The Importance of Immortalization

Rowan had always been a sucker for stories. Her father was an Archivist, so perhaps her love for words was genetic. To Rowan, writing was as natural as breathing. She would spend days at a time in the Church's library, hunched over paper. Her fingers were perpetually stained with ink, her hands cramped from flying across paper. She wrote to reminder herself of who she was, and to preserve who she had been.
 
Over the years, Rowan continued to write. She no longer wrote fairytales or myths, but she still found the time to spill her soul across the pages of her journal. It had been a gift from a dear friend, and the Church had graciously allowed her to keep it.
 
The journal was Rowan's first worldly possession. She had received it on her eighteenth birthday, and kept it on her person ever since. It was comforting to have something that was purely hers. It took her weeks to use it, to actually find something important enough to record. Rowan searched feverishly for something worthy of recording, and she found it in the people around her.
 
Rowan found it easier to write when she focused on people she cared for, and so many of the girls made it into Rowan's book. Her book filled up with entries such as: a favorite prayer, a recipe for the best elderflower muffins, and a scale recently learnt on a lute. The girls came to confide in Rowan, and in turn she wrote about them.
The girls all desperately wanted to make something great of themselves, and Rowan wrote for them because she could immortalize them. Rowan could look back and remember Brigid's weaving skill, or Aquilla's love of birds, even after they had left her. It eased the raw feeling of abandonment, but it couldn't stop her from grieving.
 
Every few months, Rowan would hear that a priestess had died. Mostly the ones that went adventuring, or on mission trips. It was inevitable. Besides, it was much worse if a priestess was declared missing in action. It was harder to grieve without a body to bury, and there was no closure in knowing how they'd met their end. If a priestess was reported missing, it often meant that her traveling companions were missing as well.
 
When Dria was reported missing, Rowan went numb. Lydia was the one who found her out by the lake, tearstained letter in hand. Lydia gave her a bitter smile, and led Rowan back to the safety of the Church, cursing the Goddess under her breath. It was Lydia who went with Rowan to the funeral. Lydia was the one who sheltered Rowan from a distraught Lorena, pulling her away so that she wouldn't hear how Lorena wished that Rowan had died instead of Alexandria. It hurt, but Rowan understood.
 
That night, Rowan pleaded with the Goddess to trade Dria's life for hers. She prayed until her voice gave out, but there was no response. No special sign, no voice from the heavens, nothing at all. The Goddess simply did not answer.
 
Maybe if Rowan had been a stronger believer or a full-fledged priestess, her Goddess would've at least acknowledged her. But Rowan was eighteen, and all she could do was carry Dria's memory with her. She wrote down what she remembered, exactly how she thought Dria would've liked to be written. Rowan did what she could, and then she laid Alexandria's memory to rest.
 
Rowan still writes in her book. There's a page at the back, with names of all the priestesses that've gone missing in her lifetime. Dria's name is somewhere in the third column. And while Rowan is sad, she's hopeful that she might see Dria again.
 
Because Dria isn't dead. She's alive, somewhere in the world. It's only a matter of time before Rowan can find her.