𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍, 𝒘𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒅!
𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒛𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆, 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒅𝒐𝒐𝒎.
𝑪𝒂𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒕? 𝑩𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒂𝒕, 𝑯𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝑱𝒂𝒏𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒚𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒓, 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒍𝒂𝒅𝒚-𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒐𝒕𝒉 𝑪𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰.
𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒔.
𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆! 𝑯𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒆.
"𝑰 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒏𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓" 𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒔 𝑰 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕. 𝑰𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒆 𝑰 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅.
𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒓𝒚.
𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒇𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔.
𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒖𝒛𝒛𝒍𝒆.
𝑯𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔, 𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒃𝒚 𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒏é.𝑰 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒐𝒂𝒇. 𝑯𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒗𝒊𝒑𝒆𝒓, 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒐 𝒏𝒊𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒗𝒆𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒛𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆.
YOU ARE READING
Signed, A. Boleyn
Historical Fiction1,000 days. That was all. 1,000 measly days.... So who lives to tell my story? Started: Sep 5, 2021
