She stared at the reflection in the mirror nervously, playing with the pendent which hung around her neck. Everything still held a surreal quality to her; she often relapsed to her days in the Tower, this was one of those days. She loathed that tower, and she loathed her sister for putting her there. It was that tower where her mother spent her last days, and where she had feared she would as well. But people had plans for her, plans she didn't want to be a part of, even plans she did not know about…but that still didn't stop her sister from arresting her on grounds of suspicion. And it's the same tower where she waits, on the suggestion of her advisor; and although she is no longer a prisoner, and although she can feel her mother with her, she is more scared now then any time in her past. She closed her eyes and said a quick prayer; this was never the person she wanted to be, not even the person she should be, but somehow it happened.
She had been called many things in her young life: daughter, heir, bastard, lady, princess. But queen, never. She never thought that it would all come down to her, especially if her family had anything to say about it. Her father paid no attention to her and rarely acknowledged her existence; as far as he was concerned she resembled her mother too much. Her younger brother started out liking her, but when she did not turn her back on her older sister as he had wished he changed; shortly before he died he threw her out of the line of succession in favor of a girl even younger then herself. And then there was her sister, the very one who threw her in the Tower, and then welcomed her home with opened arms; the very one who rejoiced at her new title of Bastard when she was two, then hugged and sang to her in later years. She knew why her sister disliked her, but it didn't stop the pain of being punished for the mistakes of her mother and the selfishness of her father. But still, although they were never a family to her, never welcomed her or gave her a place, she was sad when they each died.
She quickly wiped away the tear that started to roll down her cheek and abruptly stood up. She knew she needed to stop; whether she wanted it or not it was now her day, no one could make her feel less important and no one could tell her what to do or not to do anymore. An ironic smile crossed her face; after twenty-five years of playing someone else's game, of being quiet and obedient, of hiding silently in the shadows, she now made the decisions, she now created the game.
"Your highness," she looked up at her maid who had just entered her champers, "everything is ready. It's time for the procession." Her procession, she thought. Now is as good a time as any and she knew she needed to stop postponing it, her country needed a monarch. She looked at her extravagant coronation dress, and then looked at herself in the mirror; the two parts didn't seem to match up earlier, but now looked like it was meant to be. This was now her time, her chance to prove herself to every person in her life who doubted her; it's time to prove herself to England.