Two Tudor Thieves

The Author

"Nothing!" Anne put her hands up defensively.

"Did you write in the book?"

"No."

"STOP LYING TO ME!" The Author lost it for a second, and she had good reason to.

When Anne didnt say anything more The Author grabbed the book from the older woman's lap.

When The Author saw the splotch of ink on one of the pages she fixated her gaze on Anne, who stood. She wasn't sure what to do, Anne could see the anger in The Authors eyes, but she still didnt know why this was such a big deal. "Why is this such a problem? It's only a little ink."

"But it's not only a little ink!" The Author was still yelling and the other queens had gathered in the doorway to watch –Kitty had just gotten home, and the others were in the living room before they heard yelling– they were surprised, for this was the first time they had witnessed The Author like this.

"What happened?" Jane asked, inserting herself between the two women.

The Author took a breath, but it did little to calm her bubbling anger, "Why don't you ask your cousion?"

Anne looked at Jane, "No one died!"

"But people are going too." The Author looked away for a second.

"What?" Anne frowned, not sure if she understood what the younger woman was saying.

    "I asked you to follow one simple rule," The Author looked at the other queens, "and you failed to do that, and now... now there are going to be dire consequences."

    "I barely wrote anything." Anne crossed her arms, "I didnt even write a full word."

    "But, Anne, it's not about that." This was the first time The Author used Anne's first name. The Author turned her gaze to the young queen, "You used the ink, you used the quill. And now... I don't even know what's going to happen!"

    "What were you trying to write?" Cathy stepped into the small room.

    Anne locked eyes with Kitty, "I wanted something better for us."

    "And there you go breaking two of my rules!" The Author closed the book and looked at the cover. The rose that was almost fully formed was now fading, the letters were gone as well.

The Author crossed her arms, she could feel herself slipping from this world, Anne had made a grave mistake, and it would come back to bite her in the ass. The Author didnt know what would happen to this world now, she didnt know what would happen to her. But she knew that she no longer had power over the book.

Now, dear reader, you can probably tell that I did not die. Because I am still writting. I don't mean to take away from the plot, but a few things need explaining.

First, the ink: The ink the quill uses is very special. And only an Author is allowed to write with it. When Anne used the ink, that broke a third of the Writers Code.

Second, the pages: The pages of a book are unique, every book has different pages, and every page is different. The ink connects with each page, making what was written history, you could call it. And you cant change history. At least, not entirely. When Anne tried to write with the intention of changing history, she broke another rule. Now we have two-thirds of the code broken.

To break one part of the code is dangerous, but two-thirds... my, my. that... well, that has only been some to do that, and... you guessed it! They are dead.

Third, Anne herself: Anne is a character, even though she is based on the Tuor queen, she is still part of the fictional realm. When Anne touched the quill, it had already begun to break.

Brake what? You might ask, and the answer to that, dear reader, is the story itself.

When a story begins to break you have very little time, a story will literally collapse in on itself, erasing its pages, becoming only existent in memory. Now, no one knows what happens to the characters, for a story has never done this before. At least, there's no record.

Whether that's because Authors before me have been smarter, or because they where killed as their book collapsed, we will never know. But what we do know is that, well, Anne has broken every single rule the Writers Code has in place. Making the destruction of this story inevitable, and there's nothing that can be done.

At this time I –The Author– could not leave. I knew that my life was at risk, but it was more dangerous to leave. If I were to leave I could get stuck between the pages, a realm between fiction and reality, a void of nothingness, just endless space, a space that no one has ever escaped from.