paradisalogs | no more dreaming of the dead, as if death itself was undone

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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.]

Threaded | Flat

[Perhaps you keep going through the crowd, all the way up to what seems a throne. Which your lucky occasion, the king and his new queen are sitting there. It really is his new queen, for this seems to be there wedding! Many happy congratulations to King Henry, and the pretty demure Jane Seymour.

They smile at their courtiers, beaming and laughing, and on one side, the eldest daughter Mary is looking like a good daughter should. They even raise a hand to you in greeting. Henry has a big, booming laugh that fills the whole room.

... and almost at as an after thought, you look down, and there is a girl sat between Mary and her father Henry. No more then eight. In a pool of cream skirts stitched with pink flowers, and she seems to be cradling something in her hands. She's not smiling, she's not laughing. In fact she's scowling, trying to hide what seems like tears in her eyes.

Her sister leans down, touching her shoulder to whisper in her ear, and you can hear her faintly reprimanding.] Elizabeth, please, try to smile. His Majesty will be so upset with you. Stop staring at it so.

[the girl nods, and you realise what she's holding. It's a head, a head with bright, unseeing eyes. Unmistakeable, for Elizabeth has them too. A little beside her, another head sits, with those same eyes. The blood is dripping and ruining the little girl's dress, making her fingers sticky.]

[Perhaps this is a little too much for you, perhaps gatherings of this nature aren't your interest. So you decide to turn away. Take another door out of the room, or perhaps someone comes up to you that seems to know you and asks you to join them somewhere else. Either way, time to wander off else where.]

Threaded | Flat

stay in the great hall;

wander off;