paradisa | [008] i feel it in my bones;

Entry tags:

elizabeth tudor

[008] i feel it in my bones;

[ She's not really sure where to begin after... everything that happened. It's not she hasn't been through worse, she has. What was one little kidnapping compared to months of war, and before that? Worse. But that was court, that was England where she was an abomination to God in the eyes of almost a whole continent -- and she had accepted that, it was being Queen, as true as any marriage. In sickness, and in health, till death do you part. It meant no small amount of joy in knowing that her world was at peace here. No one wanted her dead, at least. No wanted to strip her down to something they could use again.

Her head pounded all over again. This, mercifully, wasn't followed by the bitterness that always came with such attempt. Killing never made her feel safe. Not really. Not when it always meant there was something worse coming. A single man could of attacked, his name etched, to be executed, one name written in black ink and however many copies of that. But it never stayed one name. Killing was like lying, there could never be just one, and no one ever thanked you. Whoever it was, had people who loved that person. To be loved, for themselves. So perhaps there was a simplicity taken by this, and she treated it like she ever had, or tried to. Her head down, trying to wash away the emotion like waves eroding a cliff face. More than licking her wounds, she needed to centre herself again. Find that glass wall that didn't let people touch her. Her, her that was separate, the part that could die. Her that was able to be shattered against a rock like a child.

The thing she hated more than anything else, it was this was no trick of the castle. This was men. Men, playing the same cruel games with even less point. It manifested in all the ways she couldn't show, when she sat in her study. Teeth clenched till they ached, grip around her wine cup so tightly she thought she'd leave the imprint of her fingers on the metal -- and her mind, ah the treacherous thing! Call it treason for it ever betrayed her! Her mind gave her a technicolour reminder of the times it had happened before. Boys, boys screaming whore, the empty click of guns, the screams of guards, the blood coating her like she had done the crime herself, soldiers dying for men, because of men they would never see, for the heaven's she hoped they reached. There was no words for the battles in the mind, for the horrors inflicted by memory. In long watches of the night, when the dark just seemed to cast a better tapestry for a life's mistakes, they seemed a song without end. Did she even remember the names any more? Did she even weep for them any longer?

But at least, there were those that cared. A suspicious mind would question the reasons why they did, but Elizabeth had not the energy. Still, the deserved something from her, other than her weeks of silence and seclusion, something she was never entirely permitted in court. ]

filtered; open ↬

I think, perhaps, I am very tired. But rest... ah, she is elusive as only I am told the best mistresses are.

[ she seemed stuck, tired in a way that there was no complete words to. She's trying her best to make light of it, however possible. ]

God preserve us, if it is right He should do so. [ but these days, these weeks, these minutes of reflection, she was no longer sure it was right. ] More than that, you've my thanks, for your concern, for your love. I shall never forget such things.

I hope you all enjoy the feast of Saint Valentine, he is a goodly saint.