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She has the most beautiful red hair.
It is the hair that was given to her by her father.
Mysterious eyes.
Eyes that shine dark at times, dark during moments of success, of triumph and of desire. Like the midnight sky, a wonderful bright haze of eternal black and shimmering lights.
The nose on her face is straight, her thin lips always pursed and her cheeks forever pale. Nothing about her was beautiful. She had never been beautiful.
She was more than that.
A sly smile that seemed to know everyone's secrets. A slim body that moved proudly, floating rather then walking. Head always held high because she knew she was better, despite what others whispered.
She was a person that was entirely herself, could be herself, moved with it, shone with. She did not need to pretend, change. It was always there. A fool could see it.
She was different, like no one else.
She wore something better then the jewels sewn onto her silk bodice. She wore grace, she wore solitude and on her slim back she carried another's history.
She did not let herself think of her Mother. She was not allowed to talk of her. So she carried herself grandly so others would believe she did not care.
She had no comfort in this world where husbands killed wives.
Where daughters were left motherless and nameless. Tarnished and tainted with lies, with spite.
All because against the power and selfishness of man, one innocent woman could not stop what was to happen.
Men who would kill a woman because she had ideas and a clever mind and with that a voice that she decided unlike other women to use.
A woman could not possess these qualities.
Women who did so were witches, were whores and traitors. Seductresses.
She was none of these things though.
Just a woman like all the rest.
The men saw a woman clasp onto power and onto their king.
They were frightened men. Scared of a woman whom they thought should only be witless and pliable.
This woman was different, like no one else.
Men were fools. Scared of the very thing they had created. They wanted her power for themselves. She had wield it too well.
Elizabeth knew she was like this woman. She knew she was smart, cunning and better then these men.
She knew what they could do to her though and so she did not speak out, could not, would not.
It would be so easy for them to snuff her out as well.
She had the most beautiful red hair.
It is the hair that was given to her by her father.
Her Mother had given her the rest.
The rest of which she could not put to use yet.
Her face was Anne Boleyn's but it was also Elizabeth's.
Her time would come and when it did she would use her voice, like her mother once did.
For now she had to wait until that time came.
She was all there, glowing. Radiant. Knowing. Mysterious. She wore a shield as well though. Made of steel.
She would not let them use her and take her. Rise her up and then watch her fall.
She would finish what her mother had started.
She wore her beautiful red hair unbound for all to see. While she waited she would let them know that yes, she was Henry Tudor's daughter.
Then she would show them she was Anne Boleyn's also.