Two Tudor Thieves

Anne Boleyn

Anne never meant to make it such a mess, she never thought that it would go this far. It was her fault, she had used the quill, it was her fault. She just stood there, sorry, searching for something to say. And in the end, words failed, words fail and there was nothing she could say to undo what she had done. Anne just- she just thought she could be a part of this, she never had this kind of thing before, she had never had that perfect girl. Anne looked at Cathy, who could somehow see the good part of her.

Anne never had a dad who stuck it out, no corny jokes or baseball gloves, no Mom who was just there cuz Mom was all that she had to be. She knew this wasn't a worthy explanation, there was none. Nothing can make sense of all these things she's done.
Words fail, there's nothing she could say except sometimes you see everything you always wanted and sometimes everything you wish you had and it's right there in front of you and you want to believe it's true. So you make it true. And you think maybe everybody wants it, and needs it a little bit too.

This was just a sad invention it wasn't real. But Anne had been happy for the first time in, well, a while. She just couldn't let that go she just couldn't give that up, Anne guessed she wanted to believe it, cuz if she just believed then she didnt have to see what was really there. She'd rather pretend she was something better than these broken parts, pretend she was something better than this mess that she was. Then she wouldn't have to look at it and nobody got to look at it, and no one can really see her.

Anne had always gone to slam on the break before she even turned the key. Before she made the mistake before she lead with the worst of her. She never let them see the worst of her, because what if everyone saw? What if everyone knew? Would they like what they saw? Or would they hate it too? Could she keep running away from what's true? All she ever did was run. so how could she step into the sun?

The other queens began to argue and Anne put her head in her hands, she just didnt have the energy to hold it together. This was her fault, she had just wanted to help and now they were all in danger. Everyone, everyone in this horrid, excuse for a world, The Author was gone, the quill broken, the book close to disappearing like its writer had.

No one knew what was going to happen, would they survive? Or disappear forever? It was her fault, she had put them all in danger, and she was the one who hurt them. And now there was no going back.