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December 12, 1630 England
"You say that you love the rain
But you open your umbrella when it rains
You say that you love the sun
But you find a shadow spot when the sun shines
You say that you love the wind
But you close your windows when the wind blows
This is why I am afraid
You say that you love me too."
Shakespeare
Queen Anne lays in her bed, dying and humming. She hums a tune from long ago; a haunting lullaby sung to her when she fell into slumber one night. From the low to high notes, she does not miss a melody, as if her voice was an angel's cry, the mesmerizing voice causes the maids to lean and listen from outside. But it was the song that attracted them mostly, a song forbidden, a song controversial from long ago; the queen remembers and cherishes it and holds it dearly to her heart. But the lyrics are held in her golden cage, never to be sung but only by the divine being himself; Sebastian. But unlike many sonnets, this one ended in a crescendo; a sudden rush of heaviness from the words oozed like warm honey and died like flies from a swat. His voice sung it beautifully; sweet and baritone. And he sung such a song before the night of spring; before fulfilling a promise to his lover.
During her last months of living; the queen calls for him and cries in the darkness of nights hoping that he will come to comfort. Yet atlas, his presence is not here, has not been here for the last fifteen years. And will probably never be near Anne ever again. It has been so long ago but the burning desire still swells in the unknown depths of her heart and speaks a mournful language. She still remembers the way he made her feel; madness in extreme bliss. He was fascinating and enticing; the way he spoke so endearingly to Anne and how his smoldering crimson eyes could hold such power. An Adonis but a monster. There were times of daze and pleasure as when she was a young girl, but the only thing she never doubted was her undying love for the creature. He possessed some dark radiance, an adoring attribute about him which always made Anne curious. There are certainly more fluttering emotions the queen had once felt but like a dream, it passed by swiftly. So quickly.
The queen looks straight ahead knowing that her vision is poor and blurred. Her lungs heavy, her heart beating slowly. What were once eyes blue as the sky had turned gray like stormy clouds. What were once legs that stood on two feet, rested lightly not willing to bear the pain of walking. She was dressed in a white gown, not bothering to ask her maids to apply makeup, or bring her work. Her hair was dull and a silvery brown which cascaded down her back, tangled. Her spirit has left, only leaving bits and pieces of the woman she once was. Her skin, a sickly pale and her face, worn out. The prolonged hours of her life only gave her more pain and the bleakness of her memories just made her days worse. It was a slow death; painful indeed.
The queen wished to die by his kiss; be romanticized before succumbing to the great eternal slumber. Ever so gently and airily. The simple interaction of lips colliding was the yearning Anne had for many years now and no other man could compare to his cold touch. She smiled daintily, remembering once again, his low chuckles, his sickly sweet smile, the way he embraced her. Even though her lover was categorized as a monster, 'tis not what she saw; through her eyes, he was a man nonetheless: a torn between his sadistic and devoted side. But before there was a ring or the agreement to spending lives as one, she experienced the notorious wound at her agonized heart; a conflicting force she hoped to vanish. The only way to feel the glimpse of his presence is the hum of the forbidden song and the tune her voice would play; she felt his loose presence right beside her, holding her hand in a ghostly sense. Will he still come now? Even when I am in my death bed?
He brought a curse; the woman would never have the aggressive waves of emotions with a mortal, therefore will never conceive. She had dream of her unborn son; having the soft crimson irises of his father and the timid demeanor of his mother: the mischievous grin of his father and the boldness of his mother. But such imaginings will never come to rise.
Anne stopped humming, her chord of voice played a somber piece of a piano, "Sebastian," She softly spoke, "Sebastian. Sebastian. Sebastian."
Long ago, on one snowy night, Anne laid wide awake and stared at her fate in the darkness of her bedroom. He appeared as two glowing red eyes, the young girl was petrified.