It was a late summers evening when Henry finally finished his meeting with Cromwell. The man had been insisting to speak with him for days now, but Henry had been avoiding the situation for as long as possible, wishing to instead spend more time with his new bride.

As he walked down the castle halls, he turned into the corridor that led to the Queen's chambers, sure that Jane was still awake and waiting for him. A light smile graced his features, they had not spent a single night apart since their wedding, and while she had not yet said anything, Henry was certain that England could expect a prince in the royal nursery by the beginning of the next year.

A much-needed prince, at that. With two daughters and no legitimate children, the Tudor line was in peril, and he knew that only a son would be able to mend it. His forehead creased as intrusive thoughts began to cloud his mind. The crown could not fall to a daughter, God himself knew how badly that had gone in the past. Jane would need to conceive quickly, and if she did not-

Henry snapped back suddenly, chiding himself for letting any doubts form. He didn't need to worry about such things, he had full faith in his beautiful wife. Jane was not like the others, she was truly pure before their marriage and faithful afterwards. Surely God would grant him a son now that a worthy Queen sat on the throne. Surely he-

From the corner of his eye, a sudden shadow fell across one of the torches lining the walls. Henry paused, swerving to look around. Not a single living soul was present. Apart from himself, the corridor was empty. He rubbed his brows and shook his head. His imagination must be running wild from exhaustion.

He was about to keep walking when he heard what sounded like footsteps coming from the adjacent hall. Henry stopped again, and after a moment, the pattering resumed. This time he was sure that he was hearing something. Not wasting a single breath, he ran down and swerved right into the next corridor. His chest heaved for air, and the June humidity certainly did not help. As he reached the corner, he stopped again at the entrance.

A flash of cloth from a dress appeared at the end as the intruder ran into the other room.

"Halt, I command you!"

Henry called, picking up his pace to follow the stranger. Yet each time he thought he was catching up, the figure always seemed to disappear at the last second. The faster he ran the heavier his bones began to weigh, and the foggier his mind felt until he was no longer sure which way he was going.

He thought he felt himself turning again when he was suddenly hit with a blast of air. Blinking slowly, Henry realized that he had somehow made his was outside. He was still rubbing fruitlessly at his eyes when he registered a figure standing before him.

One that he recognized immediately, despite the fact that her back was turned to him. She hadn't noticed him yet, instead looking calmly out towards the gardens. It had been a long time since he had seen her look so at peace. Perhaps not since their first year of marriage, when their love was still strong.

"Henry." She spoke softly, not even bothering to turn around.

He simply stood there aghast, unsure of what to do. This was not a voice he had ever expected to hear again. A million thoughts ran through his head, both good and bad, but all featured one thing in common.

"Anne." He muttered so quietly that he was nearly sure she hadn't heard him.

But of course, she had. She spun around to face him and he quickly fell backwards, nearly tripping over himself. Even in death, Anne Boleyn was a beautiful woman. Wiping off what he knew must have been an expression of shock, he quickly fixated her with a cold stare. "What are you doing here?"

Anne simply shrugged in response. "This is where I live Henry"

"No, you're dead."

"That I am, and yet I can't seem to leave this place." She furrowed her brows and paused. "As much as I would like to."

"Why?" He regretted his words immediately, knowing full well the conversation that they would spark.

Her gaze pierced right at him as she spoke "Do you really need to ask? After everything you've done to me here? I have no reason to wish to stay."

"After what I did to you?" He asked enraged. "You killed him, you killed my boy Anne."

And in that moment, he swore he could see her gaze become just as dark as his.

"The only people you have to blame for that are yourself and that wench Jane Seymour." She spat at him. "If it was not for your whoring around, perhaps I would not have been so upset."

At her words fire burned in his chest and he could feel his rage begin to bubble over. How dare she tarnish the name of his sweet Jane? Jane, who had never dared to talk back to him. Jane, who he was sure would soon be giving him a son. Jane, who was the very epitome of honesty and virtue. How could she even presume to speak so poorly of the woman he loved?

"That's Queen Jane to you, madam." Henry stated coldly.

Anne gave a merciless laugh. "Yes, Queen Jane, bound to obey and serve, wasn't it?" She paused and looked him dead in the eye. "I wonder how long that will last."

Now it was his turn to feel confused. "What do you mean?"

Anne shook her head and placed it against her palms. "Wasn't there once a time when you had defended me this way against Catherine of Aragon? Just as one day, you'll be defending your next mistress to Jane Seymour, same as the next one after that, I'm sure."

"No. No." He spun around quickly, no longer being able to look at her. "That will not happen again, Jane will give me a son!"

"And what if she does not?" Anne moved back in front of him. "Will you do to her what you did to me?"

"Arrgh!" He growled, stumbling blindly away from her only to find Anne's figure reappearing once again before him.

"You forget, my love, there are no rules for the dead."

"What do you want?" He screamed.

"Nothing. I want nothing from you, not anymore." And Henry swore he had never before seen her look at him with such a lack of emotion. "You know what you did to me Anne, you know why I gave the order."

She didn't even so much as blink as she strode up to him. "I did nothing to you, all the accusations against me were false."

Could her words be true? Despite himself, he had still sometimes entertained the idea at night. After all, both men who had presented him with evidence were her known enemies, and say what you will about her, Anne was by no means an unintelligent woman. Would she really risk everything on a spur of the moment passion? But no, Henry shook off the thought.

"No, you lied to me. You always lied to me." He said, realizing only afterwards that he was repeating himself from their last conversation. Anne either didn't notice or didn't care. "If believing that is the only reason you can sleep at night then so be it. In that case, yes Henry, all the rumors were true. I bewitched you, I made you love me and I played you for a fool. I laid with every man available to me and you, you were the good King, ever a victim to the charms put on you by the cruel witch."

Yet even as she spoke, despite himself, he knew that they were both aware that her words were untrue. Images of their past clouded his mind, the passion, the lust. How they had been so utterly consumed by one another. He had loved her once, and deep down he knew that it was no ones fault but his own.

She moved closer to him until she was right up against his chest. "You may look at her with love now." Anne spoke, and he knew she was referring to Jane.

"But one day, one day you will wake up and you will be unhappy, and do you know why?" She paused, her dark eyes gazing intently into his. "Because she is not me. She is not me, and you will never love anyone as much as you loved me."

And the way she said it with such assurance almost made him believe that it was true. Almost.

Yet she was so close that he could smell her warm scent, and reach up to touch her soft curls if he so wished. "Anne." He whispered, drawing her in slowly. Now desperate to feel her.

As soon as his hand made contact with her skin he leapt back in shock as it began to turn ashen gray under his fingertips. The colour spread up her arms and she quickly started to crumble away before his eyes like a statue.

Anne only smiled disappointedly at him and spun around until she was no longer facing him.

"Anne don't-"

She was gone.

…..

He woke up in bed, his chest heaving and his shirt drenched with sweat. Henry gasped for air and sat up, grabbing his arms to stop them from shaking. From the corner of his vision, he could see a flash of blonde curls.

"Henry? Henry, love, what is it?" The woman called, sitting up next to him.

"Nothing, Jane." He said, forcing himself to calm down. "Go back to sleep."

She looked at him questioningly for a moment, but when he said nothing, she gave in and lowered herself back into the bed and he followed suit moments later.

"Nothing." He muttered again, wiping more sweat off his brow. "She's gone."

A/N

I'm not really sure how happy I am with how this turned out, but I've re-written it three times and this is as good as it's going to get. This was an idea that I've been toying around with for a while, and I just felt that I needed to finally write it down. I hope I did the character's some justice and thank you for reading.