𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓼 𝓞𝓯 𝓘𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮

​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇼​​🇴​​🇷​​🇩​​🇸​ ​🇴​​🇫​ ​🇩​​🇪​​🇦​​🇹​​🇭​

The Countess of Wiltshire, a pivotal figure in the intricate web of destiny, orchestrated the support network for her daughters to ensnare the monarch in a true marriage. She epitomizes the embodiment of my troubles, queries, and apprehensions. The Countess gave birth to her own monsters.

The Boleyn family exudes malevolence, and standing before Anne Boleyn's mother, I am at the forefront of their schemes. Despite the discomfort prickling my skin, I maintain a facade of strength, refusing to show any signs of weakness. They are ambitious thieves, pilfering my father's riches and trading their integrity for worldly treasures—fame, fortune, and a tainted royal lineage. In stark contrast, the Countess exudes an air of purity, as if she were descended from God Himself. If I had my way, I would guide her towards genuine faith, rooted in the Word of God, rather than the alluring but heretical doctrines they espouse. I will not allow the devil to infiltrate my mind; I will resist his temptations with all my might.

As the Countess draws nearer, her presence looms over me, her expression smug and self-assured. Clad in noble attire, her dark eyes fix upon me, and her lips part to utter my name, sending a shiver down my spine. "Mary Tudor," she says, her tone pleasant yet unpredictable. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I trust you understand your place as the King's offspring, albeit a bastard." Her words carry a hint of triumph, boasting of the King's revival and her impending visit to the chapel to thank God for Henry's recovery.

I cannot muster any joy for my father's return to life; instead, I harbor a desire to see the woman suffer for her sins against my family. If I were Queen, I would mete out justice and vindicate my mother and our household. Despite her invitation to accompany her, I decline with dignity, bowing my head in refusal. I must maintain my integrity and not align myself with those who seek to undermine my legitimacy. In the distance, I do not spy Thomas Boleyn by her side, yet his absence does little to assuage my mistrust. The Boleyns and their ilk are nothing but a nest of vipers, perpetuating lies and chaos at every turn.

I feel their eyes upon me, silently judging my refusal. "You decline to pray with me," the Countess remarks, her tone tinged with reproach. "So be it. You are but a minor, and if the King does not intervene, he may cast you away, perhaps to some foreign land. I cannot say for certain." With a self-satisfied grin, she adds, "I must depart now. Remember to pray for your father, my dear girl. Despite everything, he still holds affection for you." With those words, the Countess steps aside and proceeds to the Chapel, her footsteps echoing down the corridor. I overhear her triumphant proclamation to those within earshot: the King is alive.

As the weight of uncertainty hangs heavy in the air, I retreat to the solitude of my chambers. Inside, a storm brews within me, a tempest of frustration and anguish. I long to unleash my pent-up emotions, to scream until my throat is raw, to shatter the confines of my chamber. Yet, I am acutely aware that I am not truly alone. Spies lurk in every corner, their presence a constant reminder of the treachery that permeates the court.

If only I possessed the unwavering loyalty of the King, I muse bitterly. He would shield me from this onslaught of betrayal, offering me refuge from the relentless machinations of those who seek to undermine me. But alas, I am adrift in a world devoid of allies. My mother, the one beacon of solace in my life, is gone, leaving me bereft and alone. With no one to confide in, I am left to navigate the treacherous waters of court politics alone.