This narrative revolves around Queen Anne Boleyn, the second wife of Henry VIII of England, whose reign was shrouded in intrigue and speculation. Some portrayed her as a sorceress who enchanted the king, leading him to break from his marriage to Cat...
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The Marquess of Pembroke harbors disdain for my chambers, a sentiment I choose to keep silent about. It's an adjustment I must make, as these quarters, though smaller, will suffice until I ascend to the throne. I find solace in the solitude, craving moments alone with my thoughts. The King's gestures of kindness are nothing but a feigned benevolence driven by his desire for an heir. He anticipates my submission, as if I were a common harlot, but I refuse to play such a role. It is he who is ensnared by his desires, not I. When the time is right, I may yield, but until then, I will not acknowledge him. Let him beg for my attention; I am scorned.
Deep wounds fester from the King's actions and our shared disagreements. I hold resentment for his choice of Jane Seymour, and a part of me wishes her demise. Even the King's life is not exempt from my vengeful thoughts. Though my feelings border on treason, haunting memories of the Tower persist in my dreams. I long to forget, to erase those tormenting images, burdened by my own shame.
Today, I dismiss my ladies, asserting my capability to care for myself. The King continues to send morning gifts, left unopened, as they arrive as if I were his mistress. He yearns for a return to the past, for me to resume the role of his paramour. I remain silent, deeply wounded by the King's actions. I grieve for my lost children; had I borne a son initially, fate might not have condemned me to the Tower. My own greed played a role in this tragedy, and I acknowledge my fault in this sorrowful tale. The promise I made set cruel wheels in motion.
As evening approaches, I awaken from my slumber. Preparing a bath, my stomach untouched by hunger, I summon a feast of French wine, cakes, potatoes, fruits, rice, meats—everything one could desire. Yet, my appetite remains dormant. Disrobing, I immerse myself in the warm bath, enveloped by the fragrance of honey. The roaring fire fills the room with comforting crackling sounds. In this room, at this moment, I reclaim my power.
I am at peace.
•۞•
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A new attendant, Isabelle, enters my chambers with a welcoming smile. "My lady," she greets, noting the bath. Standing by the tub, she gracefully drapes a towel over her arm. "There's no need to linger, Isabelle; I am perfectly capable," I assure her. Isabelle nods, her tone respectful. "Yes, but the King has entrusted me with your care. It is my duty, my lady." I respond with a warm smile and continue with my bath.
