Queen Anne Boleyn was as good as dead. Her downfall had happened, and now she stood in the narrow door frame, looking out at the scaffold on which she would loose her life.
The sword that would end the life of Anne Boleyn, the woman who changed England.
Or perhaps to some the woman that tore apart a country, depending on the persons view.
But for most it was the second choice, the one where she had broken a country, and people only thought this was right because of the Kings views, the Kings lies. How he had cheated, only to say it had been Anne who broke their marriage! What a liar he was!
Anne took a deep breath, adjusting her cloak so it wouldn't slip of her shoulder. She began to move her feet, ignoring the whispers she heard.
Harlot!
Concubine!
Traitor!
Witch!
The words did not damage her coming from these peoples mouths, but surely they had to have come from Henry's mouth. Why else would they say these things, unless they had always hated her and wanted her dead.
"Of course they wanted me dead, I took their beloved Queen Katherine from them, to them I'm the reason this country has broke." Anne thought to herself, watching as the scaffold came closer in sight.
As she watched the blade be handed to the executioner, her thoughts changed from her downfall to her daughter. How it had pained her to hear of her sweet Elizabeth becoming a bastard! Illegitimate, disgraced, soon to be replaced by a child of that wench Jane Seymour."Oh Jane! What you've got yourself into! Marrying the King won't be a walk in the park, you'll be walking in my footprints if you can't please him! You should've left while you could, marry a noble that would never hurt you, not marry a man who will not have you killed for having a daughter." Anne knew that while her hate for Jane was uncontrollable, fierce and dangerous, no one should ever meet the same fate as she was about to. Not even a wench. Not even Jane.
By the time her thoughts of Jane were gone, she found herself standing at the bottom of the scaffold. Her apartments seemed so far away, but so close. She could not see the apartments over the tree's but she knew they were there. Her last comfort was in that room, that room where she was branded a prisoner with no true freedom.
But surely death would grant her freedom, freedom from this harsh world that she had called home for so many years. But this place was not home. This place did not welcome her, or treat her with kindness. They loathed her here, hated her to the core. They wanted her dead, and they wanted her dead now. She could almost hear someone in the distance screaming for her head.
She'd finally be away from these people that despised her, no longer hearing horrible words. Free from the cruel and harsh reality of being Queen. No nunnery that she had prayed for would have ever saved her from this place, but death would. Anne Boleyn might have her say in death.
Anne had reached the top of the scaffold, and looked out upon the crowd, finally noticing that some people were actually giving her sympathetic looks. But far more were giving her hateful looks, looking like they were ready to shout at her, scream until her lifeless body hit the ground. Yet they stayed silent, and for once Anne noticed how peaceful the world could get without the horrible sounds that had been surrounding her for the past few weeks.
No one spoke, barely anyone even moved. They just looked at her, some happy, some angry, and some emotionless, even a few began to cry. Perhaps someone out in this crowd did love her, or at least like her. Perhaps someone knew of her innocence, how she had been forced to come here by her own husband.
She took a breath, recalling her speech she had prepared.
"Good Christian people, I have come hither to die, for according to the law and by the law I am judged to die, and therefore I will speak nothing against it. I am come hither to accuse no man, nor to speak anything of that, whereof I am accused and condemned to die, but I pray God save the King, and send him long to reign over you, for a gentler nor a more merciful prince was there never: and to me he was a good, a gentle and sovereign lord. And if any person will meddle of my cause, I require them to judge the best." Anne spoke with not a hint of sadness or weakness in her voice. "And thus I take my leave of the world and of you all, and I heartily desire you all to pray for me."
As the former Queen finished to speech with grace, she looked out on the crowd. More people were crying, and almost all of the people she saw looked sympathetic. Anne began to remove her jewelry, taking of her earrings, necklace and replacing the small headpiece with a coif tied around her neck.
She knelt down, sending out prayers and closed her eyes, thinking of her daughter. She saw everyone she loved, flash before her eyes.
Her father, her mother, George, Mary, Henry, Elizabeth. Anne hoped the blade would come soon, to put an end to the horror or the past weeks. She could almost see her life dance in front of her.
She was playing with George and Mary as a child, serving Queen Claude in France, reuniting with her family, introducing herself to Henry, being crowned Marquess of Pembroke, marrying Henry, her coronation, holding Elizabeth in her arms for the first time, and that's where the painful times began.
Miscarrying her son, her fallout with Henry, another miscarriage, walking in on Henry kissing Jane, her imprisonment, and then she was here. Walking up the steps to the scaffold, looking at all the angry faces.
She knew that to end her life, she had to remember the one thing that had always brought her joy. Her sweet daughter. She focused on her child, ignoring the sound of a blade being drawn. Nothing else mattered when she was with her daughter.
Nothing.
She felt a sudden pain on her neck, but she focused on her daughter with her last breath. Her red locks, her dark brown eyes...that was when it all went black, her eyes wide open but impossible to see with.
Anne Boleyn was dead.
She was finally free of this wretched world.
Death had brought her peace!
Oh!
Death Was A Beautiful Thing!