Epilogue...
I was a mere lad, seventeen, when he strode right over to me and demanded that I give him my sword. How was I to know that he was to do what he did? But no one tried to stop him. No one wanted to. He had been right, after all. Due to the selfishness of our Queen, we had a tragic accident occur...and all because she was so spiteful of that lovely white-haired lady. But then again...perhaps the Queen got her due when it was all said and done. I thought about that whenI stared at the macabre scene before me. The bloke had stabbed himself several times, until he couldn't even hold the sword any more. A horrible thing to behold...he had caused himself more pain...died more painfully than the lady had. But he had collapsed on top of her body, sprawled out, as the blood pooled on the floor below. His face was pained, tortured...perhaps like his soul. But hers...like she had merely fallen into a pleasant slumber, and was waiting for the right word until she would awaken again. On the bedside table, I found a piece of parchment...with the aformentioned poem written on it. It must have been her doing...she must have thought she was going to be found like this. I took it. I know it was wrong...but my own intentions were right. I wanted all of England...no. I wanted all of the world to know what had happened. It was after that scene that I resigned from Her Majesty's army, and went to the abby. What I had witnessed was enough to scar my young mind for quite some time. Enough to frighten me into a church, where I began working asa friar. But instead of copying the scriptures...I began writing the tale. I began writing the tale of the forbidden love, between a noblewoman, and a German man who was desired by the Queen herself. That tale, which I have written as follows, was told to many a youngster, who came to visit me. One of them was rather entranced by the thought of a forbidden love...and even encouraged me to publish my novel, so that the world could hear of what the Queen had done. But I refused. I wanted to tell the world...but not by a book. Word traveled faster from the mouth, after all, back then. But this child, I believe William was his name, was so persistant...
I believe he published a play based off of this tragedy.
Though it was not the same, people knew of forbidden love, and what it could do to those who had chosen it. A tragedy, indeed. And although, in time, people began to suspect my stories were just the ramblings of an old man...I will never forget what happened in the Valentine mansion that day...
May this written testimony be remembered, as a tragedy that should never again be repeated...
"Take my Life...Not My Heart..."
FIN