Signed, A. Boleyn

𝔍𝔲𝔫𝔢 3𝔯𝔡 1515

Anne Margaret Boleyn.

That is my proper title but it makes my lip turn with disgust.

I hate my name. Why, you may ask?
Well, you will discover the reason in a just a few moments but first, I must tell you my history and my first moments on earth.

Anne Margaret Boleyn was the name my mother chose to give me on the night I was born. It was a chilly night with no sounds of life. When I came out her canal, the sun shone and the earth stood still (or so she tells me).

I had no qualms with my father. It was not his fault for the hideous title. My mother on the other hand was the source of all the teasings I received at school. Because of her, the school boys teased me, thinking of different ways to rearrange my title. They call me Anne Bowling
Anne Bowl.
Even Anne Boulder.
Yes, you read that right. Anne Boulder, as in a rigid rock. It wasn't even clever nor funny yet the kids laughed.

I come home everyday after school in a huff, complaining to mother about how the boys tease me but she only smiles, shaking her head saying:
"Let them laugh Anne for they do not know the truth of your name. Your name is destined to be great."

Mother always repeats the phrase as she brushes my hair every night before bed.
Being the daughter of Sir Thomas Boleyn (future Earl of Wiltshire) and Elizabeth Howard, daughter of Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, was a representation that preceded the church. The Boleyn family was a line far from humble beginnings.

Enough about my gloomy past. Today is my 15th birthday and although I am excited to be turning a year wiser, I am not so keen at the obligation my mother had agreed to commit me to.

—-

"Anne! You must go to France! It is your duty!"My mother's pleas were becoming excessive.

"I will not mother! And you will not make me" I furrowed my bushy brows, hugging the center of my baseboard as Cattie tugged the strings of my corset. My mother paced the legnth of my room, thinking of another way to present the obligation in a way that better suited my palette.

"Queen Claude has been looking for a new attendant. You know the king of France being busy with his duties and her growing illness, she favors the company. It is an honor to serve her"

"Let the honor fall on someone else mother!" I cursed, sucking in my core with every bit of strength as Cattie pulled the strings of my corset.

"Suck in more!" Cattie begged, her red ringlets started to dampen as she perspired.

"If I suck in any more my rib will collapse Cattie!" I snapped, trying my best to fit into a corset that was 2 sizes too small. I had to look extraordinary at my party tonight.

"But Anne! Think of the influence? The prestige? Do you know how many Barron's and priests I had to kiss up too?"

"I do hope your lips are not fatigued mother" I tease her but she huffs and storms out the room to find my father. She always cried to him when she didn't get her way.

—-

I love my mother dearly and if you are looking for a tale in which a daughter grows to hate her mother, than this tale is not for you.

We had an indescribable love only shared. I am the youngest of two in the Boleyn family line. Mary is the oldest and although she is not the prettiest thing, her personality shines through. I guess her resilience is what drive the boys crazy.

I on the other hand understand my beauty but I do not care to use it as an advantage. I care to to bury myself in mischief and knowledge. Plotting for the next scheme.

Cattie finishes tying my corset before I hear the heavy footsteps of my father which means my mother has gotten her way yet again. I will try to write in here soon.

———

"ANNE!" My father shouted, knocking at my door before entering into my room. Cattie smooths my hair into two neat braids and binds them at the end with a small black spiral.

"Anne, my dearest daughter Anne" he grovels, stepping into my room.

"Father please not this. I don't want to go and you cannot make me!"

"But Anne! Mary was ecstatic when she heard the news! A Lady in waiting to the Queen of France!" My father paced the length of my room, trying his hardest to bend my stubbornness, molding it as if it was malleable.

"Isn't one Boleyn girl enough to serve the Queen?" I retort. Mary would hate having to share the spotlight anyway so met absence would be a beneficial for her.

He sat down on my lounging chair scooting it up to where I sat at the table. He frowned, pulling my hands into his. "You are hardheaded like me... you take and take but do not give."

I was silent for he was right.

"Do you know why your mother says: One day you will be great?"

"To build my confidence" I scoffed.

"No... because she saw a vision from God. She saw it when you were just 4 and it was confirmed by the priest. You will be queen one day. One that will cause ripples in the very essence of England" he looked almost ethereal, as of he was in a psychedelic trance.

"Me? A queen?" I try to stifle my laughter.

"Yes Anne! He recited the very vision your mother had verbatim.

"So I am destined to be some great queen that will be a beacon for generations. And you actually believe the loon?" I would laugh at him if he wasn't my father.

"You know how favorable it is to be a lady in waiting for the queen. France is the gateway! Your mother had to do a lot to obtain these positions of prestige."

I sighed, rolling my eyes before looking up at Cattie. She shrugged, taking the sheets of my bed before departing.

"If being a lady in waiting doesn't appeal to you—"

"Then picture the crown that will be placed on my head?" I mocked, bowing low so I could place an imaginary crown upon my head.

My father beamed, relishing in my theatrics before standing. "Just think about it Anne? Maybe it will be fun?"

"Maybe father. Plus it seems as if I have no choice."

"Atta girl!" He smiled, knocking twice in the door before turning around to face me, "I'll see you at the banquet and Happy birthday daughter." He closed the door gently, leaving me alone in the silence of my room.

Anne Margaret Boleyn.
A queen.
The Queen of England.
I suppose father would tell me pigs could fly at supper tomorrow?

Although I was adamant in my refusal at the opportunity, Cattie convinced me.

So I came up with a plan that day after my birthday party. I would go to Queen Claude in France and be her lady in waiting but make it my mission to catch the eye of someone in court.

A marriage of security meant I would be relived of my post as lady in waiting. The poor sap would pay for my expenses and move me to his elegant residence.

That would be easy of course, to trap a man.
The hard part would be to love him.
But I will take one step at a time.

Signed,

                 A. Boleyn.