Regrets

It was Christmas again. I sat on my great throne, watching all the men and women of the court dance, wearing the most exquisite outfits. I listened to the beautiful music, played by only the finest court musicians. It was a Christmas, just like any other. Only, something was missing. There was something in me that felt empty.

Anne wasn't there. She wasn't by my side this year. I wasn't going to hear her sweet flirtatious laugh, or see her wonderful smile. Her dark mysterious eyes wouldn't stare down into my soul. She wasn't here, and she never would be.

I had been stupid enough to believe what they said about her. We weren't on the best of terms and well, maybe I needed some space. I still loved her, but I didn't realise until after, and by then it was too late.

But why did I believe all those lies, it was so obvious that they weren't true, but I wanted her out of my life so badly that I didn't even bother to listen. She begged me to listen to her, but I was too impatient to listen. I wanted it over and done with, I wanted her gone. But why did I have to choose execution. Why did "out of my life" mean death?

I couldn't bear to have any memories of her, so I burned all her portraits. I couldn't look into those menacing eyes without my heart sinking with guilt. I did keep a small locket, so I could still remember the good times, when we were happy. Before I took all that happiness away. Away from her, away from us.

I felt tears begin to from in my eyes as I remembered what I had done.

"I'm sorry, Anne," I whispered, so that no one could hear me.

Then my children came forward to hand me gifts, as was Christmas tradition. Elizabeth handed me a beautiful embroidered cover for my prayer books. I looked at my daughter, she definitely resembled me, how couldn't I see that. I had no doubt she was my daughter, why did I ever believe otherwise. But she had the face of her mother, she laughed like Anne did, she held her posture and spoke, just like Anne. She was just like Anne, and it tore at my soul.

I knew what it was like to be motherless, I lost my own mother when I was barely 10 years old. But I took Elizabeth's mother away from her. She would never see her mother, and it was my fault.

I could look at Elizabeth any longer because every time I laid my eyes on her, I saw Anne.

I didn't realise what I had done until it was too late. Time can't be reversed. I know that the memories will haunt me forever.