Dedicated to SSLE, although I know it will make her really sad.
I entered the chapel with my head down. The lights were dim, the candles barely shone. The sun was dark and heavy like plumb. The sky outside was pouring rain, although we were in summertime already. It seemed like Mother Nature had decided to mourn her too, although Heaven must be rejoicing to welcome one of its angels back.
I dare not to look at the coffin. I look at my feet, at the white marble floor beneath them. Somewhere in the depths of my mind I cannot accept it. Why her? Why? She was too young, too good to die, although her health had never been strong. She was kind to everyone around her, even in her darkest hours. Everyone seemed to love her and respect her deeply, and even those goddamn Lutherans bowed deeply when she came near. She used to hold herself with such grace and dignity, only fit for a Queen's daughter… for a future Queen. She was nothing but a sweet and bright young lady, and life had been nothing but unfair to her.
My feet reach the black wooden bottom of the coffin. Only then I force myself to lift my head, and it seemed like a fist of iron clutched my heart.
There she was standing, pale and lifeless, the brown strands of her hair falling loosely on her sides. Her hands were clasped together, but one could tell a rosary between her intertwined fingers. It once had been Katherine of Aragon's rosary, and Jane Seymour had given it to her on her deathbed. It made perfect sense that she had wished to be buried with it.
But what truly mesmerized me was the expression on her face. She looked carefree and peaceful, a smile forming on her lips. It was like she was happy to depart from this world. Now she was free of all worries, of all suffering. She was an angel who had found her way home.
Maria – I used her Spanish name. – My sweet, gentle lady. It's me, Eustace. Your most faithful servant. I can't believe you are gone, mi angel. I can't believe I will never see you smile again, laugh again. I can't bear to live without you. How will I live among this rats hole without your sweet presence? How will I cope without your gentle words?
He could not continue. His eyes were teary, his expression contorted in pain. She was the light of his life, the essence of his being…. And now she was gone. Forever.
Lady Mary Tudor was buried on the 15th of May 1540. Three days later, Rafael found his master's dead body on his office. In one hand, the bottle of poison. On the other, a simple piece of parchment.
May God forgive my sin. But how can a man live if his life was taken away from him?