On my thirteenth birthday, my father presents me with a suit of armour. I thank him out of duty, but my words do not match what’s in my heart. If only he could have given me a dress of scarlet silk in the latest fashion of the French Court.
Every night I pray that I’ll wake up a woman, but my prayers go unanswered. The priests would say the Almighty doesn’t make mistakes.
Tomorrow, I will visit the Apothecary and ask if he has a magical potion to unshackle me from the chains that bind me to the wrong body.
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Friday Fictioneers: 100 word stories
Photo Prompt: image © C. Hase
Sarah Potter Writes 