Outside her window the birds are chirping and the blossoms of May are sprouting in the gardens across the road. Anne opens one eye and feels the light seeping into view, making her head ring. She does not know why she's awake. It's a Sunday and her shift at the coffeehouse doesn't start until well after noon, but there is still something (she does not know what) that has woken her from her deep slumber. She tucks her head deeper into her pillow, feels the soft white fabric pool around her head like dough, and pulls her linen comforter over her head. Anne tries her hardest, but there are thoughts that are wandering around and plundering her mind. With a loud sigh she tugs off the blanket and hauls herself out of bed.
A pot of tea is cooking on the stove, and her roommate has opened the kitchen window so the chill London breeze swirls around the room. She twitches the buttons and turns off the stove, her roommate's already at work anyway. At first she's uncertain what she wants to do, after all she's not certain why she's even up in the first place. But there is something in the air, words unspoken or old memories perhaps, that brings her to her wardrobe where she pulls on a pair of jeans and a knitted sweater, a feeling in her gut that makes her feet lift and fall over and over again until she reaches their front door where Anne pulls on her trench coat. She locks the door behind her.
There is a certain spring in her step as she walks down the stairs and onto the sidewalk. The green leaves of spring that are sprouting from thousands of tree that dress Hyde Park glisten in the morning sunlight and almost blind her as Anne trods down the street towards Marble Arch. The walk is easy, it does not take long, and once she's slipped past the turnstiles and has run down the stairs to catch her train to Liverpool Street where she'll change to the Central Line for Tower Hill, Anne finally sinks down in her seat and is overcome with the feeling that she is going somewhere. To what she does not know, she simply lets her feet lead the way for her mind is too far away to realise what she is actually doing.
The men in her carriage and a woman stare at her, but she's used to it by now. She's been told all her life that she enchants wherever she goes. In fact Anne isn't ever bothered, most likely because she hasn't even noticed the strange air around her. She just stares ahead, distant, aloof, eyes focusing on something she cannot see. In her head, her mind is going haywire trying to make sense of everything. She sees flashes of imagery, but they are gone far too quickly for her to solve the puzzle. But she can see red and white, and what she suspects is some garden and perhaps a mansion, and the moment she thinks she might possibly have an idea of what is happening to her it slithers away, for surely, yes surely, she must be going insane.
The woman on the speakers announces that Anne has arrived at her destination, but it flies right over her head. She barely notices that she switches trains, that she takes a seat next to a French family with two children, that the train whisks her await her final destination. The ride on the rails is bumpy and the train rattles as it speeds past station after station, until it stops and the woman announces 'Tower Hill' and Anne gets off, looking every bit as lost as she feels. She's never actually been before. Not on class trips when she was younger, not when her cousin comes to town and wants her to guide her to London's best tourist attractions. But now her curiosity seems to have gotten the best of her, Anne thinks, as she walks up and down and up and through a tunnel where she catches glimpses of the paintings of the victims of the Tower.
Soon enough, Anne can see the towers and the grey stone walls of the Tower of London. It is such a strange place to be on such a lovely day as the 19th, but she feels as if she's blending in with the environment, as if the lines between what has been and what is have been blurred. She thinks it absurd, but she cannot help it. As she stands in line, pays for her ticket, and finally walks through the gates, Anne cannot help but feel, at least on some level, at home. It is terrifying and fascinating at the same time. She lets her fingers run across the walls as she walks down the cobbled road towards her destiny. She feels history seeping through her fingers and into her very soul as she makes her way past Traitor's Gate. For a moment Anne considers stopping and looking at the sign with information, but she stops herself, subconciously, and thinks; No, not here. Not now. Not yet.
As she walks across Tower Green, passes Queen's house, she catches a glimpse of the chapel of St Peter Ad Vincula and her breath hitches in her throat. Anne nudges her way past tourists with cameras and joyful Beefeaters and children with stars in their eyes, and once she sees it, the glass pillow with the sun reflecting on it, her eyes fill with tears and the images come back to her. Messy and incoherent at first, but then, once they've gotten more clear and the flimsy filter that covered them like a veil has been lifted, she feels someone staring at her. Her dark eyes lift and she looks to the left and Anne sees him. Him. And she remembers.
Author's Note:
I'm going to link two playlists I listened to while writing this story from this really good website called eight tracks . com (spelled 8 but ff won't let me type it out), I really recommend it if you didn't know of it yet. Perfect for getting in to the mood while either reading or writing.
/queenofbritons/le-temps-viendra
/mairebrace/je-serai-poete-et-toi-poesie