to her feet with a grip that was gentle, but firm. There was no pomp, no ceremony. The Lady Apsalareia was hustled through a side door, away from prying eyes.
As the nondescript carriage rolled away from the palace, she found she was still clutching the weathered journal in her hands, the eyes of that fierce, unbowed jaguar looking up at her.

The trip to this... monastery, was a long one. She was not a prisoner, per se, but it certainly felt that way.
Day after day passed, with little to do beyond stare out the windows. Or recite her mother's missive in her head over and over.
Passages kept coming back at her, like thrown spears when she least expected. "Unbecoming behavior." "Lack of dignity."
"Gain perspective." "Learn the way of peace." It had been one long condemnation, and an ultimatum.
She would be allowed to return when she had learned the lessons of Moudrilar well.

So it was that as they halted at the foot of a mountain pass and were met by a monk in simple robes, she boiled with frustration.
The man seemed pleasant enough, and the smile he offered her was gentle, but nevertheless she clasped her jaguar journal like a talisman.
She had seen evidence of violence along the way here, bodies left along the road, looted wagons and scattered belongings.
It was not tranquility that suffused her as she followed the monk upwards into seclusion. Each and every step felt like a betrayal.
It felt, very much, like a cage.