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Katherine Howard was shaking as she entered the castle gates.
This was good, right? A spot in the King’s court, taking care of the Queen, a new job.
This was almost certainly better than her previous job as an assistant, her previous job with Dereham…don’t think about him don’t think about him no.
The new Queen, who she was bound to serve, Her Majesty Anne of Cleves was said to be an understanding woman, a relaxed one, though from what she had heard of royalty before, ‘relaxed’ was not a very comforting term.
The King, her uncle said, had only recently met the Queen and Katherine should therefore educate her(he said in a disapproving tone, muttering about foreigners) on the behaviour of commoners around royalty. She must act always submissive, be there at the Queen’s beck and call, act as befit a peasant of her status around a monarch, a ruler.
Nothing she hadn’t done before.
Don’t think about that don’t think about that don’t think-
Katherine followed the footman who led her to the Queen’s quarters.
Stand up straight, look forward, small, graceful steps.
Not so different from the other instructions she had been told over the years.
Read, write, bend, walk, lift, spread, speak.
No, not so different at all.
~~~~~~
The room, of course, was opulent and large. The Queen sat at one side, idly tapping a finger on the bed, looking out of the window.
The door locked with a click.
Locked. Locked and alone and only you trapped where to go out Katherine’s eyes flitted around in instinct, looking for exits only door and window window past her only you trapped-
Don’t.
She inhaled deeply. Her hand flapped against her side once, before stilling, trembling.
Bow.
She knelt before the Queen, face almost brushing the floor as dictated in society, a strangled sob, hastily crushed, escaping from her throat as she remembered the last time DON’T.
”Y…your majesty…I am here to serve you…”
”Wer bist du?”
The thick accent, unfamiliar as it was, somehow managed to put Katherine at ease. Someone who is as out of her element as me.
The Queen seemed to realise her mistake, smacking her forehead with the heel of a palm and turning back to Katherine.
”Who…you?”
“Katherine Howard, your Majesty. I am here at His Majesty’s bidding.”
The queen looked bemused for a while, before laughing. “Lot..Katherines here, ja?”
Well, she couldn’t argue with that.
”Anything…I call you, different?”
She had to think about that for a while. Katherine had had many nicknames in her life, many…not very good memories associated with them. Pretty Kat, Little Girl, Ass…istant, et cetera.
Finally, she decided on one, an animal who she had always admired for its sheer ability to not give a shit.
”You can…call me Kitty…”
She cringed, in an instant, ready for the slap that would surely come from the formalities she had breached, hastily amending “your Majesty…”
The Queen scoffed at this. “Majesty…why so formal? You seem…nice girl, sure…friends? Call…Anna…”
Kitty almost smiled.
”Sure…your- Anna.”
~~~~~~
Kitty walked out with Anna a few months later.
”Hunting?” The young girl(for that was what she was, after all, merely a girl) asked as she skipped down the path in the woods. “Isn’t that a…aren’t women not allowed to do that?”
”Ah, Kätzchen, why would we let men tell us what to do?” Affectionate words as Anna ruffled Kitty’s hair. Words that weren’t supposed to hurt.
Alas, we live in a world where not many things work as they are supposed to.
She’s right, why would we, why would I let men tell me what to do? By that logic they can’t control me, right? So why, why, why did they do that…
My fault. My fault. Must have let them, must have said yes in some way, because they can’t tell me what to do. So I must have done it myself.
My fault. My fault that Mannox, that Dereham, that all the other guys they came up to me my fault that they…they…
My fault, my fault, all of it. My fault, for agreeing. My fault, for not resisting hard enough, I didn’t say no to that loud enough, that must have meant it was my fault, of course.
My fault that Mannox thought he could, he only came to teach music, after all, like Father said, I must have…I must have seduced him in some way to make him think it was okay to do that, not his fault, not, not, because he can’t tell me what to do, so my fault, my fault
my fault my fault my fault my fault that i got sent to Miss Agnes’ house, my fault they had to burn it, of course, burn the impurity out of me, they have to burn me, they have to burn me and then I’ll be better right?
i wasn’t better, i…Francis…i…they…they want me so why didn’t i say no louder? I must…my screams…too soft…my fault my fault MY FAULT MY FAULT MY FAULT MY FAULT EVERYTHING IS MY FAULT W H Y DIDN’T I
WHY DIDN’T I
WH
why
why didn’t i
my fault
Scratch.
Scratch.
Scratch off the beautiful face that landed her into all this trouble.
Scratch the skin of the elegant hands, the elegant hands that did this that learned and learned well that gave her that reputation that made them come.
Scratch until blood wells up, scratch until scars come, scratch until that perfect skin that ruined her life was marred, broken, so no one would take her again.
Scratch until that clearly faulty brain was exposed, scratch until that clearly faulty heart was open, scratch until they could rot in the diseased, impure, corrupted, polluted body that she had.
———
Anne of Cleves was not good with words or comfort.
That could be a good skill when she was telling people the facts.
It was not, in fact, a good skill when her handmaiden, her friend, was sobbing and scratching herself so hard she could see blood.
“OH SCHIEßE- KÄTZCHEN ARE YOU OKAY-“
She reached out to touch the unresponsive girl on the shoulder.
A mistake, really.
”D-DON’T TOUCH ME!” A hand shot out, backhanding Anna in the face.
Now, normally Anna would have been more than ready to fight back, but in this case she was stunned.
Kitty…Kitty…she…
…She’s not herself right now, Anna had to firmly tell herself.
Kitty hugged herself, tears mixing with blood from the scratches on her face, pink-tinted water flowing down the contours and splattering on the floor. Her mouth moved soundlessly as strangled whimpers dragged themselves out of her throat.
”Yes…yes…fifty…fifty more repetitions…NO, NO, NO MR MANNOX SIR, I’M SORRY, I NEVER INTENDED TO GET THE PIECE WRONG, MR MANNOX SIR, I WILL GET IT RIGHT, I WILL GET IT RIGHT THE NEXT FIFTY TIMES I SWEAR, PLEASE, MR MANNOX SIR, PLEASE EXCUSE MY ERROR, PLEASE DON’T-“
”Wha…MR DURNHAM SIR…PLEASE, SIR, I DIDN’T…I’M SORRY, YOUR PAPERS…I CAN FIX THEM I SWEAR, MR DURNHAM PLEASE, PLEASE, I APOLOGISE, I’M SORRY, DON’T TOUCH- DON’T- NO-”
A bloodcurdling shout of “NOOOO” shook the leaves as Kitty crumpled, that was the only way to put it, she folded into herself, her bones looking like they weren’t doing any favours for her as she slumped forward on her knees, pink-stained tears flowing from tightly shut eyes as she shook from sobs that wracked her body.
———
“Kätzchen. Kätzchen, can you hear me? Kätzchen. KÄTZCHEN. PLEASE.”
Anna squatted beside the prone body, hesitant to touch, hesitant to do anything that might send her into another relapse but desperate to get her friend back.
”KITTEN, KITTY. KATHERINE. KATHERINE, KATHERINE, KATHERINE PLEASE…”
Kitty was unresponsive.
”Kitty…” Anna was not a patient person. She punched the dirt below her in agony.
”Kitty…Schwester…please…”
”Wh…”
Kitty nearly fell over, disoriented. Anna lunged forward, catching her before she could hit the ground. She knew Kitty didn’t like to be touched now, but she would still rather touch her than let her hit her head on the ground.
”DON’T TOUCH- Anna?”
”SCHIEẞE, SORRY-“ Anna frantically stood up, pulling Kitty into a standing position and making sure that she was balanced before letting go, making sure not to touch her for any moment longer than necessary.
“It…it…I…” Her lips moved, the faint silhouette of the word “fine” visible, but never actually sounding. Red and pink tinged eyes, still wet, looked up at Anna, confused, nervous and afraid.
She stumbled back. Anxiety flashed in her eyes, before stilling as she bowed her head deferentially, the very picture of modesty and respect in an instant. Going back to the girl from when they first met, her brain overwhelmed from the memories, emotion and thus defaulting to the instructions.
”My apologies, your Majesty, it was inconsiderate of me to put you in that position, I apologise a thousand times over, if this means that I will be sent away or imprisoned I understand, my apologies-“ The words tumbled out like a waterfall, panic clumsily hidden under the formalities between a royal and a servant, making her keep rambling even as Anna tried to speak.
"Kätzchen. Kätzchen. Kätzchen. Listen.”
”I-“
”Listen.”
She swallowed, nodded, eyes fixed on Anna’s brown ones, hand flapping against her side.
“Kätzchen…I…ARE YOU OKAY?? What was th…who were those people? What did they do?”
Kitty inhaled.
———
Anna was going to murder several people.
She strode down the path before Kitty realised what was happening, paying no heed to the hands that snatched at her wrists, begging her to calm down, to stop but this is how Kitty felt, is it not when the men came, hand snaking to her back, gripping the leather handle of a crossbow…
”Anna. Anna. Anna, please, Anna, stop, STOP, ANNA, ANNA-“
”LET ME GO!”
Kitty shrank back, eyes wide, stammering “I-I-I didn’t…” Terror edged her voice as she stiffened, bracing herself.
And Anna’s heart broke.
“No, no, Kätzchen, I am so sorry, it’s not…you were a kid, hölle, you’re still a kid and you didn’t deserve any of that schieße they did to you, gottverdammt, ich werde sie umbringen, wenn ich sie auch nur sehe, sie sind der verdammte Abschaum auf dem Boden der Erde, Kätzchen, schwester, ich schwöre, sie werden dir das nicht noch einmal antun, niemand wird dir das noch einmal antun, no one will ever do this to you again, I promise. I will always be here to protect you.”
From the little German that Kitty had learned from Anna(after all, teaching English must be reciprocated), she managed to get the general idea of what she had said.
And the girl laughed, a laugh broken by sobs, yes, a laugh without a smile, but a laugh nonetheless.
“Anna…thank you…wait…what does…sch-schwester mean?”
Anna smiled. Kitty had picked up on that word.
”It means sister”
”Sister…” Kitty stared, open-mouthed at Anna.
“Thank you, Anna…”
The ghost of a smile formed on her face, the first genuinely happy smile that Anna had ever seen from her.
”…thank you…schwester…”
———
Anna had a question.
She took a while to think about it but now it was almost a 24/7 thought.
Of course, she had only had the thought for about 3 hours
And it may or may not have just been a reason to piss Kitty off and waste her time.
Okay, maybe it was just a reason to talk to Kitty.
But it was a very serious question.
Trust.
A small creak came from the door as Kitty walked in, stepping lightly like her namesake.
“Uh…hi, Anna-”
“KÄTZCHEN! PLEASE ASSIST ME, I AM DYING OVER HERE!” Anna flopped onto her back on the bed and placed a hand on her forehead, groaning dramatically.
Kitty laughed. LET’S GOOOOO-
“Okay, okay, Anna,” she giggled as she shut the door behind her, “what mysterious plague has befallen you this time?”
You can probably tell that this wasn’t the first time that Anna had done this.
“KÄTZCHEN. FOR THE LIGHT, I DOTH SEE IT, AND I SHALT ASCEND, ALREADY I FEEL ITS PULL-”
“Up to the heavens, I shall fly, ne’er again to cast my gaze on your beautiful face, and you shalt never again see me as I once was, from ‘ere on out, thou shalt never imagine me as my once, great beauty, but instead as a desiccated corpse, eyes pecked out by the ravens, unless thou deem me worthy enough to bequest me with relief from this agony that consumes me, a salvation.”
Yeah, it definitely wasn’t the first time that Anna had done this.
Anna stared reproachfully at Kitty, who tried to keep a straight face for a solid 10 seconds before bursting into laughter and sitting on the bed.
”No. No, you cannot come near me. No.”
”Anna-“
”No,” she said, scrambling off the bed and standing at one side, staring at Kitty with mock anger, “You…Kätzchen, I trusted you, and not only do you mock my ailment, but you steal my perfectly crafted monologue? The betrayal!”
The betrayer in question stuck her tongue out, winking, “What a shame…”
“YES! SHAME INDEED!” Anna howled, falling with a crash next to Kitty, before taking a pillow and throwing it at her. Kitty easily batted it away, before standing up.
”Don’t worry Anna, this ailment won’t kill you, I dare not allow it!” Kitty announced in mock heroism, posing in a slaying-dragon fashion. “My Queen, what doth you require to save you from this terror? Ask, anything, and you shall receive!”
A wicked grin emerged on Anna’s face.
”Perhaps…true love’s kiss?”
”Ask, anything but that, and you shall receive!” Kitty said with just as much gusto as before, throwing the pillow back at Anna(it hit her in the face, Kitty’s aim was good) and laughing as she sat back on the bed, “Bold of you to assume that you’ll ever get true love anyways.”
”RUDE-“ Anna was cut off by Kitty’s giggling. “Okay, okay, what do you actually want?”
”I was going to tell you but now I feel lonely and mad.”
Kitty groaned. “Just tell me, damnit, Anna…pleaseeeee,” she whined, staring directly at Anna.
”Goddamnit fine. So you know how emotions have colours, right?”
”W h a t.”
“Yeah, like how happiness is yellow and sadness is blue blah blah blah…”
”Is this a joke?” Kitty stared dumbfoundedly at Anna.
“I mean it makes sense, doesn’t it?”
”It- wh- no- wait…DAMMIT WHY DOES THIS MAKE SENSE. ANNA. WHAT THE HECK.”
Anna hadn’t laughed as hard as she did at that moment in several years.
“So…what colour is love? Red or pink?”
Kitty coughed.
”Re- I mean pink- I mean…I don’t know. Why…what…”
Anna leapt up, aghast.
”You don’t know? By god, Kätzchen, I thought you knew everything! You liar!”
And the room erupted in laughter as Anna threw herself on Kitty in mock anger, as the two began to play-fight(Kitty was the winner), as, exhausted, they eventually lay face-up on the bed beside each other, much messier than court rules dictated, and as they eventually got back to the duties of the day, albeit reluctantly.
But Anna hadn’t had that much fun in a long time.
Yellow. Happiness.
And another colour, that looked to be a mixture.
She didn’t know what colour it was.
But she knew damn well what it represented.
An emotion she hadn’t felt since she moved to England.
Love.
———
Anna fiddled idly with a button on her dress a few months later, wondering when Kitty would arrive so they could talk again. An unfinished conversation and English lesson from the night before was buzzing around in her head, and words formed on the tip of her tongue.
Where are you-
The door flew open with a bang and a girl ran in, threw herself on the floor beside the bed, and sat in a curled position, rocking back and forth in the fetal position as her hand flapped against her knee.
“Ah, Kätzchen…Kätzchen? Kitty? KITTY?!”
Anna half-jumped, half-slipped off the bed to kneel beside her, extending a hand before stopping, realising that the girl was sobbing.
“KITTY? KITTY, IT’S ME, IT’S ME, ANNA, ARE YOU- ARE YOU OKAY?”
”Anna…” Kitty whimpered, eyes darting to the right enough to see her mistress before burying her head in her hands again. “Anna, Anna, it’s so fucked, it’s so fucked Anna, Anna, everything is so fucked, everything is so fucked and we’re all gonna die, I’m gonna die, he-he-he’s gonna…” and here her voice broke and she had to blindly grab at the carpet to stabilise herself, “…I’m so fucked, I know what he did, and I don’t know what to do now, it’s just so fucked, I’M DEAD, I’M FUCKED, I’M ABSOLUTELY ROYALLY SCREWED!”
She yelled the last part, crying, her face and hair as messed up as she was, as she stared blankly at her hands before digging her nails into the palm of the other hand, hissing in pain as she dug them deeper and deeper…
”KÄTZCHEN STOP!“
Anna had sat there in silence, trying to process everything that was spilling out of Kitty’s mouth, the torrent of absolute panic, anger, grief and terror exploding, washing away the previous joy and anticipation.
Kitty gasped, breath still shaking as she hesitated, looked up, tear stains tracing lines, scars down her cheeks.
“Slow down, slow down, Kitty, just…calm down, okay?”
”Okay, okay, okay, calm down, calm, I can calm, calm, calm, calm, calm…” She swallowed before taking a shuddering breath and exhaling.
”That’s right…calm…” Anna was not the most comforting person, she was more of the ‘BEAT PEOPLE UP’ kind of person, but it seemed to work well enough for Kitty. “Now…can you tell me what happened?”
”Okay, okay, okay, calm…T-T-The King, He-H-He-I over-overheard him, he has his eye on someone else, someone pretty,” she spat the word out like it was poison, like it was something she did not want in her mouth for any longer than necessary
“He-he wants to d-divo-divorce you…”
Anna would be lying if she said that her heart didn’t leap with joy at those words, already, these British castles felt too suffocating for her, she wanted to go home, or at the very least somewhere else where she wouldn’t be bogged down by courtly duties, and she wasn’t naive enough to think that the King would still treat her nicely after she failed to give him a heir, hell, any child.
Long story short, she overstayed her welcome.
But why was Kitty crying, then? She knew damn well Anna’s feelings, or to be more precise lack of feelings about Henry, and she was usually happy for Anna…if it was anxiety about being left alone, then Anna would be more than willing to bring her along, they were sisters after all, and Kitty knew that.
So Anna asked.
”What? Liebling, that’s amazing! Wh…why are you crying?”
Kitty’s voice fought to keep itself under control as she choked out, “His new wife…his plan-plans…I heard those too…Anna, it’s so fucked up, so fucked up…”
Anna was almost scared to ask based on the growing glossiness of Kitty’s eyes.
”W-Who?”
Kitty didn’t respond for a long time, staring bitterly at the floor as tears dripped out of her eyes of their own volition, her voice growing more and more shaky, ratcheted and forced in a whine, a sob as she spat words out like venom.
”It-It’s me…God, Anna, H-He wants m-me, me t-to be his new Queen…”
And Anna’s heart broke.
~~~~~~
Kitty was good at following instructions.
So when the footman told her to stop by the kitchen to pick up some snacks before going to meet Anna, she had to obey.
And, really, was it her fault that the throne room, despite not usually being on the way to Anna’s room, was on the way to the kitchen?
And was it her fault that the door happened to be slightly ajar?
And was it her fault that the King’s voice was very loud, suited as it was for speeches and royal audiences?
Okay, but the breakdown was definitely her fault.
But she couldn’t see that then, could she? Blinded as she was by tears, by the wind whipping her eyes as she ran to Anna’s room.
Deafened by the screams in her head of NO, NO nonononoNO THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING, THIS IS HORRIBLE, IT’S SO FUCKED that only intensified when she reached Anna’s room, when she saw her sister’s face that should have comforted her, but instead stabbed her with realisation, daggers of jealousy whispering why does she get everything Anna’s life is amazing I’m sure no man has ever tried to tell her what to do and now because of her, because of her I have to- I have to- I have- and then guilt, rushing up like a tidal wave and a sea that shook her, almost drowned her as she gasped from air, as she used her final breaths to scream out apologies to the world because this wasn’t anyone who she could feel jealous of with any good conscience, this was Anna, Anna, the person, her sister who had always been there for her but no matter how loud she screamed, no matter how much the ocean around her rushed and the waves crashed, spsh-splash-spsh like buckets, washing her rationality away, washing away her sense of calm and dousing her hair, drenching her clothes until she was struggling to stay afloat, her arms paddling and paddling until the whispers of let go just let go drown in your grief just do it you don’t deserve joy anyway just grew louder and louder and LOUDER and weights were DRAGGING her down into the sea of guilt the sea of regret, no matter any of that the daggers still stayed, the water pushed them further and further in and when she looked down, the daggers were attached to the same weights, no, they were the same weights, the same leaden tonnes that were dragging her down as she tried to fight them and tried and tried and failed.
Anna was saying something. Anna was saying something. Anna was saying something.
Listen, Kitty.
The water made it hard to hear, muffled, until she faintly heard a word that cut through the storm, a flash of radiance.
”…calm…”
Calm. Calm. Calm. Calm. Calm. Calm.
She could be calm.
She held onto that word like it was a float, an instruction, a message to follow.
And Kitty was very good at following instructions.
“Calm, calm, calm, calm, calm,” she hummed, and it worked, kind of, the water stilled and ropes, strings, they swung down until she could grab them and get pulled out of the water, not fully out but enough so that she could catch her breath, a brief respite.
A dream-state, fog, still muffled Anna’s words, but in the calm she could focus though the haze enough to hear it.
”…tell me…happened?”
Tell her what happened. Tell her what happened. The memory, it threatened to swallow Kitty again, as the ropes slackened, as with a sickening lurch she fell, she sobbed, no, tell her, this is…this will make Anna happy make Anna happy make Anna happy make Anna happy make Anna happy make Anna happy “T-T-The King, He-H-He-I over-overheard him, he has his eye on someone else, someone pretty,” and she almost sobbed again at that word, that word that she struggled to cough out, that word that spiked, a ball of thorns that embedded itself in her throat, how bitter, how she hated being seen like that, like an object, simply pretty, a toy for them all, it’s all they see, after all, her perfect skin and perfect hair and perfect body that made her life so imperfect, no don’t think about that tell Anna tell Anna, “He-he wants to d-divo-divorce you…”
She saw Anna’s face light up and in an instant the daggers, the jealousy it came back, digging harder and harder, stabbing deeper and deeper as dark spots danced across her vision, blinded by the pain of panic and grief because as much as she was happy for her friend i t h u r t to see her so happy when Kitty herself was sobbing.
She saw Anna’s second-long-smile vanish as she saw Kitty’s expression.
The fog was coming back, the haze was casting a blanket over her eyes again.
”…amazing…” At least Anna was happy, “…crying?”
At least Anna was happy.
But she had to tell her, now, and the words strangled her before she could choke them out.
“His new wife…his plan-plans…I heard those too…Anna, it’s so fucked up, so fucked up…”
And the tears that she had managed to keep in her eyes just long enough to tell Anna the one bit of good news in this shit conversation started leaking out.
Of course, Anna asked who. And Kitty’s breath came out in a forced exhale, almost like a laugh, except she was way too in the mental-breakdown stage to even think about anything. A scornful laugh as the daggers made their way to her throat.
The black spots were growing larger.
”It-It’s me…”
The words alone sent her into a panic.
“God, Anna…”
Kitty cursed Him, wherever he was, although at the moment it might be more realistic if there wasn’t one, there wasn’t- there has never been anyone for her.
“H-He wants m-me, me”
But didn’t they all? All the men wanted her, right? For as she looked up in the pouring rain, the ropes that held her afloat as the waves began their tossing and turning again, the ropes they tightened around her limbs and neck as she struggled.
“…t-to be his new Queen…”
Kitty wasn’t stupid enough to not know that being the Queen was less an achievement than a death sentence, hell, even worse.
The ropes tightened more and more until she was gasping for air as rain pelted, hard as hail on her face.
The clouds formed themselves into towering figures with lightning for eyes and mouths.
Mannox and Dereham themselves appeared in the slowly defining figures, laughing at the struggling Kitty, grabbing the ropes and pulling, tugging, contorting her figure into what seemed like endless shapes before ripping ripping ripping her apart.
And all that time she was begging, pleading like she had once did at the mercy of them, crying(or was that just the rain) as screams issued from her mouth but she was at their mercy, was she not? A limp puppet.
And it was her choice to be in this situation.
Her choice to follow their rule.
Her choice.
Her fault.
They let her go.
Her limp body plummeted, plummeted until it hit the sea.
The daggers weighed her down and she was sinking, sinking as she bled a river of regret.
Bubbles burst from her throat as she tried to scream, tried to breathe but the water came in and she choked.
Popping in her brain and ears as she sunk deeper and deeper.
Tears, nearly indistinguishable from the already present water.
Dimly recognising falling, falling forward into braced arms.
Dimly recognising being pulled into a hug.
TOUCH, RUN, RUN! RUN- FIGHT-
Instinctively lashing out.
Seeing black spots.
Last breath.
Scream.
Gone.
~~~~~~
Kitty didn’t like the throne.
Sorry, I meant Her Majesty The Queen Katherine Howard.
Her Majesty The Queen Katherine Howard didn’t like the throne.
Well what was there to like about it? It’s a wooden chair, tall enough to reach over her head yet thin enough so that she had to shift around to be comfortable, the only realistic place that she could lean on full of engravings, bumps and ridges that poked into her back.
Not like the dress, heavy as it was, did anything to help with that, instead it always felt like it was weighing her down, making her clumsy, so different from the girl who had once skipped around, and whenever she took it off at the end of the day she almost felt like she could fly.
But the crown, oh, the crown was the worst part, definitely, half a kilogram of solid metal resting on her head, and she couldn’t even slouch, no, she had to sit up straight, regally as befitted a Queen(but was she a Queen, no, not really considering her uselessness).
All in all, it was a very overwhelming get-up.
”Katherine?”
”Oh!” She squeaked, looking up from where she had been lost in thought. A commoner, knelt before the throne, asking for…something, she didn’t remember what. Really, he was just one face of many, an endless stream of people vying to win the favour of the king, that more commonly ended in their despair.
She envied the thin garb he wore, though. It looked much more comfortable than the large, scratchy and hot dress.
Oh, please get me out of this!
”I…I…whatever you think is best, My King.” Neutrality. Always the best option.
He looked at her with a smirk. Goddamnit, that smirk, it looks like a fucking leer, the leer of a monster who knows damn well what he wants and is only keeping up the facade, damn, I hate that smirk so fucking much.
”All right, then. Guards, take this creature away.”
She didn’t know what would happen to the peasant, nor did she particularly want to know.
”Well, advisors,” he boomed as he stood up, oh look up, something new, “it looks like my darling wife Katherine is tired from the events of the day!”
Oh God, she knew what was going to happen next.
”Why not I bring her to my room, where she can rest? Matthew, tell all the other commoners outside to come back some other day, week or ideally never.” That smile, that cunning disguise of it as a question when in reality they all knew that he had the true power and they all had to obey.
All of them, including her, had to obey.
”Come along now, my Queen,” he grinned as he grabbed her hand in what looked like an affectionate gesture, but what she really saw as a trap. Don’t flinch don’t flinch don’t flinch-
Wordlessly she stood up.
”Good.”
He dragged her to his room, and she managed one tiny whimper as the door shut behind her.
He doesn’t want a wife. He wants a toy.
And he damn well got one.
~~~~~~
Kitty cried that night.
It wasn’t a very rare occurrence, she cried every night, he did it every night, after all.
At least after, when she could walk again, she was allowed to go back to her room.
She didn’t know what she would do when eventually, he made them share a room.
Kill herself, probably.
Well, she didn’t have to think about that yet.
She would still think about it, of course. It never stopped her.
Finally, she pulled up a chair to the table and lit a candle. A small smile tugged at her lips as she opened the drawer, taking out a piece of paper and a quill.
Now, what to write?
Not too difficult, it started the same way every time, the same two words that always made her laugh with their innocence and with the anticipation.
And not that she had to be selective, she would write everything down if she could, every minute of the day.
The quill-tip touched the paper.
Dear Anna…
———
Anna missed Kitty.
Sure, she liked her castle, it was no Germany but she wasn’t fool enough to try to go back.
That was why, whenever she received a letter from her, she would always rip it open immediately and read it, holding every word dear to her heart.
And it was no different with this letter.
Dear Anna…
I miss you, I miss you so much, please, I just want to see you again.
It’s hell here, it’s hell with him and it’s hell whenever he does it, he does it almost all the time and it sucks, I just want to see you again, please.
Remember that day when we went hunting? Or at least when we tried to, it didn’t end that well, haha. I’m really sorry for that, I’m so sorry for all these letters, Anna, you don’t need to hear any of this from me.
I’m sorry, I’m rambling, ignore that.
Anyways, how are you? How did you live with the throne, dress and crown? They’re so heavy I can barely keep my head up. Also, court sucks. At least guys aren’t hitting on me anymore. Or…most of them at least.
Though I’d rather have 10 Mannoxes than Henry.
Okay, that was a lie.
But still.
Please respond to this, I must sound so pathetic right now but I really, really miss you, Anna, you were my are my one friend.
Hoping that the King will get bored of me soon, so he can divorce me…then…it’s fine if you say no, I understand, but maybe I can come and live with you?
It was a stupid thought and if you don’t want to it’s fine…
…maybe we can go hunting, for real this time, and you can teach me.
I sound pathetic.
I hope I can see you soon, schwester.
-Kitty
Goddamnit, FUCK HENRY.
Anna screamed, throwing the letter to one side and burying her head in her hands.
SHE’S A KID! SHE’S A KID FOR FUCK’S SAKE, SCHEISS AUF DIESEN VERDAMMTEN BASTARD HENRY UND AUF ALLE VERDAMMTEN MÄNNER, DIE AUCH NUR EINMAL VERSUCHT HABEN, SIE ZU BERÜHREN!
Gott...sie hat es verdient, sie hat nichts davon verdient, und jetzt fühlt sie sich beschissen...nein, nein, Kätzchen, es ist nicht deine Schuld, bitte nicht...
Ich bin nicht für sie da...
Ich...ich werde dich da rausholen, ich werde dich da rausholen, Schwester, bitte, halt einfach durch, ich komme.
Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes.
Kitty…
Anna picked up the letter, folding it.
She would write a response, then she would leave for London.
She scoffed as she got off her throne, chuckling darkly.
Understandable that Kitty would rather 10 Mannoxes.
He doesn’t even give good sex anyways.
Anna went into her room to pack her bags.
~~~~~~
Kitty had just woken up when soldiers broke into her room.
“What…”
”Get up.”
”Wh…I…”
”GET. UP. NOW.”
Why are they What did I do but I’m the queen they can’t what what happened what what why why why why why why-
Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up.
Dazed, she slowly sat up, before a soldier, tired of waiting, grabbed her arm and pulled her up, almost yanking her arm out of its socket.
His hand was rough, calloused like Mannox’s was cold and clammy like Dereham’s, and she screamed, screamed from the memory of it, pulling her arm back but his grip was too strong, panic and she did, breath short-sharp-ragged as she lunged, her arm jolted, grabbed a pillow and she smacked it into his face, clubbed him with it but he was armoured and it did nothing to him as with a cruel laugh he allowed her to club him with it a few times before ripping it out of her hand, fluff blowing all around the room.
They were all upon her now, and she was suddenly aware of how thin her dress was, oh how she now longed for the thick gown of a Queen as their hands their hands all scrabbled, scratched around her and some rational part of her brain recognised that these were loyal servants, that raping the Queen would give them more of a punishment than she had but she didn’t know what punishment she had, did she and they were just trying to make her stand up, go with them, follow instructions but the rational part of her brain was long-gone, washed away in that same sea, the rushing sea of panic and guilt and DON’T TAKE ME DON’T TOUCH ME PLEASE but it wasn’t like she could do anything about it, it was 4 armed men versus one unarmed girl and isn’t it always like this always like this she hated it, always hated having her arms restrained but with a scream she was pulled, pulled apart by the men who had their clammy-groping-Mannox-Dereham hands upon her, borderline carrying her as she kicked her legs up and in a different world she may have thought it was a weird dance they were doing, she may even have laughed, but she hadn’t laughed in a long time.
She hadn’t laughed since Anna moved out.
She hadn’t laughed since that day.
A flash of white caught her eye as they tried to drag her out of the room, a piece of parchment on that dark oak wood of her desk, stark contrast of light, and she’d be damned if she didn’t recognise that handwriting that she lived to read, that borderline chicken-scrawl(because as hard as Kitty tried, she couldn’t get Anna to write neatly), those words from the person she held nearest to her heart, the only one she let in through the barriers of thorn, because try and succeed as the men might to rip apart her life, her clothes, hell, even her skin sometimes, they never managed to get to her heart.
But Anna did.
And so with reserves of strength she didn’t know she had she lunged, pulled one arm free and grabbed the paper crumpled, yes but that wasn’t important held it close to her as the stunned soldiers started screaming at her she was stupid so so stupid wasn’t she, why couldn’t she just follow the instructions and they grabbed at her again and this time she let them, but her hand stayed clenched around the paper, tight enough that she could feel her bitten-short nails stab-stab-stabbing her palm she deserves the pain she deserves the pain she made the choice and she deserves the pain but now the soldiers’ faces were flickering and they weren’t emotionless rocks anymore, she heard them she heard them Mannox’s sugar-sweet-syrupy voice do it again do it again Dereham’s cold and clammy hands she could feel them on her already and she clung to the one thing she had she had it Anna Anna Anna.
The sea was back already but this time they weren’t ropes, they were manacles, the manacles in the shape of hands, cold iron that crept-crawled up her skin raising goosebumps and she screamed, dammit, she screamed as loud as she could but no response came it’s exactly what she thought of course she damn well might be invisible no one hears her no one heard her when she screamed the water was at her mouth now it pushed, shoved to be let in and she inhaled, a screaming gasp and it all came in in a rush, the panic(was she the one kicking and shouting? what was she hitting?) and in all of that she kept her right hand closed as the bad-air triggers started to go off in her brain ALERT ALERT ALERT and every breath brought with it more pain, she didn’t know that drowning felt like fire, every part burning and scorching and pain.
Why did she keep her hand closed? She didn’t know but through the haze she saw her fingers red as they were but in the dreamscape it was a float, the only respite when the manacles were weighing, dragging her down or in front, right, which direction, w h e r e i s u p and she fought but it was sapping, her energy, she gasped but the black spots were growing bigger they consumed, vignettes at the edge of her vision that grew and flashed in-out in-out so the light was stabbing pain and agony and she could almost think the darkness was relief, bliss, a welcome escape.
Anna.
Anna, Anna, Anna it came in a flash of the light as her eyes open-close-opened, a flash of realisation, a flash as the edges of her vision turned red.
Anna, Anna, Anna and it became a hum, stability in the shakiness as her legs fumbled, tripped but always yanked up, scraping against the carpet.
“Look up.” Don’t let go.
And the tears that blurred everything, the faces of men that flashed in-out in-out Mannox-Dereham Mannox-Dereham Mannox-Dereham-
Henry.
Was it actually Henry? She couldn’t be sure, she definitely saw that grimy orange beard but is it a hallucination and she couldn’t see much of anything else, dark as the sea was, closing over her head but this was the first time she saw his face and maybe the last time and she’d be damned if she didn’t tell him something she’d be damned regardless but she spat out the word like it was poison, like it was a flame-fire-spout of hate that cleared the haze for just a second, it filled her mouth with a bitter taste but she thought she had never tasted anything as sweet as that up to that moment.
”Bastard.”
But a second was a second, after all, and soon the haze came again as she screamed and now people were scrabbling at her hand don’t-let-go and dimly, she heard “LEAVE IT! WHAT CAN THAT WHORE DO WITH A PIECE OF GRIMY PAPER ANYWAY?”
Whore. Slut. Whore. Slut. Their faces all came up, those mocking faces, those disgusted faces who sent her away after what they she did and she howled, howled in the pure agony as she was dragged out.
The floor wasn’t carpet anymore.
Wood going ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump jolting sickeningly and her eyes were opening closing but it didn’t really matter, did it.
Her hands were grabbed, roughly twisted, a shot of pain and rough rope tied around them like she was an animal but she was, was she not and she looked up for a moment and saw a face, that same clean-cut face in her nightmares but now eyes blank, staring as crows flew down and where was the body no body just a head, the blood-stained spikes and the hair, once so neat, now undone and soaking in a pool of old blood.
Dereham was staring back at her.
Staring, eyes blank. Skin cold with death.
She vomited, violently, purging the bitterness, the sea-water from her and she knew it was humiliation but she had been humiliated enough, how could she care if everyone was watching her if her own sight was worse? And the bile mixed with a scream, a whine.
And she felt joy in the death, his death, and it sickened her, what kind of cruel, sadistic monster felt joy, of all feelings, saw happiness in death? What kind of monster was she, that she saw a man who had been nothing but good to her he gave me a job he gave me pain he gave me love, he cared so much he called me love he cared so much he called me love and she couldn’t be sure what was good, right, up, down anymore but what kind of monster was she, that she would wish death on an innocent man? “Innocent?” the monster in her said, that part that whispered the doubts, “What kind of innocent man would do that to a child, would do that to you?”
The monster sounded a lot like Anna. She pushed the voice away
She looked around, for anyone, anything, but she was already being lifted on her feet it was sickening the swaying and she would have vomited had she not already done that a minute before.
She could feel the soldiers looking at her with disgust, not like they needed to conceal it, a girl in a nightdress, hair undone and reeking of panic.
What a dream she once had, what a nightmare it was now. Not looking pretty.
A flash of red and pink burst through the crowd, running closer and closer to the side of the river, pushing through the of course they are cheering crowd, screaming something drowned out, face of panic as she couldn’t be sure who couldn’t be sure yet but dim surprise registered as they were crying, crying and for some reason it was for her why for her she doesn’t deserve those wasted tears-
”KÄTZCHEN! KÄTZCHEN!”
And she knew, she finally knew who it was, same way she knew that same reserve of strength had appeared, hell, she would have leaped into the water to get closer to her if she could but the soldiers here were better-trained and more used to dealing with prisoners, and the iron bars were approaching faster and faster, and she was fading faster and faster as the black spots danced, a million different reasons like a chasm between them.
One last shout.
”ANNA-“
Traitors’ Gate closed with a clang.
~~~~~~
Kitty thought that all things considered, the cell wasn’t too bad.
Sure, the damp walls gave rise to rot and mould that sent spores around the room, making her cough and wheeze. And sure, since winter had only just ended, the chill of the iron bars sent cold cutting across the room, making her shiver from her perch on the thin blanket beside the wall that did nothing to help with it. And sure, the food was often mouldy, when there was even food at all. Most of the time the rats ate it before Kitty could even get near. Some cat she was. And of course there was that entire panic spiral titled “I’M IN JAIL HELP ME”.
But at least here, guys weren’t trying to hit on her 24/7. And being in a constant state of mental breakdown meant that she never had any emotional dips! And at least she had a blanket and somewhat-constant food, which was a better deal than at home! And at least she was left alone(which may or may not have been because she was in solitary confinement), with no mistressly, courtly or queenly responsibilities!
You see, Kitty was an optimist. And for you non-English speakers, it’s spelled like this: D-E-N-I-A-L.
The first thing Kitty read in jail was Anna’s letter.
You see, once she had managed to unclench her hand don’t let go don’t let go don’t let go she held the letter, shaking. The paper was incredibly crumpled at this point, of course, and stained by tears and rose-blooms of blood.
Still legible.
Or as legible as Anna’s handwriting usually was.
She read it, then, and read and reread it until the words were engraved in her mind, until at night, when the rats scrabbled, she would grip the letter tightly, repeating the words like a comfort blanket.
She repeated those words until eventually, they were all she would ever say.
And she repeated those words, until eventually, Anna was all she would ever think about.
Dear Kätzchen,
I am so sorry.
I am so sorry for everything.
I miss you so much, it’s so empty, so boring without you.
I’m coming.
I can’t say much here, but I’ll see you soon.
I’ll bring you hunting.
You can come to Richmond with me.
Wait for me.
Anna
The second thing that Kitty read in jail was her own death sentence.
What did I even do to get here?
No one had come to see her other than the damn Warden, who didn’t talk in anything other than barks and gruff orders as he threw slop into her cell.
Although one day, instead of slop, he threw in a piece of paper.
Blurred, hazy eyes barely registered the difference(both were off-white with stains) before lunging forward, as was habit, before the rats came, looking much more like her nicknamesake than ever, in the past 18 years. Not eating for 2 days and before that, only eating a spoonful of slop will do that to a person.
She had it halfway to her mouth before the difference in texture registered.
”Go,” she coughed, voice hoarse to disuse, staring at the beady eyes fixed on her. “It…not food…go…”
Scratchy words, serrated that seemed to cut her throat open with the effort of speaking, then again, it wouldn’t be that hard to cut her throat open at that point considering how dry it was. Fun fact, water licked from lichen-mould damp walls will less hydrate you and more give you hallucinations.
Oh God, how much she wanted water.
Open the scroll. Open it and see if it’s food. If it’s food or a key or water or a way out or anything, anything.
It was something.
ORDER FOR THE EXECUTION OF KATHERINE HOWARD
By decree of the King, Henry the Eighth, Supreme Leader of the Church of England.
Former Queen Katherine Howard has committed a transgression of the new law imposed by the King, stating that: All Queens must inform the King of their previous sexual history before their marriage.
Katherine Howard, before ascending to the throne, failed to inform the King of her sexual history with Thomas Dereham. It is known that Katherine Howard and Thomas Dereham engaged in consensual intercourse, as well as calling one another Husband and Wife, signing a pre-contract. A pre-contract, as such, dictates that they would have been married. Thus, Katherine Howard has not only failed to notify the King of her past relationships, but also committed adultery.
By the great mercy of the King, he has decreed that Katherine Howard shall not burn at the stake. However, for her serious crimes against the Church, he has declared that Katherine Howard shall, instead, be beheaded as befits a man. Thomas Dereham will also be executed by this method.
The execution shall take place on the 13th of February, upon the green of our good Tower of London.
Signed: Henry Tudor
Execution. Execution. Execution. Execution. Execution. Execution.
Kitty must have had an issue with holding pieces of paper, because it seemed to be stuck to her hand as she read and reread it, the black ink searing into her brain and the red seal jarring, in the dull cell. Jarring, bright, execution execution execution.
Consensual.
Was it consensual? She hadn’t said no, so it must have been consensual! Screams wouldn’t cut it. Not like she even screamed.
And the nicknames…Dereham told her, told her that no one needed to know, that it was how special he found her, how mature she was that gave her that title, it was optional for her to call him that back, and God she was an idiot for even agreeing, it made her feel so special, so mature, wasn’t that how all of them felt.
She killed Dereham. She killed an innocent but was he innocent but was he innocent but was he it was her fault he died, her fault that his lifeless head was impaled on the Tower, her fault, her fault, her fault he had a future he had a future and she took it away like she took everything away, she took away Mannox’s job, she took away Dereham’s future and she took away Henry’s wife by dying her fault her fault her fault.
The paper was a sheet now, a sheet of cold iron that stab-stab-stabbed into her hands with the biting cold and she sank to her knees, slumped, still holding it up in front of her like it was attached to a string, the only part of her that was still willing to be erect as all the energy went out of her body, the energy sapped by the water the damn water that was back, flowing from her eyes like a damn river and she couldn’t scream anymore, she tried, oh, she tried but the lump rising in her throat was growing spikes, poking her and she laughed, coughed, is this what it will feel like when I get beheaded and finally the scream came, building up slowly, a wail that ripped from her throat, and she didn’t even realise that the scroll had fallen now there was nothing holding her up she fell, fell hard and just lay there on the floor it’s cold cold hands cold hands grabbing grabbing they want they want me and she leapt up like she was burnt, seared, branded with the memory of their hands, their touch, that she wore like an accolade, a badge of shame.
Mercy.
She laughed hollowly at that, how merciful it was that instead of burning, her head would be chopped off. Her father had brought her to see the beheading before, of her cousin, Anne Boleyn. They weren’t very close, but she still remembered that day, if not for the crowd(they were cheering, why were they cheering?) then for the event itself.
I She walked onto the scaffold, shaking.
I She recited a speech.
I She praised the King, before reciting my her crimes I told them what they had done.
I She knelt down, resting my her head on the block.
The sword slashed.
And her my blood flowed like a river.
And she died.
And she died.
And she I died.
And she-she-I-she died.
And-
And-
And I died.
She choked back a sob, the tears rising faster than she could control, stumbling backwards but the stairs up to the scaffold are right behind me are they are they not screaming, as she fought to get the image that kept fucking replaying out of her head, that image where everything was clear as day, everything except Anne, as the green-sleeved queen kept flickering in and out, changing, changing into someone she could recognise, me?
”NOOOOO!”
The bars were warping now, fishbowling as her vision tunnelled, and the floor lurched below her feet floor or water solid or liquid volatile as the waves that were back, the waves that cra-cra-crashed doused her in the cold and wet and abject helplessness of terror, she was drowning.
She thought paper was a float.
She thought that, until the notice started pulling on her arm, dragging her down as she fought.
She thought she could trust paper, her instincts of grabbing the notice and holding it close to her kicking in, well-trained as they were from Anna’s letter.
She couldn’t trust paper.
She couldn’t trust anyone.
She couldn’t trust anyone, they would all fuck her up one way or another, stab her the moment her back was turned and her guard was down.
Mannox had told her to trust him. Mannox had told her to trust him as his fingers played all over the instruments her everywhere and she had obeyed, she had trusted his words how planned, how manipulative she had trusted him and look how it ended up, look at how it resulted in her being betrayed by the acts that he said no one would know about them but of course, people found out, ha, no need to conceal him under the word “people”, her father found out and sent her to that place, her step-grandmother’s house where another person told her to trust him.
Francis had told her to trust him, trust him in the ways and means by which he did things, trust him because he had been doing this for longer than her, knew more things than her, and if she was to be a good assistant wouldn’t she need to trust her boss? What a nice boss he was, still showing her around even though it detracted time from his Very Important Work, and she had to follow his instructions exactly if she wanted to help with the Very Important Work, and she did follow them, of course, followed them and trusted him and his experience even during the small doubts(was this really how you were supposed to hold a quill? And why practice on-) but she trusted him and look what had happened, she got kicked out.
Henry had told her to trust him. Henry had told her that she would be a good queen, a good wife, and God, she wanted to believe him so badly, but at that point the trust was good as a knife, “cut out the middleman” her heart had said, and skipped to the ripping-tearing itself apart even before the betrayal happened. Not like she was a good queen, he was lying, as they all lied, of course they all lied.
Trust is fickle, connection is fickle. All fake. Kitty knew that better than anybody.
A sob breached her throat, breaking from her lips, wrenching from so deep inside her that she thought her heart must have gone along with it, if she even had a heart, torn-apart as it was. It brought with it thoughts that she screamed at herself for even having how-dare-you-even-think-that and she wanted to, she did, gouged her nails into her arm, ripping and scratching.
Anna had told her to trust her. Anna had told her that she was worth everything, Anna had been there for here, Anna had told her she would always be there for her.
And Anna left.
And Anna fucking left.
This was why Kitty couldn’t have good things, couldn’t even have a little bit of trust, a little bit of letting her defences down, a little bit of just relaxing and giving herself up to the care of others, believing that they would treat her right, that they would lead her right.
Ha.
Pain bloomed on her forearm, that feeling that can only be described as a zip(am I making any sense? But then again, the pain didn’t make any sense), a bolt up her arm as she why was she laughed, laughing, choked cries that bubbled out of her as through blurry eyes, blurry vision that swam and spotted on-off on-off, she saw the red and white streaks, the bumps from where she had scratched too hard, and it was funny, the pain, almost like a relief, she was scratching away the skin, the dirty skin that she had to live with for so long, scratching it off, scouring it off so no one could look at her and say “Oh what a pretty girl, clearly the fairest of the fair!”
Her skin finally split, soft as a sigh, as her fingers suddenly started slipping in the wet blood that quickly covered her whole arm, the metallic tang wafted up, a harsh, bitter scent that hit the back of her throat, a further affirmation that this was bad, she shouldn’t be doing this but she deserves this, does she not, she deserves this pain for the amount of pain she caused others so much so much so much pain this pain is nothing to being beheaded and her skin was red-raw now, the nerves exposed, and she pulled her hand away for an instant, blood dripping from her fingers and arm, hesitated, inhaled, she wants this does she not she is doing this to herself but if she wants this why does it h u r t so much-
She jammed her nails into her arm.
And screamed, white-hot flashes of pain as her knees buckled, she fell, knelt on the ground, ripping and clawing as blood soaked the cobbles and she sobbed with it, a mix of haemoglobin and proteins and cells and plasma and tears spilling out, like all the pain she carried with her over the years, all leaving her, it was almost a relief, like the times she ranted to Anna, like the time when she vomited on the boat, it was a purge, and every time she did it she could forget, a little bit, it would never leave but it helped, somewhat.
You are getting blood on the notice.
Well, who cared, screw the notice, it could go to hell like her and anyways, every word of that was engraved in her mind so it didn’t really matter.
You are getting blood on the letter.
Okay, she cared about that.
The letter still lay on the floor from where she had dropped it earlier, and the blood flow was creeping frighteningly close to it.
She almost tried to pick it up, before recoiling, hissing, her fingers were still soaked in blood from before, and she scraped them against the cobbles and against her shirt until she could barely see any streaks of coppery red, then picked up the letter slowly, moving it to the side.
Kitty was angry. Kitty was sad. Kitty was scared. Kitty was even excited, in some sick, twisted way.
But most of all, Kitty was tired.
She barely felt collapsing on the floor, she hissed at the sudden coolness of the stones on her arm, a sharp pain but also relief.
She barely noticed her other hand resting lightly on the letter.
She just felt empty, she couldn’t put any words on her emotions anymore, all of them had been spilled out in that stream of blood and tears, shared with the stones and the bars and the world, pain and poison that she kept buried for all the years all leaving her, leaving her as an empty husk.
Kitty went to sleep.
The afternoon of the 12th of February, Kitty slept.
The night of the 12th of February, Kitty requested the executioner’s block from the Warden.
She needed instructions, after all. Barring that, she needed practice.
Kitty was very good at following instructions.
So she practiced the whole night, rehearsed her speech, knelt, laid her head on the block, tensed up, imagined the axe swish-swoop and then stood up to do it again.
More productive than breaking down, at least.
Kitty practiced until her knees were bruised and her tongue was dry from reciting the same words over and over and over again.
Kitty practiced until the executioner’s block was soaked with enough tears that she could almost pretend it was blood. Her blood.
Red blood.
The night of the 12th of February, Kitty practiced.
The morning of the 13th of February, Kitty dressed up in a black velvet dress that had been brought to her, grabbed her letter, tied her hair with a simple white cloth cord that barely touched the blood, staining itself pink, and went to her execution.
———
Anna emptily swirled the wine around her goblet.
It kept replaying in her head.
She had just reached London. She was walking to the castle.
She got diverted by a crowd that she tried to push through, but failed.
She got funneled by the stream of laughing? Jeering? People that were crowded along the banks of the Thames.
She figured it was a normal criminal being taken, though it must have been a horrible criminal to garner that much displeasure.
She figured there was no harm in looking, and she wasn’t particularly tall, so she stood on a box and strained to catch a glimpse of the damned soul.
And her heart dropped.
God, she could still remember the damn shock she had felt in that one moment, the panic because no way, no way she’s a criminal, no way my Kätzchen is a criminal, she would never, she could never…
And she cursed herself for not having seen it earlier, before moving to England she had researched on the King’s previous three wives, and of course, she knew their fates, Divorced Beheaded Died.
She got divorced.
She should have seen the damn pattern earlier.
Who knew, history would repeat itself.
And so she ran.
And so she ran.
And so she used the strength that she had, that she was told to hide because it wasn’t ladylike, she used as much of it as she could to push through the crowd, getting closer and closer to the bank.
And she didn’t know what she would do when she reached.
But she could deal with that later.
Hell, she would have jumped in the water if she could.
”KÄTZCHEN! KÄTZCHEN!”
She didn’t know why she was shouting, some part of her brain registered that it made her a target, of course, who would dare show affection for a criminal, but it wasn’t like she was thinking anymore, her mouth and her legs and her heart fluttering, trapped, trapped in the restraints of the crowd and it was like a pit had opened beneath her, sinking, that feeling of a sudden drop, a trip, a reflex from falling in a dream and hitting the ground but it wasn’t a dream as much as she desperately hoped it was, hoped that she would wake up and her Kätzchen would be okay, or as okay as she could be, and they could go away together.
The flash of recognition, of hope that crossed Kitty’s face was both the best and worst thing that she had ever seen.
”ANNA-“
Traitor’s Gate closed with a clang.
And Anna was stuck there, rooted to the spot, even as the crowd began to disperse, hollowly staring at the river, at the gate, her heart twisted in emotions she hadn’t even known existed before that moment, wanting to run away or run towards the Tower or run anywhere, do anything, but she couldn’t move, not when it felt like the sky was falling down, not when it felt like the ground was caving in, not when it felt like the world was collapsing around her
Well, the world did collapse.
After all, Kitty was her world.
Anna choked back sobs, knocking back her wine in a gulp, wincing as the alcohol scorched her throat stop it you have no right to feel pain not when Kätzchen is out there suffering more than you could ever imagine the tears came then.
Goddamnit.
She slammed the cup on the table, heavily getting up, a posture ripe with sadness, a slouch that couldn’t be disguised by a smile.
The oak door of the tavern was heavy as she pushed it to walk out, ending up in the town square.
Merchants and announcers were shouting out to a crowd, advertising an event that would be happening that morning,
What event?
She shook her head as if to clear it.
”…BEHEADING OF KAT-“
She didn’t hear much after that, sudden as the rage that came over her was. Like vertigo, almost, except she was on the ground, perfectly stable, so maybe that wasn’t the best analogy.
Running. Running again as her heart that fluttering, panicked heart threatened to beat out of her chest, running as her breath caught in her throat again and again, running as her skin grew slick with sweat even though the sun was far from overhead, was the centre of the town square always that far away?
She reached, but the sweat didn’t stop, the breathing that went phf-phf-phf panting, useless as her lungs were, she tried to inhale and it didn’t work, that lump in her throat blocking it all as the tears came, or maybe they had always been there, she didn’t know, she didn’t know much anymore.
The block was right in front of her, she was standing right at the makeshift barricade that had been erected, she grabbed onto it for support, barely managing not to fall as her vision shook, dovetailed and she closed her eyes, squeezing them and let the tears fall onto the dirt.
She had failed her.
She had failed her beloved Kätzchen, the one person who hadn’t deserved any of Anna’s fuckups.
And she had failed her, like she had failed everyone.
And she should have been the one on that block.
But instead it was Kitty, paying the price for Anna’s mistake, like she always did.
Like she did when they got blamed for going out hunting, the Queen being excused and the attendant being punished.
Like she did when Anna got divorced because hell, it was Anna’s mistake, after all, that mistake of asking Hans to paint her, that reckless mistake of trying to win the eye of the court despite being hopelessly unable to, that made her be sent away and Kitty to be the next Queen.
Like she was doing now, paying for Anna’s failure to visit, failure to see the girl’s scars, the girl’s pain, failure to take her away, failure to take care of her like she promised she would.
Failure, failure, failure.
God, she was such a fuckup.
She could fix this. She could stop this execution, or could she? For as she looked up, she felt rather than saw the crowd that had hemmed in around her, eyes fixed as they were on the block. The crowd, thicker, even than the crowd that day at the river, the crowd that bustled and laughed, carefree, some even cheering.
THE HELL, she wanted to yell at them, DON’T YOU ALL SEE? THIS ISN’T A SEDUCTRESS, A SLUT BEING EXECUTED RIGHTFULLY FOR HER CRIMES, THIS IS A CHILD, A CHILD WHO IS BEING KILLED, MURDERED, UNFAIRLY, ALL OF IT FOR NOTHING AND ALL BECAUSE I FAILED TO PROTECT HER!
I…
…
…I…
failed.
failed.
failed.
failed.
failed.
failed.
and now she’s going to die.
The next time Anna looked up, tear tracks staining her cheeks, was to see Kitty.
The girl was shaking, her arms held firmly by two guards, guards that looked to be the only things supporting her from just giving out and crumpling to the floor.
Kitty hates being touched and held like that.
It was the only thought Anna had that didn’t revolve around wanting to murder everyone in that square except for Kitty.
And when she said everyone, or thought it, at least, she meant everyone.
Because the screams were going louder, the cheers for her death, the jeers that she got what she deserved, the angry shouts of “SLUT! WHORE! GODDAMNED ADULTERESS, GO TO HELL FOR EVEN DARING TO CAST YOUR EYE ON ANYONE OTHER THAN THE KING!”
”BUT I DIDN’T!” Anna could see in the abject terror of Kitty’s eyes, the words that she so desperately wanted to say had her mouth not been glued shut by fear. Instead, the girl closed her eyes, still shaking, and inhaled
Her voice was much more steady than expected, hell, Anna herself would have been sobbing at that point, but contrary to her face, Kitty’s voice was resolute, almost like steel in it’s likeness, as she recited the same default speech that every prisoner recited.
Anna found herself noticing smaller and smaller things as she tuned the speech out because God it hurt to hear Kitty apologising, saying that she was in the wrong, saying that she should never even have done a crime she didn’t commit. It hurt, so much, to hear Kitty praising him, praising them.
It hurt, seeing her up there regardless.
It hurt, so she must have been a monster to feel that little bit of joy when she saw Kitty again.
Anna noticed her dress first. A simple black dress, rough, that was probably killing Kitty to wear.
Then, her hair, tied up with a pink strip of cloth. Pink? A luxury that wouldn’t be given to prisoners another thing that hurt, thinking of Kitty as a prisoner and so why would she have it? It didn’t matter. Pink was a good colour for Kitty anyways, bright, cheerful but not overly cliched. Alluring, almost.
And finally, her right hand, clenched as it was around…was that paper? She couldn’t really tell.
The speech ended.
The guards finally let her go, and shaking, she walked to the block.
Anna wanted to run up, to hug her, to tell her that she was so so brave but she didn’t have to be anymore, that she could run away with her but she couldn’t, the barricade, the guards, the crowd, excuses excuses excuses she swore they weren’t excuses, as much as her heart was hurting, she swore and she cried as she saw her Kätzchen walking to her death like the brave woman that Anna could never be, but she couldn’t convince herself because a bolder woman would speak up, a smarter woman would think of a way, some loophole or another, to get Kitty out, a stronger woman would fight the crowd and the guards, a braver woman would save her.
Kitty would save Anna, she knew it, had she been the one on the block.
They saw each other.
And Kitty’s mouth fell open in shock.
And Kitty’s face turned into a smile, a beam, happy
but still overcast, like a sunny sky but the threat of clouds overhead, of rain, a smile that spoke of pain.
And Anna’s mouth moved helplessly, before she could even croak out words, words that were as helpless as they were useless, “Kätzchen…I’m sorry…” as tears spilled down her face.
And Kitty looked back at her.
And Kitty’s mouth moved, like her own did, except there was no sound, or at least sound that she could barely hear.
And Kitty whispered something that could have been I’m sorry, or Please, or Thank you, or a million different other phrases.
And Anna caught the final word, held it to her heart for the rest of her life, a life that Kitty wouldn’t get to live.
Anna.
And the executioner’s axe came down.
-~-~-~
Kitty knew what colour love was.
She knew it from the moment that piece of white fabric touched the blood.
The bright red blood and the pink fabric.
Love was red, red like the blood, red like her arm, red like the catharsis of relief that she felt. Love was red, and bold, and brave, and true, and something that allowed you to feel free. Love was freedom.
Love was Anna.
Pink was doom.
Pink, like that pink strip of cloth, the one she had tied around her hair for the final time.
Pink, the harbinger of death and devastation, of pain and ruin.
Much like Kitty herself.
And so she left with that answer.
Red was love. Pink was doom.
Anna also knew what colour love was.
She knew it from the moment the executioner’s axe came down.
Love was pink, pink like a sunset, pink like the hair tie around the hair that Kitty so loved, pink like the bursts of joy that Anna felt when she saw her. Love was tender and rich and caring and joyful, bright, pink.
Love was Kitty.
Red was failure.
Red, like the blood that spilled from Kitty’s neck. Red, like the wine in her cup. Her failure to do something as simple as stay sober. Her failure to do something as simple as to protect. As to keep a promise.
Red was seared, engraved, a stark reminder of her pain, of Kitty’s pain, of her own failure, again and again.
Much like Anna herself.
And so she left with that answer.
Pink was love. Red was failure.
Failure and doom.
Love and love.
Red and pink.