Priestess of The Moon

Chapter 1

Almost all the kingdoms in the East, from Tang kingdom, which I serve, to Heian kingdom, and Goryeo kingdom, have something called the Priestess of the Moon. Sometimes they go by different names, Daughter of the Moon, Child of the Moon, or Messenger of the Moon, but when you go back in history books to read about them, you see that they all live very similar lives, bound by the four rules that tie them together.

That's besides the point, though. I've read so many dust ridden books on Priestesses and their fate that I've grown sick of it. No matter how the girls try, they can't change their fate. I mean, how would they? They are nothing but tools for Emperors to use for their kingdom.

If they ever tried anything such as escaping, they would be found and brought back to live in a more restricted life with more security. There would be no change in the system, although it would be slightly inconvenient to find them. That was what we were always informed of when we were children: if we ever tried to leave our life as priestesses, we would only see how much freedom we had taken for granted priorly.

I remember how when I was four and I thought everyone's lives consisted of one big room in the palace, with tutors, advisors, and old people telling whatever they could to help my future. They taught me what information they knew, of the past, of war and alliances, of political marriages and jealous concubines, of competing heirs and heiresses, and I was tasked with the job of keeping everything in check.

How did I know normal four-year-olds were outside, under the blue skies, flying kites and eating sugar-coated hawthorn berries? Not looking at the stars all night with the Emperor's whole council gathered around me.

If only I had known. No, if only I had lived a life like that.

There was a sudden knock on my door. I nearly jumped at the sound—it wasn't time for dinner, yet, so it must be a messenger. With a sigh I quickly closed my calligraphy book before asking,

"What is it?"

"Tonight His Majesty and his council will be coming. Please ready the preparations."

"Thank you for the message." I opened my calligraphy book once more and picked up the brush. Then I looked outside the door again. I felt as though I didn't hear the sound of the messenger leaving.

"Is there anything else you need?"

There was silence on his end. This was strange, usually messengers—no, everyone, really—left after accomplishing their job, whether it was relaying a message or giving me my dinner.

"Yes," the voice replied. "I was wondering, Priestess, may I enter the room?"

I frowned. This was not the first time a commoner had dared to defy the rules of the Tang Kingdom and go against His Majesty. Occasionally there would be a man coming to ask me about his luck in the next battle, those would be the cowards who, depending on my answer, would forgo their next battle if they would die, or go only if their battles showed promise.

Other times it would be a poor servant coming to beg me to tell me whether or not their sickly daughter or ailing lover was close to death. I always told them the truth, in pity or in responsibility I did not know. They would thank me if it was good, and try to change what future I saw if it was bad.

I never lied and told them fate could not be changed.

If it could, I wouldn't be here.

I turned back to the door and said what I always said.

"Who are you? You should know the room of the Priestess is sacred and only those granted access by the Emperor may enter." My tone was strict enough to scare away those who feared for their lives, but occasionally there were some desperate enough that they didn't care whether they lived or died.