There was an anger inside those cold stones. She felt that as she ran her fingers over them. She could not decide whether they were angry at her, or the others. She smiled, sadly. Two days cooped up in this cell and was already losing her mind. Well, she had lost everything else. It was pitch black outside. She pulled herself up and onto the threadbare bed. Over the last few days she had been pondering - did she deserve this? No, she thought, clenching her teeth, she did not deserve this. And no one would ever know but her.
She sneaked a glance through the barred window. The scaffold sat embroiled in shadows, a few guards milling around. She could just about make out a wooden block in the centre of the wooden stage. Suppressing a terrified groan, she turned her gaze to the church. Even that house of God was foreboding and angry in the twilight, its windows completely dark. Suddenly, the church bell rang, making her jump. Slow and mournful, they proclaimed the hour of midnght. Not long now, they seemed to say.
A stream of candlelight fell across the floor, blinding her. A looming figure walked towards her, and placed something on the ground before them. "A gift for you, your majesty", they grunted. The woman standing beside the window said nothing. Soon, the door was closed once again. She crouched dubiously to see her "gift". On the stones lay many sheets of worn parchment, and on top of them was a dirty quill and a bottle of black ink. She was confused for a moment, the was hit by realisation. She carefully picked up the quill, and placed the end in the ink bottle. She withdrew it, and, placing the ink aside, started to write;
"The testament of Anne Boleyn..."
YOU ARE READING
Nan
Historical FictionAlone, and soon to be executed, Queen Anne Boleyn writes her testament - the true, often bewildering, and occasionally ludicrous story of how she became queen and how she angered her husband King Henry the VIII. This is her last chance for redempti...
