December 18, 2014

Hi guys,

Sorry I’m late, again….. I’ve had today off and I’ve spent it mostly puttering around the house like a hobbit. Inspiration doesn’t seem to striking today, so I’m posting an old one. Also, I’m having a bit of trouble getting around wordpress, but I wanted to say thank you to everyone who’s reading these and everyone who has liked my posts – it really means a lot to me and I appreciate all of you guys. Thanks so much for all your support. And, without further ado, today’s entry:

The river water has a distinct smell to it and it’s not a pleasant one. The boat is small and rickety – I can hear the creaking of the wood, despite the noise of the streets.

People turn and stare, before returning to their lives. There – a fishmonger holds a brace of dead fish as if he were selling the finest diamonds. Dirty children scamper barefoot through the streets, small hands reaching into pockets, running to get away with whatever they can steal.

And I am still here. Does anyone know I’m still here? Does it matter?

I was their Queen, for a time. They never loved me as a Queen. Never respected me. But that doesn’t change the fact that I was. Hot tears burn their course down my face. I am innocent of the crimes brought against me.

Perhaps not innocent in all things….. But we all have our crimes in this life, do we not? Mine may be greater than some, but I assure you, I have never deserved this.

Witchcraft. Adultery. Incest.

These are the words that have been hurled at me.

None of them are true.

Where once they called me Queen, now they call me Witch. I am no witch. And if I were, I would not be here, on this cold, smelly river, listening to the slap of the oars against the putrid water. If I were a Witch, I would have made him love me. And as a mere mortal, I cannot. That, truly, is why I am here. Not because of witchcraft. But because I have won and lost the love of a king. And it is the losing that shall cost me my head.

It has been so short a time. Three years. Was he ever truly mine?

The slap of the oars against the river have stilled and the large gates slice open with a metallic clang, like the jaws of some great beast. It’s all over now. To the Tower. And it shall be the death of me.

I was once a Queen.

Will they even remember my name?

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