Life Recreated

Mary

1

PART I: England's   Crisis 

Mary took her leave. Mary always took her leave whether you gave it to her or not. Simply didn't care, the rude brat. Riches and beauty, spoils of the gods. Though Mary just did not give for such nonsense of high tea and social gatherings. A waste of time, invaluable or valueless a person should not suffer the company of old men lusting after a wife. Men holding titles, acting the savages. She came bolting out the great hall like a witch's gush, the massive wooden doors swinging open at a gentlewoman's touch. Her thin arms didn't look like it, but she was quite strong. and her bony legs could kick your groin so hard, she'd make you an eunuch. As she had done to Sir Mapel not a moment previously. kicked him so hard, she could swear she heard his voice go soft like a maiden's giggle. Mary ran up the stairs to where she could hide from her father. A linen closet, a secret. Sir Mapel, a beastie man with buggy eyes and a needle nose had cried, and her father, would, if not already, run after her and beat her bloody for it. But she didn't care. It was well worth it. A good beating had not been new to her, as she had suffered at her father's hands often for acting out. 'Acting out,' she thought along her quick journey to the third floor. a simple phrase to justify her broken lip.  Though she knew better. 'acting like myself,' that is what she had done. Mary had two sisters. Silsi, and Anne. 'there, two perfectly well behaved ladies.' she thought. But she was the eldest, thus much was expected from her. Marry a rich man, worthy of her family name. bear a child, exceeding both in wealth and in grace. 'we'll have a better chance at the throne,' her father explained. the english throne was all he could think of. Afteral Mary was expected to be a Queen, someday. Yet, what her father failed to realise is, there were at least four people in better order to uphold any royal rights. Sir Mapel, informer to the King had came to conspire. Rally up your men, and fight the Yorks. Then Mary had a clear shot to reign. For a moment, she wished to be the queen. Only then could she punish those whom had wrong her. 

Finally, as she had reached the third floor, her father had caught up. Mary felt a tug at her sleeve, then at her hair, which stopped her. Hard, sturdy hands whirled her around, and mad, pale eyes looked into her lilic ones. She could hear him shout, and raising his hands in gestures. And then he came down upon her. Darkness came to Mary.