January 28, 1547
Anne rose from bed, earlier than usual. She couldn't wait to see the new Isabel Carew. She examined the Pensieve. The memories of two people lay within. She could examine what happened between Henry and Jane. But she was terrified of what she would see. She shook her head, looking for her chanerie. It was a gift that Henry gave her after Elizabeth was. Born. Anne still shook at the thought of her precious girl calling Parr mother. Jane would have taken care of her, she didn't trust Catherine Parr to do that. Jane, cousin Catherine and Parr; wives 2, 4 and 5 of Henry. She somehow didn't think about Cleves. Poor girl never had a chance.
She could imagine the conversation between herself and Cromwell about it. Poor Cromwell, for all that he did, he paid a high price. Was he Wolsey's son? She suspected something like that. She heard him say Wolsey's name as he gave his final speech. He was unafraid when his time came. He even saw her as he knelt down. He wasn't even surprised. Maybe old Cromwell knew the truth all along. Knowing the old devil that didn't surprise her in the slightest. But reminiscing about old foes was pointless. Today was all about the beautiful Isabel Carew. She felt a stab of anger as she contemplated removing the protective charms that kept her safe from men. But she wanted justice not revenge. At least for now. So she ate swiftly before disapparating.
The forest was beautiful and green, it seemed to Anne. She brought a second wand, should she need it. Isabel was still dozing and for a brief moment, Anne felt a powerful urge to take her home and make love all day long. She forced herself to think of Jane, her dearest friend. Abused by her father and brothers, murdered by their husband so he could marry Cousin Howard, though he married that poor German princess. Jane; who unlike Cromwell, uncle Norfolk and her lecherous family; didn't work with Henry to obliterate her. Anne's name was so black that their goal was heartily accomplished. She might not be able to touch the late Earl of Essex or Uncle Norfolk, but Henry and the Seymour brothers she could. And she would. A tremor went through her. She knew that King Henry's body inhabited by Isabel Carew had stopped working. Isabel Carew could now serve as a nun in the next life. Now Henry would learn about having sons. She took out her wand and cast the necessary charms, jinxes, hexes, enchantments and curses. She was ready now to see Isabel Carew in her full, luscious glory.
The King opened her eyes, adjusting to the light poorly. She shifted and lifted her hand above her forehead. "Is....is this paradise?" He wondered. He gasped when he heard his own voice before staring at his hands. He groped at her face, seeking his old fat visage, instead she was greeted by softer, effeminate features. She looked down, but her view was obstructed by large, perfectly formed mounds emanating from her chest.She rose swiftly, backing against a tree that made her yelp."I can walk? What is happening?" she gasped, almost shrilly. She ran, wincing as her bare feet hit the ground, acorns and sticks stabbing her soles. She fell near a brook. She looked down as recoiled. A beautiful tall blonde looked back at her. "C‐Catherine?" She stammered. "My, my! What a naughty girl you are, Isabel! Running around as bare as a strumpet!" remarked a cold voice behind her.
Despite the iciness of that remark, Henry recognised that intoxicating voice. The woman he had lusted over for some years. The woman who couldn't bare him a son. That snarky b**** Anne Boleyn. She spun around, shocked to see Anne again. She wore the same dress she had when they married. Her jewels were the same. It was her. "Isabel, it seems terribly unbecoming of so goodly a woman to go for such a public display. Especially one that hopes to wear the veil of a wife?" she observed. "Anne? Is it truly you?" she gasped, unable to process what transpired. "It is, Isabel. And what will your brother say, you running around the forest like a harlot selling her wares? Sir Nicholas would spin around oft in his grave, to see such things from his youngest daughter, Isabel Carew!" she observed. Henry almost recoiled into the brook. Isabel Carew...his ex‐lover Catherine Carew's daughter and one of the many bastards he didn't acknowledge.
"Isabel, you truly are acting less like a lady and more like a wanton harlot. Should not a girl of your education show respect towards a Sovereign? Perhaps your future husband can assault some sense into you!" declared Anne, using her most imperial tone. Henry reacted as a former King would. "How dare you speak to me like this? I am King Henry, son of...." But she was cut off by Anne's hysterical laughter. "Y‐You AHAHAHAHA a Kingggg! HAHAHAHAHA! With s‐so large a bust AHAHAHAHA!" she exclaimed, stuttering in amusement, her laughter chilling Isabel to the core. "What if no one believes me? She said future husband! No; no this won't happen!" thought Isabel, her fury began to overwhelm her fear again. Anne wiped away a few tears from her own eyes, still giggling as she faced Isabel. "Clearly the air against your head and womanhood has impacted on your mental acumen! My late husband left his world a few hours ago! And though I perceived him to be quite small despite that I had no other visual upon which to make the comparison; he was larger than you!" She remarked, pointing between Isabel's young thighs.
Isabel quickly moved a hand to shield it from Anne's sight, glaring hatefully at the ex Squib. "That won't protect it from your husband embrace! After all, he was need sons before he takes a Mistress. I imagine you will mother many sons for him as is your want!" she observed. "Anne return me to my true form! With speed!" She demanded. Anne paused, her eyes lacking warmth, before she erupted with laughter. Unable to endure the taunting, Isabel rushed the former Queen. It was to no avail as Isabel rolled on the ground, laughing and clutching her ribs. Anne watched Isabel as the Tickling Charm ran through her. Druella had been the willing recipient of her practicing the Charm. With Druella, it was as if Jane had returned to her. Jane Seymour remained her great, late friend; who this blonde hysterical madwoman had murdered for an ugly German princess and cousin Catherine. Catherine Howard had always seemed contrary even as a child. She could recite Papist chapters in Latin, converse in French and Greek and could write great poetry. But she could appear foolish and unable to understand basic things. Perhaps it had been a clever act, but Henry eventually saw through it. To the detriment of her head.
Isabel finally stopped laughing, her ribs still in her hands. "Your brother will be here soon. He will have found your clothes. He will find a piece of writing that will confirm your defiance. He will be truly mad. Enjoy your fate, 'Henry, King of England, Wales and France, Lord of Ireland'" she mocked as she disapparated. She had no desire to see Isabel punished by her brother. Her Isabel memories would soon return, driving her mad. Jane Seymour was avenged.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
| Members who added to this interactive story also contributed to these: |
<<-- Previous · Outline  · Recent Additions © Copyright 2024 Lord Robbie - We got this! (UN: rrobbie37 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Lord Robbie - We got this! has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work within this interactive story. Poster accepts all responsibility, legal and otherwise, for the content uploaded, submitted to and posted on Writing.Com. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author