My Prisoner
She gazed at her own reflection in the beautifully decorated mirror. Her slightly parted lips were as red as the berries in June. Her long dark hair flowed down her back. Her eyes glistened like the sun and there was an aureoles shine about her. Her cheeks were as red as roses, she brought her delicate fingers up to them; giving them the most graceful sensitive touch.
Then they moved to her silken tresses and ran between the thin strands. She remained doing this for a moment before clipping her hair back into a perfect bun. Her fingertips traced the line of her jaw and her deep brown eyes were focused on herself in the mirror. She let out a helpless sigh. Her own body felt like a stranger to herself.
When the other ladies in white passed her she stood up and joined them. She was like a rose in a thorn bush; obviously the most beautiful maiden in the crowd. Her white dress trailed behind her and she bowed her head to avoid eye contact with the others.
They stepped out into the hall and immediately the audience began to clap and cheer. She climbed up the stairs of the cardboard castle set gracefully like a queen, and joined another similar looking lady at the top of the middle tower. The only difference between the two ladies was that the other was Margaret Tudor, sister of Henry VIII.
Slowly the clapping and cheering died down and automatically turned into boos as a crowd of ladies dressed in black strolled into the hall. The booing rose in pitch and echoed around the hall. The ladies dressed in black joined the ladies dressed in white in the castle. Now the graceful, merciful white ladies were prisoners of these wretched, evil black ladies.
From their hands the ladies in black threw rose petals at the audience and hissed at them. A horn began to play and the audience began to clap and cheer as a group of men dressed as knights marched towards the castle, led by an extremely excited man dressed in red with his left hand grasping a sword.
He turned to the black ladies in the castle and raised the blade of his sword to them.
'Wretched ladies!' He called out to them. 'I demand you to release your prisoners.'
'As a 'wretched lady', I laugh at your desires,' replied one of the ladies in black and the audience booed quietly.
'These men with me are noble Lords!' He spread his arms out wide and gestured to the men behind him.
'No,' disagreed a lady in black. 'They're just men dressed up.'
The audience chuckled and laughed and King Henry, who was hidden among the small crowd of noble Lords, allowed himself a quick smile.
'I say it again,' the man in red began. 'Release these fair women that you keep so cruelly.'
'Never!' Cried a lady in black and the audience booed once again.
'You give us no choice, but to attack and breech your defences.'
A lady in black smirked and leaned forward, her lips slightly parted before responding.
'No knight shall ever breech mine,' she said with a lewd grin.
Henry, whose back was bent, looked up at his sister on the top of the middle tower. His intentions were to rescue her and take her as his prisoner. His eyes adverted to the beauty with the aureoles shine and the almond shaped mouth next to her. Although her eyes were hidden behind the golden mask she wore, he could tell they would be just as beautiful and yielding as the rest of her.
'Ladies,' grinned the man in red. 'Desire overcomes all… ATTACK!'
With that the noble Lords stood up to their original height and charged at the castle. When they clashed into the gates they burst open and the ladies in black threw rose petals at them. Henry shoved past all the others in his way. His desire was to get to the top first.
With a jump he heaved himself up onto the highest tower and reached out his hand in order to grab his sister's. Instead he found himself grasping the wrist of the beautiful maiden next to her.
For a moment it felt like there was no one else in the room apart from those two. His eyes met hers and were caught in their depth. Their faces remained mere inches away from each other, breathing in short, quickening breaths. His fingers spread out upon her arm and he pulled her closer until there was only a tiny space between their slightly parted lips.
'You are my prisoner now,' he managed, still under her spell. Although this was just a play, it felt real to Henry. Her lips curved into a beautiful smile and she slipped her arm out of his grasp before leaving the tower she was prisoner in. Henry replaced her in the tower and watched her run down the steps. Her beauty had bewitched him and he knew what it felt like to be truly in love. For she was Anne Boleyn, and yet he may not know it, she was to be his queen later on in life.