Anne Boleyn Again

Return of The Boleyns

Anne Boleyn strode up towards the door that would take her to the place where she was made and unmade. Where she was loved and rejected. Where she used and was used. Inhaling deeply, she flipped back her hood and let her dark hair flow freely across her shoulders. Her dress was Tudor green with gold and obsidian embroideries. And, on her neck, she wore her signature 'B' necklace. Everything about her gave off the air of power, confidence, and beauty.

"Open the door." She ordered the guards. The heavy oak and iron doors opened like a gaping maw, revealing the teeth of the court.

"Miss Anne Boleyn!" A herald announced. Anne smiled as she gazed around the room. Everywhere, there were stunned faces. But that wonder quickly turned to hatred.

"The Whore of England returns! She dares?" A courtier said. Hands reached towards her, then quickly pulled away as two guards came to flank her.

"Thank you, boys, but I can cover this myself." Anne said, as though they were her bodyguards. With flair, she slipped off her ermine and red velvet cloak and let it pool to the ground. The court gasped as they saw her back. They gasped as they saw her scar.

"It is not so easy to kill a Queen. I escaped death once. I did it again. And now, I shall do it here!" Anne cried.

Seconds later, trumpets heralded the arrival of the King. He stepped into the room, Queen Jane Seymour at his side, and his eyes immediately settled on her. On his ex-wife. His ex-Queen. "Anne." He whispered, then he became louder, "Anne Boleyn! You dare show your face here, in court again?!" He's acting, it's obvious by the look in his eyes. There's a sparkle and a gleam of lust in them. Anne smiles and thinks, Proves that he's in love with me. He can try to chase me, but I won't fall for him again. The court whispers as he descends the steps until he is right in front of her.

"I've missed you, Anne." He says in a whisper so quiet only she could hear.

"Can't say I felt the same." Anne replies, cockily, "And where will I stay? Not the Queen's rooms. And certainly not the servants' chambers. His Majesty is obviously kinder and more merciful than that!" She says it loud and clear so that the entire court hears it, forcing Henry to allow a such thing.

~That Evening...~

"I'm turning in." Anne whispers to the nobleman next to her, "If anyone asks, tell them I-" She wiggles her fingers magically. "-disappeared."

The man mumbles something indiscreetly.

"Try not to drink too much." Anne chuckles and places her goblet of wine in his hand and strides away. It is still full.

"Anne!" Henry VIII calls after the woman he once loved. She turns around, frowning.

"Anne." He says, more quietly. He approaches her slowly, cautiously, as though she were some wild animal in need of taming. To be honest, she probably was. He brushed his fingers against the sleeve of her dress.

"I forgot you had such elegant, long fingers, my lady."

"I'm not surprised. You found another woman's hands, after all. And now she adorns them with the ring you gave me."

"Anne, I couldn't marry you! Not when you were whoring about with some random men of my court! You caused me harm. You hurt me!" He whined.

"And you thought to kill me? You're a murderer with innocent blood on your hands. You kill whomever displeases you. You kill whomever doesn't concede to your idiotic rules. Your ups and downs. God above! Only the Lord knows how many innocent people you killed for your cruel, selfish needs. No, not needs, your cruel, selfish wants, Henry!!" Anne growled.

"A murderer with innocent blood on my hands?!" He cried.

"Yes, you bastard!" Anne replied, angrily.

"I am no bastard! I am a royal son. A Prince, a King, God on Earth! I am from the royal houses of Lancaster and Tudor. I have sons coursing through my veins. But you- You witch! You were infertile! A cold, lifeless carrier. You were the one with innocent blood on your hands. You killed my heirs and you ripped England apart for your stupid Reformist beliefs! You forced me to kill those Catholics, those that were loyal!!" He ranted.

Suddenly, he grabs Anne's wrists and throws her into the wall.

"You don't get to blame me for anything." He seethed, his mouth so close to her ear that his breath brushed across her hair. She trembled ever so slightly, afraid of what he might do to her. Not in the way of arrest and execution, but in a much more intimate way.

"Get out. Go away!" He shouted. Hurriedly, Anne gathered up her skirts and ran from the hallway to her chambers. There, she collapsed onto her bed and let the dam fall. The tears flowed endlessly. Tears of pain, anger, sorrow, and fear. She let her emotions leave her until, at last, she was an empty shell again.

"God have mercy on my tormented soul." She whispered. Moments later, the door creaked open, the torches from the hall illuminating the broken ex-Queen curled up on the bed. Two silhouettes filed in.

"What do you want now?" Anne asked, mistaking the figures to be the King.

"Oh my God. The King invited you, too?" A familiar voice questions.

"We are the Three Boleyns again." Another familiar voice added, this one distinctly male. As more light filled the room and Anne's eyes adjusted, she recognized the strangers. George Boleyn and Mary Boleyn. At last, the once inseparable trio were together again.The Three Boleyns, indeed.