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Chapter Text

She is 16 and she is being ripped away from everything she has ever known and loved.

The ship is ready to go, but she isn’t, she’s crying, crying at the dock as her father lifts a hand and pushes her onto the wooden planks of the ship, and she can see her family crying as well. “NO!” She screams, trying to get back to them, but the door of the ship is closed now and all she can do is lean over the railing, listening to the final words that her mother and father and siblings have for her .

“IT’S FOR YOUR OWN GOOD,” they say, and she wonders if it is, and she wonders why something that is for her own good makes her feel so sad, scared, lonely, already. And then she is leaning, still leaning over the rain as the sea-spray whips at her hair and stings her cheeks and she is going away.

Going away, for a girl who has never left her city, let alone her country, to be shipped over from Spain, on the night of her sweet 16, to marry some prince named Arthur, is daunting. Very very daunting.

Which is probably why she is spending almost the whole 20 hour trip curled up sobbing, grieving for the life she could have had.

——

“Li-LINA???”

Cathy is the one who found her.

Ironic, maybe, some would say, a role reversal of all the times Lina found Cathy crying from nightmares or stress or all the other reasons in the middle of the night, and the sixth queen thought that maybe it was time for her to finally repay the favour, before she wondered how messed up it was that she would think of the irony of the situation while her godmother was there, not breathing, looking pale as death itself and possibly on the way there.

She inhaled and screamed, a shout of “HELP!” before running, more like stumbling forwards to the side of the bed, and what is she thinking she has no ability to care for anything bigger than an extremely traumatised and neglected fictional character but she has to help, somehow, right? Somehow, yeah, and that somehow ended up being her firstly attempting to take Lina’s pulse, then recoiling at the touch of her skin cold cold cold why is it so cold skin that felt like rubber, limp limbs that flopped loosely and she could already feel the tears gathering at her eyes, because this is it she is dead her godmother is dead she is alone again.

Then she was pushed away, Jane a blur of silver, every bit the professional nurse they had never seen, and Cathy found herself being pulled back into a green-sleeved embrace and her face buried in cloth and she was shaking, she knew that now, she could feel her breaths coming out short and sharp, she was probably panicking.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” and she focused on the breaths of the girl who was holding her, tried to match them with her own and slowly the grip around her lungs released, the buzzing in her ears lessened and her legs finally felt steady enough to stand, albeit swaying a bit, to turn around and look at the scene in the room. 

Jane was somehow everywhere at once(although the logical part of Cathy’s brain recognised that she could only be at one place at one time): shaking Lina, taking her pulse, performing CPR as she yelled for someone, anyone to call an ambulance. 

“Don’t do that,” came the sound from Anna’s phone.

”HI, YES, UH MY FRIEND ISN’T BREATHING I NEED AN AMBULANCE-“

”What did I just say. Don’t call a fucking ambulance,” snapped the voice, who at this point had made it quite clear that they weren’t a dispatcher. “Hey, you, yeah, silver lady? Stop doing that, CPR, yeah, you’re gonna break her ribs.”

And just as the voice said that, they heard a loud bang and Jane recoiled as if she had been burned, wincing and looking at her palms.

”OKAY, WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?” Anna near screamed, “YOU THE ONE WHO DID THAT TO LINA OR SOMETHING?”

”What, fuck no, why would I do that? Check the date, idiots. She’ll be fine, by the way.”

”Oh shit…” Anne barely whispered, looking at the calendar with a red circle around it, then looking up at the rest of the queens with borderline haunted eyes with a look of realisation.

”What?” Cathy blurted out desperately. Way too desperate, and as tears welled up in Anne’s eyes she knew that she had brought up memories that the second queen would have rather forgotten.

”It’s January 7th,” came the choked reply. “It’s her death day.”

——

She is in prison, and for the first time she finds herself missing Arthur.

She hated Arthur, yes, or at least that’s what she told herself, she was supposed to hate him but Arthur was genuinely nice to her, welcoming, and, hell, she’d be a liar if she said she wasn’t at least somewhat desperate for some sort of connection, so of course she fell for the first friendly face she saw.

Bonus that said friendly face was the person she was shipped overseas to marry.

But Arthur was kind, right? And he had hired the best tutors to teach her English and got the best handmaidens for her and told her pretty words of how she would soon be queen and that must have meant love, right? And she could feel it too, she would be able to feel it too, eventually, after she got used to the new country and the new customs, right?

Then Arthur died, so naturally she was imprisoned for several years.

She lies on the bed of her cell, facing the wall, and she is surprised by the feeling of hopelessness, she thought she had left that on the boat, on the boat that brought her away from her home.

Because as much as she hated the shackles that she was put under, the courtesies of courtly demands and foreign customs, she, of course, had come to see him as a home. 

And it seemed she was doomed to keep losing her homes. 

The door of the cell creaks open and she snaps her head around, blinking at her first proper light in seven years. But she is weak, and so the moment she stands up she stumbles, falls and barely manages to catch herself as she stares at polished boots.

”This is her? She’ll do, though she’s no great beauty. I wonder what my brother saw in her.”

Roughly, a calloused hand pulls her up, supporting her as she sways and fight to get her vision to cooperate which it is very rudely not doing, and a voice that she can hear the roughness in leers, “She’ll make a good wife, yes?”

And somehow that’s the thing that scares her the most, because she has a responsibility, she has her loyalty and she can’t give that up to just anyone and so with what little strength she has she hisses, “I’m not your wife, I belong to Arthur,” as much as those words leave a bitter taste in her mouth.

Her vision stabilises, and she knows she made a mistake as the grinning face of the king slowly appears in front of her.

”You belong ed to Arthur. Now? You’re mine,” Henry VIII says.

———

The silence that followed Anne’s words was interrupted by dry laughter.

”Wow…Finally figured it out? She’ll be fine, she’s just dying again…well clinically she’s dead right now, but no big deal, she’ll probably wake up later, she’ll be really out of it though…yeah, so don’t- DO NOT CALL AN AMBULANCE, they won’t see anything off and they’ll fine you or worse for a false charge, and, frankly, I don’t think you guys want that…what else…oh yeah, don’t try to give her direct medical care, that shit includes CPR, so don’t do what blondie did or you’ll get shocked too!” The voice laughed, adding mockingly, “any questions?”

“Wait, so, you did that to Jane?” Anne demanded, looking ready to throw hands. An audible grin could be heard when the voice replied, “Yessir! Don’t wake her up guys,” they whistled, before continuing, “bad things‘ll happen, your majesties don’t want to die again, right? I’d hate to see that, you all are wayyy too entertaining.” They seemingly took the silence as an answer, and when they next spoke, surprisingly, there wasn’t a hint of malice or boredom or sadism in their voice. “Good luck,” they wished, and then they put the call down.

Jane shakily stood up from her kneeled position, taking a deep breath, and Anna took charge. “Okay, Jane, are you okay?” The silver queen winced, looking at her hands again and sighing, “Looks like it…that honestly hurt though, but my hands look fine…”

Anna clapped her hands, the sound a shock in the still room and announced, “That’s good…okay, one of us needs to stay with Catalina…”

”I’ll do it…unless anyone else wants to,” Cathy interrupted, but it wasn’t a question, not really, not when the other queens saw how her eyes were fixed on the prone form of her godmother, not when they could see how her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. 

“Alright, that works, then the rest of us can take shifts to visit or get some chores done, let’s…” she sighed, “let’s get to it then.”

But no one moved, and eventually Kitty broke the silence.

”She’ll be okay, right?” The girl mumbled, barely audible, burrowing into Anna’s side.

It was Anne who replied, and her words were the motivation for all the other queens to finally leave the room.

”I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

———

She knows she hates Henry so much more than she thought she hated Arthur.

Henry is dreary weather and gravelly stone roads, he is mist and fog and smoke, he is a barely flickering candle in the cold stone of the palace, he is a reminder of all that she hates. 

And Henry lies. He lies and he cheats and he got a 13 year old girl, her lady-in-waiting pregnant and then tried to defend himself, said that he wouldn’t have cheated if she could satisfy him, and all the excuses that she is sick of hearing at this point, all the excuses she’ll know she’ll hear again if she confronts him about the green-sleeved girl he is currently flirting with, and she’s sick of it, just sick of the constant betrayal that at this point she should expect but she doesn’t, and it hits her in the gut every time. 

“Catherine!”

Catherine. That is her name now. Not Catalina, but Catherine. A brutal anglicization, because oh god forbid the king fail to pronounce a basic word, no, the word must be changed! Never mind the owner of the word, the girl who has already been stripped of her family and her home and just wants to keep her name as a final memento.

Instead, every time he calls her name it is not her name every time he demands she hide her accent or follow English customs it hurts, just a little bit, almost like her heritage which she was once so proud of is being taken apart.

”Catherine!” He is irritated now, and she thinks it will be better to agree, so she bows and asks the required questions and does everything professionally.

”Meet me in our chambers,” he commands, paying no heed to the green-sleeved girl who sits barely a table away from him, and she knows what is going to happen next, of course she does, she needs to give him a heir somehow, after all.

But there is no love, when he does it to her, there is only duty in her eyes  as she steels herself to not feel anything more. And that night, he looks at her with a disgusted expression before leaving. She wants to say it doesn’t hurt. She wants to say it doesn’t hurt.

The next day, the green-sleeved girl is moved into her chambers, and she is left feeling like another home is going to be ripped away from her.

———

Jane was surprised, when she walked into Catalina’s room with a cup of tea, to see the first queen sitting up.

But her eyes were glazed over, and she was simply staring at a wall while Cathy desperately tried to get her to respond to something, anything but of course it was unsuccessful. 

“Ah, Lady Jane,” her clipped voice snapped, and Jane fought back the urge to bow because her tone is so reminiscent of the time she was queen and Jane was her lady in waiting. 

“I see you have brought tea.”

”Yes,” and Jane did not know what to do, and she cast a terrified glance at Cathy, who frantically mouthed “PLAY ALONG.”

So Jane played along, setting the tray of tea on a bedside table and looking into Catalina’s eyes, schooled her face into an expression of subservience and humbly continued, “Yes, my queen, is there anything else you require?”

Jane was not prepared for the emptiness that met her when she saw Catalina’s eyes, they were looking through her, somehow, and glazed over, almost looking dead. Catalina still wasn’t breathing, staying completely still and moving with harsh, jerky movements only when she had to, and dear god I am talking to a corpse , Jane thought, and that realisation brought tears to her eyes. 

“Please send Lady Anne to my room, I wish to speak with her.”

Of course, Jane agreed, and as she left the room with Cathy’s eyes fixed on her she wondered what Catalina was seeing, what she was feeling. She wondered what it meant, how easily Catalina had gone back to the role of a royal. She wondered what it meant, how easily she had slipped back into the role of a servant.

And as she called Anne, she swallowed, keeping the bitter taste of memory from lacing its way up her throat. 

———

She hates the green-sleeved girl. 

Hates how the green-sleeved girl(Anne, her name is Anne, she reminds herself) flirts with Henry. 

Hates how the green-sleeved girl stays in the same room as her.

Hates how Anne is always there.

And already Anne is trying to drive a wedge between the court and Mary, and she could turn a blind eye to any of the cheating though this seems more serious that before the seduction, she isn’t stupid, she knows what it means when Henry invited women to his private chambers.

And lately Anne has been spending a lot of time in his private chambers.

But it’s fine, she has seen this before and she is the queen, what will they do, dethrone her? Anne is just a mistress, she will leave soon enough, get pregnant and be sent away in shame, probably, the whore.

But Anne is a mistress with ambition. And she can see how the girl whispers in her husband’s ear, how he starts looking at Mary with less adoration and more sternness, how he always has the girl on his arm, how she is more alone now.

Oh, she still remembers the time when Mary was born, when she finally saw her husband crack and smile and coo at the newborn child, the one child to survive and she thought her heart would burst from it, she finally allowed herself to dare, to hope that maybe she could have this, could have a family that loved her, that she wouldn’t have to leave, and for once she doesn’t hate Henry.

And of course, he had to ruin it.

But it is her fault. It is the green-sleeved girl’s fault. Because it can never be his fault.

And so she hates the green-sleeved girl.

———

“Yes, your majesty?” Asked Anne as she entered, having already been briefed by Jane. 

Although as she looked at the steely anger on Catalina’s face, she wondered if it was a mistake that she came, yes, it was probably a mistake that she recognised after hearing the words that Catalina spat out like bullets.

”Lady Anne,” she hissed in words dripping with poison, “It has come to my attention that you have been spending a lot of time with my husband recently.”

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh shit oh fuck oh fuck.

“Your husband requested to see me, your Majesty, I did not have a choice,” Anne responded as she tried to keep her voice from shaking because oh fuck she remembers this, this exact conversation and the thoughts that would come after.

“Be that as it may, Lady Anne, remember that he is married, and he is the king, and as such you must be tempting him, influencing him with the thoughts of sin.”

BUT I’M NOT , Anne wanted to scream, I WAS FORCED! I DON’T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH YOUR FATASS HUSBAND! But she couldn’t say that, as much as she wanted to. She could feel her breathing quickening and was her skin always so tight and was she trapped was she trapped . And somewhere, distantly, she recognised that Cathy was tense, ready to interrupt but that was at a part of her mind that wasn’t cursing herself, Jane, Lina, the voice, death days and a partridge in a pear tree.

And then Catalina sat forward, and Anne fell to her knees because oh shit Lina had always been the master of stares, and this one was filled with sheer rage.

”Remember your position, Lady Anne.”

She knew what Catalina was going to say next, because it was the same thing that she was already telling herself.

”You are a filthy harlot, a seductress, a slut and I will not stand for this, I will have you executed on charges of adultery, you witch. I am the queen, and you are a mere girl, do not come walking here like you own the place, do not mess with my husband, do not mess with my daughter, and do not mess with me. Leave me now, I no longer desire to see your face.”

And she had to leave.

She had to leave. Right now.

And the other queens’ confusion turned to terror as Anne, in her haste, slammed the door open and ran out with all the force of a hurricane, shaking and crying and screaming and begging.

———

She knows she is screwed when her husband calls her in for an audience.

The green-sleeved girl is sitting at his side, where she used to sit, and as she bows she wonders how fast the replacement was, that people began asking for Anne and not Catherine.

How subtle it was, that even she realised it too late.

”Rise, Catherine.” His voice is as commanding as ever and she has to fight back the urge to rip a tapestry off the wall and shove it down his throat.

”I am most displeased with you.”

No. No no no no no, no, this can’t be happening, no, no no no.

“I am putting into effect an annulment on our marriage. You will assume a position at a nearby nunnery, and your daughter will be deemed a bastard.”

HIS DAUGHTER TOO! HIS DAUGHTER TOO, AND HE STRIPS THE THRONE FROM HER SO CASUALLY, STRIPS THE THRONE FROM THE BOTH OF THEM SO CASUALLY!

”NO!” She screams, and suddenly guards are around her and she is fighting them, all of them, punching and kicking but as the tears stain her eyes she barely sees Mary, also restrained, and the sight of a blade near her daughter she stops, goes limp, and allows herself to be dragged out of the hall.

And no, no, no, no, her mind says, no, no, no, no, this is a dream, surely Henry has more common sense than to send her away, she won’t go away, she can’t leave, she can’t leave another home.

And is oxygen really a necessity? For she suddenly cannot breathe, her head is spinning and her vision is fishbowling and she wants out.

And the green-sleeved girl looks at her with something like pity, though she must have been imagining it in her dazed state.

But finally she gets dragged out of the throne room, and the doors close, and she hears the sounds of celebration faintly before she passes out.

———

“Hija…” Cathy was startled to hear her godmother addressing her. 

It was late in the day, by then, and Catalina had collapsed after talking with Anne(what was that even about?) and there was no one else in the room, the other queens giving them a wide berth and who else would she be talking to?

It was probably a hallucination, Cathy decided, but then Catalina turned to her, and her eyes were the most lucid she had seen the whole day.

Though that wasn’t saying a lot, as now Catalina looked like a fever-ridden patient seeing hallucinations. But hey, that was an upgrade!

”Hija…Mary…” Catalina whispered, and a pang shot through Cathy’s chest, because in all their months of reincarnation, never once had Cathy tried to replace Mary, and never once had Catalina tried to replace Maud.

”No, madrina,” she said, and she could feel the sadness rising up in her chest, “I’m not Mary. I’m Cathy, remember? Your goddaughter?”

”…ajihada?”

”Sí, madrina.”

And then Catalina started crying, real tears that soaked her cheeks and her shirt and holy shit she is responding again and breathing and as Cathy hugged her she could feel the fast ba-bup ba-bup of her heartbeat and her godmother looked more like a living person than she had all day and Cathy thinks she herself may cry, out of sheer joy, because her godmother is back, right?

Right?

But as she holds Catalina she feels it, feels the moment when the ba-bup ba-bup stops, when the sobs slow to a close, and when her godmother falls limp in her arms again.

———

She thinks her chest might rip apart.

Her heart hurts, so badly, and dear god she just wants it to stop, she just wants the pain that feels like hot daggers being stabbed in her chest to stop, she almost weeps with the pain of it but she is strong and she does not cry.

But she does, she cries out for her mother, her siblings, her daughter in her fever-ridden haze and she barely recognises the cool wet towel on her forehead and she cannot think she cannot breathe and is this it? Is this the end of Catalina?

Is this how she is fated to die, separated from her family by sea? Her daughter by law? Her people by these concrete walls of a nunnery, imprisoning her?

No, she wants to say, but she is tired, so so tired and she just wants it to end.

She wonders if she will return to the other two homes she was ripped away from.

She wonders if she will be taken away from the nunnery as well.

She wonders if she will ever see the green-sleeved girl again.

She wonders if she will see her daughter again.

She wonders if she will ever find her loved ones again.

She wonders if she will ever find a home.

She wonders…

She wonders…

She…

…

…

…

On the 7th of January, Catherine of Aragon passed away.

———

And on the 7th of January, Catherine of Aragon wakes up.

———

”Do you know me? Do you recognise me?” Of course she did, of course she recognised her daughter, the sixth queen, and when she said so the other queen’s face lit up, daring to hope.

Her head felt like it’s been completely restarted, washed and scrubbed dry and as she tried to stand it hurt, how long had she been asleep for? Why was everything spinning?

And her goddaughter caught her when she fell, stumbled and asked, “Are you okay? Do you…do you remember anything?” And what was  there to remember? What happened?

Then just that happened, she remembered and suddenly she was crying, but how? She doesn’t cry, but now she was and she was being hugged and oh god she just relieved her entire life, maybe she did have the right to cry.

And she was being rubbed on the back, she heard soothing words, and for once she allowed herself to cry.

And after she was done, she felt lighter than she had in a long time.

———

When they finally went downstairs she barely managed to catch herself when a pink blur barreled into her.

”We thought you were dead! You’re okay, right?” Kitty rambled until she shushed her, laughing, “Yes, I’m fine…”

The green-sleeved girl Anne was sitting at the table with red-rimmed eyes, and she apologised, why would she say that but Anne took it well, she laughed and replied, “It’s fine, you weren’t…yourself…” but she was herself, she was her in a past life but that was a whole different can of worms she didn’t want to open right now.

She is still weak and so she stumbled over to the kitchen table and sat down, and just as she did that Jane and Anna walked out of the kitchen carrying a pot of cocido de garbanzos, and she felt herself beginning to tear up as she gets up with difficulty, walked over to the both of them and hugged them because they remembered her favourite food and maybe that was a small thing but she didn’t care much.

And then Cathy and Anne and Kitty all joined the hug and she found herself in the middle of a cuddle pile and she was warm. She was happy. She was loved.

Catalina had found a home that she would never leave

Chapter Text

Katherine Howard woke up to screaming.

Actually, the entire house woke up to screaming.

They could see Anne sitting in a corner of Kitty’s room, shaking and covering her eyes, and okay, maybe it was a bad idea to let her stay with Kitty before her death day, but they thought it would be fine, or as fine as a death day could be.

They didn’t know the fifth queen would wake up with blood streaming from her neck and bubbling out of her mouth, rose-red stains appearing on her shirt.

”Fuck.” Quite a reasonable response, honestly. 

”Okay, Cath, get Anne out of here and Anna-“ but the red queen was already by the bedside, trying to keep Kitty from thrashing around and Anne was still crying with Cathy beside her and Jane was mysteriously gone and did this happen last time well it wasn’t like Lina knew, she could already feel her heart constricting.

But then Jane ran in with an armful of towels and Lina could breathe again because Jane knew what to do, and Anne and Cathy were leaving and so she walked up to the bed that Jane and Anna were kneeling beside.

There was so much blood, so much blood, copper-red streaks staining the towels, carmine-red liquid spilling out of a seemingly infinite source and coating almost every surface imaginable despite everything being pressed against the ‘wound’ to stop it.

Red had never been Catalina’s favourite colour. It was Anna’s, but from the look on her face she didn’t seem to be liking it very much now. For once, the first queen found herself lost for words, and what she wanted to say was right there but her tongue seemed to not function, and she stammered and it felt like there was a block between her mind and her mouth, and finally, finally she got the words out

“What do…did this…should we call-“

”NO!” 

“-n…’na?” And more blood spilled out of her mouth, and she choked on it, Kitty couldn’t breathe.

They were telling her to not try to talk but she couldn’t, and she was dying again, wasn’t she, the metal-taste of blood filled her mouth and her throat and her lungs and it was warm around her neck, at least there wasn’t an axe this time.

She would have moved, would have lashed out but it was draining her energy, sluggish, it was nothing like other wounds because it just kept going out in a steady flow, no pulse, she had no pulse and wasn’t it just like Catalina that day. She was dead already.

And her eyes filled with tears that mixed with the blood, as she struggled to choke out, “Don’t…don’ ‘nna die…don’t wan’ die ‘gain…”

And the room fell silent. Kitty thought she was going to die. The unspoken words, the unspoken panic none of them would let themselves voice out.

”You’re not going to die, Kätzchen.” Anna’s voice was broken, high-pitched, completely different from normal, but somehow it worked, and Kitty began to relax, slowly, and finally the blood stopped, vanished, leaving no wound but a thick, jagged, red scar.

”’m sorry…”

And before any of them could tell the pink-haired girl that there was nothing to apologise for, her eyes closed and she fell on the bed.

———

She remembers being 8.

She had siblings, then, and a father, who wasn’t the best but could easily be the best male figure in her life.

They were poor, but then the Queen helped them(oh, how her father glorified her, talked about the Great Anne Boleyn who had saved them, a blessing from the heavens).

(She was still too young to know why, but she remembered being confused when suddenly Anne’s name went from savior to slut in her father’s head and his words.)

And she remembers that final day when their money ran dry, she had been running around with her siblings when he called them inside.

There was a woman there, old but still regal with a hawk’s nose, staring down at them with flint-steel eyes, dressed in fur and pearls. She looked at her, and her brother, and whisked them away in a carriage. She didn’t even have time to say goodbye.

And now she lives in a room with rows of beds and girls who whisper, now she has dresses and books and tutors, and she doesn’t know if she likes this life.

Now she is 13, but she still remembers being 8. She still remembers being happy.

———

Anne knew she was a fuckup.

She swore she thought she could handle it. After seeing what happened to Lina, she knew Kitty would need someone there for her and hell, the beheaded cousins had already formed such a close bond, and the only other option was Anna, and Kitty knew Anna in a past life and Anne knew how badly past life relations could go from Lina’s death day.

She just forgot one thing.

Beheaded.

So maybe that wasn’t the best idea, but she should have been able to handle it, should have been able to be there for Kitty instead of screaming and having a panic attack, how weak was she that a little bit of blood scared her?

Her cousin was dead, going through flashbacks and trauma and because Anne couldn’t get over a little bit of blood she couldn’t even be there for her, what she was going through was nothing to what Kitty was going through, so why couldn’t she deal with it?

Why couldn’t she breathe? Why was the blood on her cousin’s neck showing up every time she opened her eyes? Her head was spinning and salty tears spilled down her cheeks and she wanted it all to stop, wanted it to go to tomorrow or yesterday or any day where she didn’t have to wake up to see her cousin with blood coating her neck.

She didn’t deserve comfort, she knew that but Cathy was there and it was so easy to just open her mouth and let everything spill out and sink into the comfort and she felt so, so guilty, why couldn’t Cathy see that she didn’t deserve any of this? 

The guilt was eating her up from the inside, her fault her fault her fault because it was, wasn’t it. The fact that everyone else had to marry Henry was her fault. Lina’s divorce was her fault. Kitty’s lack of comfort from the one person who could relate to her death was her fault.

Everything was her fault.

———

She likes music.

She is good at it, Mannox says. A talent, and a joy to have in class.

A talent and a joy to him.

But she thinks she can spend hours there, at first, strumming the lute, striking the chords and blowing the flute. She plays until her fingers hurt, and she can play whatever she wants, be it a happy tune or sad tune, she doesn’t have to worry about messing up because she can do whatever she wants here.

Mannox doesn’t care if she messes up. He praises her anyways, says she’s his best student by far, and what a beauty too! A sight for sore eyes, really, she should get a job as a performer to show the world what she had enthralled him with!

Sometimes, even, he speaks of her allure, her brilliance, that she is such a delight, that they have a connection and her music moves him like none he has heard before. She catches him looking at her fingers deftly plucking the strings of the lute, and he laughs and says he couldn’t resist.

Sometimes she catches him looking at other areas. He can’t resist, he says, she is right there and so beautiful and God, she is torturing him, she is so mature, so kind, so empathetic, and doesn’t she trust him? Please, may she permit him to take a look, or otherwise he may not be able to restrain himself any longer?

She wants to refuse, but Mannox looks so sad, and he has been so good to her, and finally, she agrees. Look, but not touch.

But he loves it so much, he loves her so much, doesn’t he? He calls her his little butterfly, delicate, he looks at her with what is less love and more lust, passion, and she has never seen that before in a man and it brings her such pride, that her humble self can arouse such feelings.

And then the same old, same old, “You are torturing me, Katherine! I have never felt this way about any other woman! Please! Let me touch you, let me show you how I feel! Let me see if your skin is as smooth as it looks! Let me encounter your beauty first-hand!”

If it is not sex, she will still be a virgin. Right? She can protect her virginity, she knows she can, and she makes that clear to Mannox, and he understands, he is so understanding! It feels like he knows her better than she knows herself, he knows what she is ready to take and what she isn’t, and it’s a sin that he promises is sweeter than honey, sweeter than the words dripping from his lips.

So, finally, she lets him, and tries to focus on her music as gasps burst from both his throat and hers.

She knew her fingers would hurt when she was learning to play the lute.

She didn’t know his would too.

———

“Kitty?”

Anna didn’t like silence.

Could deal with it, at the best of times, would initiate awkward conversation at the worst. 

This was definitely a “worst” scenario.

Anna knew, better than anyone, what Kitty had gone through. She had been there to see both Henry and Culpeper’s advances, had seen her panic and denial and bravery and beheading.

And Anna knew it would be absolutely tearing Kitty apart to go through that again, and it was killing her to be unable to help.

Anna knew that she should leave Kitty alone. Stop talking, distract herself, let Kitty work through her shit herself because there was nothing Anna could do. Wait, and be there when she woke up so that she had someone to talk to. Coping mechanisms.

But Kitty looked so small, lying there, and Jane and Lina had since left, and it was so quiet.

And Anna hated silence.

So she talked to the air, and pretended the corpse beside her could hear her.

———

She just wanted a job.

So she asked the secretary, Dereham.

He did give her a job, in his defence.

But she sometimes wonders why exactly he needs her of all people, there is a room full of girls after all, why her?

He tells her the same things Mannox did. She is special, she is kind and mature and beautiful and wise beyond her years and if he can make her feel as special as she does him, then that will be blessing enough.

Dereham is more cunning than Mannox, better at reading people, so he sees that she is unsure and proposes a simple solution: Call him Husband, and he will call her Wife. To sort of set the stage. Perhaps that would make her feel more at ease around him. Because she has to, because they have a connection.

And it does work, kind of, and she does feel special when Dereham comes into her room late at night. By now she has learnt to make those sounds that make him think she is enjoying it, by now she has learnt to not complain.

She complained, once, and he looked so heartbroken, declared that she was tearing his heart apart and sobbed, there, in front of her, then ignored her every time he saw her for the next week until the guilt was too much and she went to find him that night.

The girls laugh at her, in the morning. She tells them they have a pre-contract, and that is why she can do this, and why he can call her Wife.

She thinks, she hopes she can get used to this.

Because she loves him. She has to love him, if not she would not let him do this, right?

She looks out of the window after he leaves, looks at the stars and the moon and prays that God can forgive her for her sins.

———

Lina knew what happened last time, on her death day. The rest of them had told her, not daring to keep any secret from her.

But damn, it was so different seeing it in real life.

That’s what she thought, anyways, as she made her way up the stairs to bring Anna a drink and check on Kitty. 

Well, ‘check on Kitty’ was a bold statement. The girl looked pale as death, pink hair fanned out behind her, her scar bright red and looking barely healed. Even the rise and fall of her chest was gone. 

“She looks dead.”

Lina whirled around to find Anna, her eyes looking almost as blank as Kitty’s, but not looking at the golden queen at all. No, she was slouched on the floor, just looking at Kitty, a half-drunk can of coke in her hand.

”She looks dead. You can say it, you know? I won’t judge, won’t scream or anything.”

”It’s trippy,” the red queen continued, “It’s so weird seeing her like this. Even in her sleep she would toss and turn. Sometimes we shared a room, you know? Same as you and Anne. She still comes to me sometimes, when she has nightmares. I don’t mind.”

”But she’s always talking. Talking or moving, she’s like Anne but less hyperactive, I get it.” Lina sighed. “I know I’m probably the least close to her but…put it this way, if Anne ever stopped moving I think the world would collapse. I’m sure Kit’s the same for you. I keep expecting her to just get up. Is this what it looked like for me?”

A beat of silence, then Anna replied, her voice laced with shock.

”I wasn’t expecting a response. She always responds, but now she isn’t and I guess I got used to the silence after a while.”

”She didn’t leave you, you know? She’ll come back, like I did. We won’t leave you.”

Anna finally stirred, looking up at Lina for the first time since the first queen entered the room.

”Thanks.”

”Want me to stay?”

”Yes please.”

———

She quite likes court. 

She doesn’t regret being sent here. Here, yes, men are hitting on her, but none of them try to advance more than that. They know she is the Queen’s handmaiden, and there is a certain level of decorum that comes with that.

And the Queen, she is so nice to her, she gave her family riches and she learns English well and fast and she shares funny stories from Germany. She lets her go hunting with her, and teaches her how to ride a horse, and she finds herself enjoying every second of it

She doesn’t particularly like the King though. Doesn’t like how he leers at her through his beard, how he invites her to dance, hates how powerless she feels because she can’t reject him in his advances.

She has to be nice to the King though, and as much as she doesn’t appreciate it(she is so ungrateful, they all say) he is nice to her. What else would you call the necklaces and rings? Why else would he give her flowers?

Why else would he call her a gem, his rose without a thorn, saying that she is perfection distilled into a body, youth yet with wit, but not enough to be unsubmissive?

She doesn’t want it, but he disagrees, he says that as King he knows what is best for her, and what is best for her is him. 

She doesn’t want it. She cares too much for the Queen. But he presses on, and she is separated from Dereham now(she still remembers when her step-grandmother had found them together, screamed and yelled and sent her away), so there is no one to stop her, and fuck it, she is so tired of resisting advances, because they make her feel good, they all do, they seem to be the only ones to realise that she is mature, not a child. Seventeen is not a child. She knows that. And so does he.

But she sure as hell feels like a child caught in an act of shame when she sees the expression of fury, grief, betrayal and disgust on the Queen’s face when she catches them tangled together in the sheets the next morning.

———

Cathy didn’t think she was a very comforting person. 

She was there for Lina, and she doesn’t think she can do that again, to be there for Kitty. 

Death doesn’t scare her. Quite far from it. She is a writer, death is part of what she has to describe on the daily.

And with a hint of morbid amusement, she thought that this would help her a lot with her writing.

She was tired of seeing people die. Tired of seeing first her mother, then three husbands die. Couldn’t people just survive for once?

That was her first thought, when she saw Lina on her death day. Would yet another person she was close to leave her?

But Lina came back. And so would Kitty. So really, there was no point feeling bad.

So why did fear threaten to consume her?

Not as badly as it had consumed Anne. Even now, when either Cathy or Jane saw anyone showing signs of pregnancy, they had to excuse themselves. Cathy couldn’t imagine how bad it must have been from Anne, who was averse to blood at the best of times, to see someone she considered as close as a sister or daughter, to kind-of-die to the same method she herself did.

Why was Anne guilty? That was the one part Cathy could make out of the entire ramble. Anne was guilty for a whole host of reasons that Cathy could not understand. 

But as Cathy looked down at the green-eyed girl sleeping against her, she thought maybe Anne wasn’t feeling guilty anymore.

Cathy didn’t understand emotions at all. But somehow, it all worked out in the end.

———

She wonders what she should think of herself for being able to somehow pull four men. 

That’s right, she found yet another man.

She swears she saw him as a friend. Culpeper was a friend. Nothing more. A friend who helped her provide updates on the King’s health.

Just a friend, she told herself, even though some part of her must have known otherwise, why else would she have asked Lady Rochford to keep a lookout for their meetings?

But they could joke, and laugh, and finally, a person who she could act like herself around, he seemed to understand all the pain, he was sympathetic, and kind, and he listened, and that was special, no one else had ever done that before, you know?

He was a friend.

That was it.

And she knew that it wouldn’t escalate to anything more.

Because they were friends, and he was devoted, and she trusted him, she opened up to him about her past and her worries, and he listened.

And he said they had a connection.

The next thing she knew he was pressing her up against a wall, kissing her, and a part of her died right there.

Why did she trust him? Why did she think it would be different?

It’s. Never. Ever. Different.

That’s probably why she expected it when, a few days later, guards came to her room and brought her to the tower.

And she would finally die.

And she thought that wouldn’t be that bad.

———

“GUYS! GUYS!”

The sheer panic in Anna’s voice immediately stirred the rest of the house into action, rushing up to Kitty’s room.

The girl was standing, finally, but stock still, dead eyes staring blankly ahead as she recited a speech that none of them recognised but Anne.

Her face paled and she leaned against the doorframe, barely managing to stammer out words.

”Th-That’s the speech we made…we’re supposed to make…when we got ex-ex-“ Her voice broke into a sob on the last word.

Executed.

Kitty practiced the night before she was executed.

And none of them could move from shock, but it broke their hearts to see the young girl step up, kneel, rest her head on an imaginary block, and then close her eyes.

They weren’t fast enough to catch her as she slumped forward, though, and she lay in a heap on the floor, completely unresponsive.

———

She knows what to do, doesn’t she? 

Stand, speech, kneel, block.

Stand, speech, kneel, block.

Very simple, and why she had been practicing the whole night.

Then why can’t she follow that now? Why are her legs jelly-like, unable to support her weight, why can’t she breathe, why did the glint of the axe make her vision swim and her voice stutter?

The people hate her, she knows this. She deserves it, the whore she is. 

Stand, speech, kneel, block.

Stand, speech, kneel, block.

She rests her head on the block.

She prays for forgiveness.

She hopes. She dares to hope.

Maybe she will find friends.

Maybe she will find love.

Maybe she will find freedom.

Maybe she will find justice.

Maybe she will find control.

Maybe she will…

Maybe she will…

…

…

…

On the 13th of February, Katherine Howard passed away.

———

And on the 13th of February, Katherine Howard wakes up.

———

She woke up with a gasp. Tears ran down her face as all the memories came back at once. 

She was surrounded. By who? Her vision was blurry but she swiped a hand over her eyes and saw them. 

Finally, she could let herself breathe. Finally, she could trust, and give herself up to care.

None of them touched her without her permission. They asked. They loved. 

A love Kitty had never felt before.

———

“Are you okay? What do you want to do now?”

Choice! Choices like a million brilliant sparkling lights, darting fireflies that made her finally feel free and despite the tears she broke out in a smile.

”I’m fine,” and she meant it, this time.

”Can we just stay here? Can you all stay with me?”

Assent, and a watery laugh, and Anne put on a movie(Kitty likes Disney, don’t judge) and she was in the middle of all of them, warm, and safe and protected by these walls of defenders.

Kitty had found a home with her freedom and her rights.

Chapter Text

She is 19 when her sister leaves.

”Mary,” she says, and the word is sweet and foreign on her tongue, as sweet as her sister used to be, but who is the woman standing with her face, looking around distractedly before pushing her aside in her haste to get onto the carriage?

”Father, I must speak to Father,” and her words die on her tongue as she watches the carriage leave.

She does not think she will see her sister again.

She does not know the next one to board the carriage will be her.