December’s Demise
December Montgomery-Bell stood in anguish deeper and darker than the very depths. Her only love, her only meaning, had perished in the battle of yesterday. She paused, tried to remember despite the pain. What brought her here? To this terrible place where death with no mercy reigns? She sank down slowly onto the only piece of furniture in that homely asylum, a cot of useless worth. Slowly, slowly, it was all coming back. The total sum of her despair consumed her. December sat back and remembered, took up her pen, and began to write.
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Camelot, 1642
“It was in the heat of the battle, with swords clashing overhead as December watched from her high tower window. Her eyes followed one tall knight, as he slay tens of thousands with his mighty sword. As she watched, he seemed to be conquering all – wait! With a mighty clash of the enemy’s sword, he fell to the ground. To the enemy, he was just another of the dead and the dying. But to December, the upheaval her heart made tumbled her soul into the very depths, where she now remains. Her sudden grief and shock was so much so tears were not enough. Her face was ivory white to the lips as she sat in shocked horror. It seemed like hours but was only minutes. Minutes that would change her life, and Jess’s, forever. “‘I must go…to Jess.’” December managed to inform her maid. “‘No, Ma’am, you mustn’t, a bloody battlefield is no place for a lady! Especially not one of your class!’” Her maid warned. You must not risk your life over an everyday, regular, humdrum peasant boy!’” December’s azure eyes flashed. “’How dare you insult him!! How dare you insult him with such vulgarity!’?” She swept her royal red cape over her silky chocolate curls. “’I am going no matter what you say about it!
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December closed her eyes in immense pain. How cruel life is! She glanced around the cold, stone walled cell through dark lashes trimmed in tears. “’ Do I even want to remember the rest?’” She thought. “’It’s so…painful.’” She dreaded even the thought. But, her trial was tomorrow. There the unmerciful judges would surely choose death. How, December wondered. By drowning? The rack? Crucifixion? Surely nothing quick, or merciful, for a prisoner of war such as she was. December took up her pen in her long slender fingers, and began to write.
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“December dashed out the tower’s doors and paused, dumbstruck, by the horror of battle. Such blood she had never seen! She shivered, tossing her chocolate curls, and dashed through the men, most of whom were either dead or dying. Cape flying out behind her as her tears streamed steadily, she found Jess on the ground, alone. She knelt beside him, sobbing. December gathered him into her arms and held him. There was so much that she could have said, but she just held him, silently. And waited. But waited for what? Judging by the stab wound in his chest, he was not long for this world. But still, she could hope. So she waited. With the battle cries all around, the bugles sounding, swords clashing, and the thunder rumbling in the distance, she should have been scared. But she did not give a thought to herself, only to Jess. After what seemed like an eternity, his eyes fluttered open. The first thing he saw was December’s alabaster brow and curls against the cloudy grey sky. “’Em? Ember? Is that…you? Jess tried to pick his head up, and failed miserably. December broke into a tear misted smile. His voice, though weak, was the most beautiful sound in the world to her at that moment. “’ Oh, Jess, I’m so glad you’re going to be alright!’” Jess’s green eyed countenance grew suddenly dark. “’Ember, Darling, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.’” “’But, you have to be OK, look at you, you look fine. You just need to get some color back, and dry up that blood on your chest and you’ll be fine, right? Right?’” A tear rolled down December’s cheek. “’Jess?’” Jess swallowed hard. “’ December, I don’t know about that right now. Just know that I will love you until the great Atlantic dries up, until the sunrise is no more, until my dying breath. Your eyes are the color of a fresh spring sky, azure, with a hint of winter sparkle still in them. Your hair is a cornucopia of chocolaty warmth and shine, the hue of fresh baked fudge, except without the nuts. Your cheeks are of a shade you stole from the sunset. Your alabaster brow, so….alabastery. And your lips remind me of the first blossomed June roses of Damascus.’” December let out a little cry. Jess’s face was drained of color as he reassured her of his undying love for her, and reminded her to stay strong, as the battle cries and bugles, flashing swords and screams, echoed around them. But they never heard them. They were oblivious to anything but each other. December bowed her head over Jess, and her dark curls fell over his pale face and the bloody wound in his chest. Her tears came in torrents, as he silently spent his last moments in her arms. The battle slowly ended, the enemy retreated; all was silent, and all was lost. In the midst of the dead and the dying, under the sorrowful drizzle, with December’s arms around him, Jess Montmorency breathed his last.
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She wiped her tears aside, trying to convince herself that the events of yesterday were irrelevant now. But no matter how hard she tried, she could never forget Jess. Never. Again, with all of her remaining strength, she pressed her pen to the paper, and wrote from her heart.
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“’As December lay mourning for Jess, on that deserted battlefield of the heart, she could not hear the enemy’s footsteps behind her. Suddenly, they were upon her, dragging her away from Jess’s body. She fought, kicked, and screamed as they dragged her into their cart and shackled her hand and foot. December sobbed under the drizzle, which was as if it was mourning for Jess, too. She watched him until he vanished from sight, she felt as if she had left her heart on that battlefield, clasped in his arms.”
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She tried to wipe away the tear marks which smudged her tragic epistle; she must leave it behind for someone to find, for the jury had announced that she would be drowned at dawn. She rose from her cot, and walked to one of the stone walls. Her face expressionless, tears streaming down, she found and removed a small stone from the wall. December folded the document and placed it inside the small crevice. She put the stone back in place. The tower would keep her secret.
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The next sunrise, as she was marched out to be drowned as a prisoner of war, innocent, yet found guilty by those not her own, as she was chained, as she was sinking desperately into the darkest depths of the Atlantic, her only thoughts were of Jess, and his ultimate sacrifice for his country, fairest Camelot. Her final wish as she sank down, dying, was that she could be permitted to die with half the courage that Jess did.
