Anne Boleyn (
ensorceler) wrote in
paradisalogs2013-01-29 12:07 am
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Entry tags:
she's seeing too clearly what she can't be; {open}
Who: Queen Anne Boleyn & YOU
What: Late night drunken wanderings in the snow. Who knows what will happen.
When: Tonight!
Where: Anywhere between the castle and in the City Royale.
Rating: PG, for now???
What: Late night drunken wanderings in the snow. Who knows what will happen.
When: Tonight!
Where: Anywhere between the castle and in the City Royale.
Rating: PG, for now???
She feels ill. That is the only word that can describe it. Not just in her belly, but in her mind, her soul. She is ill with grief, and with longing. She is ill with knowing.
Anne stands before her glass mirror, darkened gaze staring at the flatness of her stomach. It carries nothing, she knows, but her shame. Will I never have a son? It is God's will that he ought to have a boy, for there must be a living image of his father. Of course, she thinks. Elizabeth had said her brother ruled.
But she had never said who the mother was.
Ill, ill, ill. She weeps, satin skirts wrinkled from her tight grips and tugs, so distraught there is nothing to do but tear at herself. She doesn't mar her own skin, her beautiful skin, because Henry would want her to stay beautiful. He would also want her to smile, but she cannot force it no matter how often she practices before that mirror. Even the wine doesn't help, and she drinks until her lips are stained as if painted rouge.
I am cursed. God has abandoned me, and my child.
But Anne doesn't want to think so. She wants to continue believing that this is naught but a dream. She wants nothing more than to hold feasts, to dance and laugh and be merry. To play with fairies and rule these people and be respected and loved. But she would have none of that. Not in England, and not here. She has only her daughter, and even that is now denied her. The childhood has escaped her, the ability to guide and love. Elizabeth is a woman grown now, with secrets that Anne can only dream about. And oh, does she dream, stretched out near the hearth in her drunken stupor. In her dreams, in her nightmares, the dragon eats her every time. And when she is consumed, Henry stabs the dragon through the heart as if to save her. But inside the beast's gut, she hears her daughter's scream, and she echoes the cry when the steel impales her as well. He is not aiming for the dragon, but for his forsaken wife. No, not forsaken. Null and void.
She is a bastard, and you are not my wife!
She awakens sweat soaked and shivering, gasping for breath and holding one hand over her heart, the other over her neck. Behind her, the fire has dwindled, and she can once more feel the cold creeping into her bones. But she ignores it, standing and reaching for her favorite cloak, the dark blue velvet lined with pearls. It comforts her now, and helps shield her disheveled appearance, as she steals out into the night.
Anne doesn't know where she is going, but she knows she cannot remain here. This castle is born of magic, of curses, and it's infecting her. So she seeks out the city, despite the late hour, hoping to clear her head in the frigid air. Her steps are slow, unsteady, but she carries on, her eyes unseeing while her feet blindly guide her through the streets.
Someone will have answers, or someone will be punished. For the moment she would find pleasure in either goal.
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"Perhaps while you walk me back to the castle, yes? Or was that an empty offer?"
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"No, I can handle that." Spike probably wasn't the kind of company she usually kept, but even after spending the night in a bar, he knew how to act like a bodyguard. "We might even beat the sunrise."
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"Is the hour truly so abysmal? Perhaps we might simply be seen as early rising, devout Christians."
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Nothing was said about her attaching her arm to him, or the different impression it gave to anyone walking by. He didn't really care what anyone thought in the first place.
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"They ought not to question our pairing, do you think? Royalty always needs an escort. Are you not dressed well for your time?"
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"I'm sure they won't say anything about it."
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"Do they ever say anything about anything?"
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"What do you mean?" Generally, she was right, but he seemed to be more invested in her musing than he was when he first ran into her.
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"Being from the castle, I guess we should judge the city folk."
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Still, they are queer, and it's going to infuriate her somewhere deep down that they don't acknowledge her as their matriarch until the day she leaves.
She pats his shoulder.
"I need them as much as they need me."
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"Can the castle residents not be considered the army? I have seen how many unique individuals there are, all with differing levels of useful powers and abilities."
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"Yeah, they're something else."
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"I speak not merely of magic powers, sir. Any brute can smash things. Resourceful skills are most required."
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"Glad to hear it."
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She finds herself humming a the beginnings of a foreign lullaby to herself, something Elizabeth had liked, though considering she soon rests her cheek against his shoulder, it's easily heard by Spike. Anne is no amateur in the arts of music, and it isn't just limited to instruments. Though unsteady, she has no issue with keeping in key and rhythm, so soothed by her own thoughts and hardly paying any attention to the man at her side.
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He did nothing to interrupt, just kept his eyes in the direction of the castle, and walked her silently through the street.