Exactly four-hundred and nine days had passed since her arrest, and summary trial. She had looked up at the vast tally marks that she had scratched into the old brickwork, counting every day. Imprisonment for life. At least that is the sentence the representative of the King had passed down, subject to good behaviour and an assessment by her former colleagues as to whether her research really posed a threat to the Kingdom. 

They would make up whatever they wanted, she explained the sum of her research at the trial, not divulging the methods or where the journal had been hidden. There was no guarantee that they would even rely on it, rumours where, Alchemists arrested for such crimes, had their journals destroyed for certain transgressions, to hide that it was possible. A travesty, science would always push forward, their refusal to recognise progress, their refusal to recognise her for who she truly was, that was the nature of the Kingdom. The King, everything had to bow to his authority and vision, people who did not conform to that were nuisances at best and treasonous enemies at worse. 

She picked herself up from he corner of the cell, another solace of her imprisonment was the respect other prisoners gave her, the glint of dignity, of using the name she had asked them to call her by, “Julis.” She smiled, turning her attention to the small desk that was afforded to those in this prison. She grabbed the journal they permitted her to have, opening it up to a page, outlining her musings on some of things she had heard the others talk about. “Immortality and the Philosophers Stone…” the twin goals, seen as the pinnacle of alchemy,  and the rumour was that the King was searching for answers on both, and that those two things, were why some of the Alchemists were locked up in this place. Julis made a point to learn what she could about her fellow inmates, they were in an isolated prison, kept away from everyday criminals. 

A prison for Alchemists, a place in which the exchange of knowledge festered, something the guards could barely manage. While access to certain materials was restricted, as to stop an alchemist from putting together the correct chemical combinations to orchestrate an escape; it was one reason the work program was ended. She had heard tales of an alchemist, who once they had access to salts, vinegar and a few other key ingredients in the kitchen was able to create a bomb and came very close to blasting their way out the prison. The Warden after that, decided it was better to let these prisoners discuss their craft, sketching out ideas of bits of napkin and journals provided, satiate their intellectual appetites, a distraction from what they were fully capable of.

 Anyone could see this prison for what it truly was, a think-tank for rogues and dissidents, the level of comfort they found had them openly talking about overthrowing the monarchy and its stranglehold over what was right. She chuckled slightly at the thought, looking through her notes, the various hypotheticals of how one would make a Philosopher’s Stone, nothing concrete. She tilted her head back, before she heard a knock against the metal door. The bang snapping her out of the focus she had achieved. 

“Prisoner Seven-hundred and Seventy-nine, the Warden would like to see you.” The guard called out, as they inserted the key to the lock and turned it, the mechanism that sealed her cell moving with a loud thunk. The hinges creaked as it was dragged open, and the guard gestured to her “Will you follow me?” 

She followed the guard through the halls of the prison, the transition between the cell blocks  and the administrative wing extremely noticeable as the worn brick-work was replaced with immaculate wooden panelling, with silver fittings for the lighting. The contrast, reinforcing the desired oppression of the prison. The guard then opened the double doors into the wardens office, gesturing. 

“Would you kindly enter?” The guard ordered in the form of a question. 

Julis raised an eyebrow, suspicious of what was going on, curiosity compelled her to enter however, just to find out why the Warden had summoned her. She stepped in, pulling on the front of the shirt provided slightly. The Warden was a gaunt and ghostly figure, almost looking like a skeleton behind the desk, almost bald if not the thinning bits of grey at the edges of his scalp. He then spoke, his voice sounded like he ate gravel as some form of porridge. “Welcome Prisoner Seven-hundred and Seventy-nine, or …” he uttered a name, making Julis dissociate for a moment “Or would you prefer to be referred to the name you have chosen for yourself?” 

Julis returned to the moment, looking at him in the eyes. “Julis, it isn’t a preference, it is a requirement. I will ignore you, for any indignity you decide to subject me to.” 
 
She stared at the warden, other wardens could delude themselves with the idea they were rehabilitating their inmates, the man that stood before her, couldn’t even do that, an unapologetic jailor of enemies of the crown, her perceptions of the man already made up. She then snapped at him “What do you want?” 

The Warden spoke up, pressing his fingers together. “I am here to make you an offer, it comes directly from his glorious Majesty.”

She flinched at the last set of words before making eye-contact with him once more, trying to ascertain the level of sincerity. “His Majesty, wishes to extend an offer of amnesty to the one accused of using alchemy to transcend the boundaries of gender, if you carry out a task for him, his advisors all tell me, they were willing to lean on various people to get your identity recognised.” 

She scowled, is this what it had come to, recognition in return for being an obedient lapdog to the Crown, the freedom however was the more tempting prospect in all of it. A thought that crossed her mind, was how could she trust the Crown, where they not responsible for the basis of her arrest. She recalled the list of crimes listed at her trial, the most pertinent one, treason against the holy basis of the Crown, on the basis of making alchemic transgressions against nature, an absolute bullshit offence used by the prosecution to secure her conviction. 

She then spoke up, “What is the task?”

The Warden grinned, she had already exceeded his expectations. He expected her to storm out without even asking for details. He parted his fingers, placing those spindly things on a sheet of paper turning it around and then turning it around and pushing it forward towards her. “These are the details, due to a disparity with how the Government recognises you and the identity you have chosen for yourself, the leadership of the Crown Alchemists believe you to be the perfect candidate to assist them in the search for the Philosopher’s Stone, a clandestine operation. His majesty needs plausible deniability if the findings are not satisfactory.”

She broke her gaze to him, refocusing on the page before her. The directive, nice and tidy from being typed up in contrast to the erratic scribbling she was used to. She scanned the contents of the page, taking it all in, scrutinising the vague wishes of the egomaniac. She then faked a cough, speaking up once more, “Who the fuck, is the King to make this offer. You will find, that my crimes pale in comparison to the atrocities that have been ordered in his name. I think you will find, that I am in fact a prisoner of conscience, like most of the prisons here. We sought nothing but knowledge and improvements of people’s lives, my research caused no harm…”

She stopped herself, the rage slowly boiling up to the surface, considering what it would mean to be free of this prison. Amnesty, the chance to be able to grab the research and bolt, hop across the border and continue her work elsewhere. It would just be a matter of planning from there on out. She then planted a finger down onto the directive that was placed before her, she grinned slightly with her plot in mind. “I will be more than happy to accept this task, for his Majesty. However, I do have some personal conditions for it, which I think everyone involved will find more than reasonable.”