Eʟɪᴢᴀʙᴇᴛʜ Tᴜᴅᴏʀ, ℚᴜᴇᴇɴ ᴏғ Eɴɢʟᴀɴᴅ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
commandsthewind) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
paradisalogs2012-10-06 10:34 am
commandsthewind) wrote in paradisalogs2012-10-06 10:34 am
no more dreaming of the dead, as if death itself was undone
Who: Elizabeth Tudor and whoever feels like straying in here.
What: Nightmare plot, which in this case is just how awful the 16th century is to hapless queens.
When: All through the plot.
Where: The back pages of her mind.
Rating: R, for blood, beheading, death, sex, death and beheading.
[Elizabeth herself has fallen at her table, reading a book. A nice enough book for that matter, something silly and senseless.
Nothing at all that reflects what her dreams are about. Welcome to court, ladies and gentleman. 'Tis a merry occasion it seems.
For those taken into this part of dream -- it's not so bad at all, or at least not to start with. In fact the whole of court appears to have come out to this event, the great hall of Hampton is teeming with people. The gold and silver tapestry glitter like fairies wings in the candle light, the clothing of the courtiers is bright with colour, and their extravagant jewels shine so brilliantly. Something not unlike the Masquerade Ball so recently. The ladies with their perfectly made up faces, the men with their elegant manners. There is music playing in the background, and for the most part, it seems to be such a happy and lively place. Banners hang with the emblem of the royal family, the double rose in red and white. It's sewn into the servants clothing, it hangs around the neck of some men and women, carved into the stone and wood in some places, a mark of the gracious hospitality of the host. But what stands out most is they all seem to adore you, bowing to you as you pass as you make your way to whatever is in the centre.
It seems beautiful -- too beautiful. For there is something off with almost off with all of it. Behind their pretty laughter of the women, it sounds so subtly like a snake's hiss. The men smile and their teeth look like the fangs of a wolf. The back of your neck seems to prickle as you make your way through your crowd.
But come, stay a little while? Surely it cannot be so bad? It's just so lovely.]
What: Nightmare plot, which in this case is just how awful the 16th century is to hapless queens.
When: All through the plot.
Where: The back pages of her mind.
Rating: R, for blood, beheading, death, sex, death and beheading.
[Elizabeth herself has fallen at her table, reading a book. A nice enough book for that matter, something silly and senseless.
Nothing at all that reflects what her dreams are about. Welcome to court, ladies and gentleman. 'Tis a merry occasion it seems.
For those taken into this part of dream -- it's not so bad at all, or at least not to start with. In fact the whole of court appears to have come out to this event, the great hall of Hampton is teeming with people. The gold and silver tapestry glitter like fairies wings in the candle light, the clothing of the courtiers is bright with colour, and their extravagant jewels shine so brilliantly. Something not unlike the Masquerade Ball so recently. The ladies with their perfectly made up faces, the men with their elegant manners. There is music playing in the background, and for the most part, it seems to be such a happy and lively place. Banners hang with the emblem of the royal family, the double rose in red and white. It's sewn into the servants clothing, it hangs around the neck of some men and women, carved into the stone and wood in some places, a mark of the gracious hospitality of the host. But what stands out most is they all seem to adore you, bowing to you as you pass as you make your way to whatever is in the centre.
It seems beautiful -- too beautiful. For there is something off with almost off with all of it. Behind their pretty laughter of the women, it sounds so subtly like a snake's hiss. The men smile and their teeth look like the fangs of a wolf. The back of your neck seems to prickle as you make your way through your crowd.
But come, stay a little while? Surely it cannot be so bad? It's just so lovely.]
no subject
As expected from a woman. Weak, always have been. You're not fit to rule.
[and he strike her then, hard across the face, hard enough that the many rings he wears ought to cut.]
no subject
Nobody had ever called her weak. ...Had they?
She can't even speak, so stunned is she. Instead she just struggles, the pain temporarily forgotten in lieu of her urgent desire to be free. So she spits in his face, hoping his own shock will provide her with an opening to break free and run. ]
no subject
You will learn your place! Now say it, say I am your king! That you belong to me now.
no subject
A Queen. ...Not his. ]
I would sooner swear myself to the muck in a horse's shoe!
no subject
Because when he finally decides to stop kissing her, he's pulled a blade from his belt, and he waves it in front of her face.]
Your heart, my queen, belongs to me. Your thoughts and senses are mine to guide.
[He doesn't give her space to breath really, before the blade is driven straight between ribs, into her heart.
And twists.
Still watching every little breathing, blinking moment of her pain.]