Psyfire-Satra

Anne the Quene I died today. My husband, my lover, my King tired of me, wanting a new wife – one less challenging. Seven long years he courted me, turning the world upside down for my sake; But now I see it was really for his own. His desires, his pride. Always his. Seven years courting, not quite three a Queen – where now Henry’s impassioned vows of love? For decades the betrayal stung me to my core, tying me to the Tower: Scene of both my triumphant Coronation and my dolorous end. The daughter I gave him worthless in his eyes; But the last word is mine, for his precious son – the son he murdered me to obtain –