""Do you remember me?" asked young Katheryn Howard. Her long, graceful auburn hair was loose trailing down her back. Her rosy cheeks and graceful figure made me remember what it was to be a young and ardent suitor. "Katheryn Howard," I murmured, torn between hatred and adoration... and perhaps guilt. She had cuckolded me, but I... I recalled my shaking fingers as I signed her death warrant.
"Did you know," she said, as if stating a casual fact, "That I and Anne Boleyn are united in Heaven?" "I suppose I do now." I wasn't ready to acknowledge I still regretted killing her, this stunning jewel of womanhood I had so treasured. "You killed a naive girl for her past lovers." She looked up at me.
"And Culpeper?" I commanded. "A kiss or two shared, nothing more," she whispered. "And can you blame me? I never wanted to marry you. I only wanted to please my family and my King." "You"- My ego shattered to pieces. "Nearly twice my age," Katheryn whispered. "I was"- My anger thawed. "I am sorry they killed you." "They?" She laughed, such a joyous sound a thrill ran through me. "You killed me!" "I am so sorry, my sweetest Katheryn," I whispered. "I," she said with a faint frown, "Am not." Catherine of Aragon, Anne Boleyn, and Jane Seymour reappeared. As my gaze flickered across the four of my dead former loves, it settled on Anne. Anne, who I had flipped the world upside down for; Anne, who I had loved. "You ruined all our lives," she said coldly.
And I knew then. I knew I had destroyed my Tudor roses.