⋆.ೃ࿔* Confession ⋆.ೃ࿔*

It is I, Saint Hilda of Whitby, regent of the White Abbey. I have something to tell after fourteen centuries of silence and maintaining an untarnished image in the eyes of society.

Please sit down; the story is rather long, and if you are a believer, you may no longer feel any affinity for me.

I am a princess, the last of my royal house. My parents died and left me to my fate in a world where alliances and mistrust are the only tools for reaching old age. Although I was taken to close relatives, that did not mean they loved me or would care for me with noble intentions.

Knowing who my parents were, they would marry me off to some man of convenience, since my only value was my title and the offspring I would bear if I weren't sterile. It's important to clarify here that my gender is what kept me alive.

Edward V and Richard of Shrewsbury were twelve and nine years old, respectively, when history swallowed them up. Rumors come and go, but we all know the truth. They were still young, and even if they had had a tutor growing up, sooner rather than later they would have lost their innocence to the plots and betrayals of those around them.

At that point in history, I was elsewhere, living in another body and enjoying more freedom than I had under the name of Hilda. No marriage, no children, and a solid reputation as a saint. Did it cost me to maintain that mask? Of course it did, but it was necessary for my peace of mind and freedom.

The limited scope of action and thought I attained was under monastic cloaks and, later, with the rank of abbess, the highest in the Catholic hierarchy. I had to organize people under my roof, spread the word of the Lord, and, according to scripture, offer advice and hope that everything would turn out well.

Cosmic time has shown that this earth is not all there is. The seasons I spend outside my body, one life after the next, confirm this.

The supposed serpents I turned to stone are nothing more than evidence of a life form that predates the one we came to know in my time as the daughter of Hereric and Breguswīþ. Dragons allied with the Prince of Darkness? Not at all! They are theropod bones taken out of context.

1368 years of the world without the patron saint of learning and culture. 1368 cycles of the four seasons, some colder or warmer than the last.