Tudors, Anne Boleyn, warning for dark content

Date: 2011-07-03 05:00 pm (UTC)
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From: [personal profile] eggcrack
When Anne fell into her last dream, Henry was there.

The moment Anne saw him, she knew all hope was gone. If any chances were left, Henry would be there in flesh and blood and not as he was now, the youthful Henry she had danced with years ago. Henry whose soul was bare on his face. He was holding a sword.

Anne had to smile at that, knowing it to be her own wishful thinking. For wasn't that the fate she truly deserved, a death by the King's own hand instead of a stranger's strike? For if he hated her so, then wouldn't the only justice strong enough for her crimes come from Henry himself? That's what Anne believed, and here in a dream she could finally rage over Henry not believing the same, for betraying their love.

She looked up at the Henry she had fallen in love with and noticed how much he looked like his future self, his soul too thin to hide the cold in his eyes. Anne smiled and rose up to her knees, staring into eyes that were too afraid to truly see her, or watch her die.

"Your Majesty," she said, bending her neck back to expose her throat. She shivered at the sword being raised, but when the blade fell she was no longer afraid.

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