Daughter of Albion

Chapter 1

"Who was she?" The man paused, repeating the journalist's question slowly.

He sat in a tacky, overstuffed grey armchair, his hands resting on his knees. A fire blazed in the fireplace beside him and cast great shadows upon the flaxen wall behind him. Half of his angular face was cast in the darkness. The journalist sitting across from him edged closer to see his face from a better angle.

"She was freedom. She was fire and ash. She burned with passion. Her name was Alexandra, and she was my mother."

***

I stand in the great hall, where we usually eat our supper or sort bullets into the correct boxes. Long tables stretch from one side of the room to the other, and light-grey curtains hang from the ceilings, parted to show the barren, ash-covered landscape outside.

Today the room is bare. Heavy iron blinds cover the windows and set the room in darkness. Only a few yellow bulbs that hang from the ceiling illuminate the space.

We stand in rows. Ten rows of fifty girls. We're dressed in our uniforms: long, grey, felt skirts wrapped tightly around our waists, with light-grey blouses made of airy linen tucked into them.

We wear black ties, socks, and shiny shoes. Ribbons pull our straight blond hair back tightly. Before us stand our teachers and the Masters.

It's the first time I've ever seen a Master. They're taller than I expected, taller than us by far. They keep their blond hair cropped short, and their sharp, angular faces shaved clean.

There are five of them in the hall with us. They stand with straight backs in traditional grey suits, their arms held behind their backs.

Our teachers quickly move to the back of the hall. They blush slightly, intimidated by the power of these men.

The Masters sit down on the small stage in old plastic chairs, facing us. They hold papers in their hands, paper, and pens.

Behind the Masters hangs the Eternal Albion flag. I feel a certain surge of pride when I see the flag hanging behind our Masters. At the same time, I feel butterflies in my stomach.

It's spectacular. A grey background tainted with red embers, and in the centre, a red phoenix.

It's a representation of us, the people of Albion. We are the people of the ashes. We have risen as a great power from the ashes that our forefathers buried us in.

As silence envelops the room, I am reminded this is the moment that will define the rest of my life.

This is the day I've been preparing for my whole life. This is my time to prove to my people that I'm worthy of being a Perfect, worthy of my country and that I will serve it until the day I die, proudly.

I'm one of the youngest in my generation, so I stand in the last line, closest to the locked windows.

It's the last day of Testing, and all those girls in the other lines have already been tested, and have become Perfects, and now they're waiting for us so we can all go to the establishments together.

They look at us encouragingly, as if they've aged five years, as if they are already Albion mothers.

After what seems like forever, one of the Masters looks up at our line. He peers at us closely and then turns to his list. He clears his throat; it's the loudest sound in the room, and everyone tenses.

"Numbers 958,687,487.64.3 to 987,533,512.64.5," he says. "Please wait outside the room until your number is called. The rest of you are dismissed."

There's a shuffle of feet, and then we all place our fists over our hearts and face our flag. We swear our lives to the flag proudly. Then the girls who have already become Perfects leave the room silently.