#glorixna

   “ have they always been so stupid ? ” she questions , eyes focusing on retreated men while steps bring her towards the older woman . many might say the walls spoke but it was also good to be quiet and nearby . she did not need servants to get all of her answers , only the unimportant . the larger the information , the most she put herself out there . “ they can not honestly believe you’d heed a word they say . ” the idea that those men would advise anyone seemed laughable .

    She glanced over at Elizabeth’s work, smiling. She paused a moment, searching for the right word in English before she spoke. “Your... stitches. They are getting good, yes?”

       she did her best to sit up, wincing a little as she settled into place. ❝ come here, ❞ catherine beckoned, a sheen of sweat sprouting across her brow. ❝ i want to see BOTH OF YOU when i ask. ❞

         it was a small, worn piece of fabric; and so thin that the light could be seen, almost as if through glass. “her first embroidery work.” mary’s index pointed at the letter in the corner: an m whose blue colour was faded. “she made it for me.” on her lips, the soft, sad smile she had been wearing out of fondness for the long gone memories slowly dropped, and over the washed-out threads anne had patiently, laboriously embroidered, the pad of her thumb stroked - as she once had caressed her sister’s dark locks. “you should have it. i have nothing else left of her.”

                   “WELL, EVERYONE WAS RIGHT WHEN THEY SAID you would bring stability to the British monarchy.” He teased with a laugh, his French accent heavily apparent as he conversed in English. It’s the first time they’ve really been alone and allowed to speak as they wanted since she became Elizabeth, Queen of the United Kingdom and the other Commonwealth realms.

Her mother was dead. The last of the few who had  tried protected her had taken her last breath. It had been expected, the women having been declining for weeks. Her beautiful mother, who’s hair was as bright as the sun, whose skin glowed like mother of pearl with piercing blue eyes had become unrecognizable in her final days. Her hair had become dull like straw, her eyes hollow and lifeless, her skin ashened. Her final moments had been spent with her family, hands held by her true love, Adrian Stokes, and her daughters. She was at peace, no longer suffering and finally with Jane, leaving her troubles on her young and vulnerable daughters. Of course Mary remembered the moment her mother had been less than kind, following her husband’s orders as the strict disciplinarian, but those memories seemed to fade as quickly as the pain of a switch on bare skin. 

Katherine adjusted well to Court life, her vivaciousness and charm fine tuned to impress anyone who spoke with her, even if they found some of her opinions silly and uneducated. To them that did not matter. A woman’s place was to support her husbands opinions and to bear healthy offspring. Katherine fit that mold to perfection with beautiful blonde hair, a tall frame, and perfect health. Mary was the complete opposite, a joke of a woman of noble blood. Tiny she was, although completely proportioned, she did not grow larger than a ten year old girl, her body lacking any sign of maturity. Even worst was her back, twisted and crooked, the Maids of Honor mocking her every morning as she dressed. She was used to being the butt of jokes, the girl finding her own ways to confuse and humiliate with her sharp wit. It did not stop Katherine from intervening every time, reminding Mary of her good qualities: Her small and delicate face, her hair ‘As red as our cousin the Queens’, and her eyes, their mother steel grey orbs.  Bless her soul, even if her brain was nothing but silliness. Her older sister had promised to protect her, her last wish to her mother. Mary knew the girl meant well, but Mary was not a child anymore. She did not need constant coddling, the tragedies of the last few year having turned the fragile child in a steel faced women of thirteen.