The Princes in the Tower

The Princes in the Tower, Ch. 1

Holy f**k, I created this when I was like twelve, and I don't know what to do with it. Like, I've cleaned it up, but I guess I'll start working on it again? I mean, it's not completely awful, in my eyes.  I'm seventeen now, with way more writing experience under my belt and am currently taking AP Literature, so I feel more confident taking this on again. Will possibly publish a new part soon. Peace out- MB

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My servants have deserted me. My uncle has betrayed me. My father lies in a grave, and my mother is too cowardly to do anything to help. Whatever happens to these pages, whether they be burned in a fire for blasphemy towards the crown, or are tucked away in some obscure corner to be lost and forgotten, someone must gaze upon them once. My uncle needs to be condemned for his acts of treachery. I shall tell you what happened that night in 1485 and end all doubts as to what happened that night. It begins and ends in the tower of London, where the seeds of my revenge were first planted.

    As I document this tale, all of the memories come flooding back in a raging torrent. We had believed that allies would come and retrieve us from the tower. This belief was one of the many that would turn out to be inevitably crushed. We had known that something terrible was bound to happen soon if we did not receive help immediately, if we did not escape the Tower's clutches.

    It had been a dreary winter day. During the first week of my imprisonment, I had often gazed anxiously at the rain tapping against the window panes and glanced at the door, listening intently for any signs of life beyond this infernal room. Richard had kept trying to console me by telling me that someone was sure to come at some point. I gave no audible or visible response to this. A day eventually became a week, weeks turned into months, all eventually melding together in an indistinguishable mass.

    Then there was that one night. I do not know how long my imprisonment lasted, and I do not care to. I only know that it happened after the frost had thawed and the air had become slightly warmer and lighter.

     The day had gone by as it always does. Staring out of the window, glancing at the door, and Richard consoling me in my worries. One, of course, would think that it would have gotten terribly boring during that time. They would be exactly right. My existence at that point in my life was extremely unexciting. Most of the time, the room would be enveloped in a stony silence, no words passing between Richard and me.

     When the assassins entered the room, it was well after the point that we had snuffed out the candle. They had not woken us by grabbing us, or stabbing us with a blade. It was the sound of their approach that had woken us from our slumber, the one thing that provided us an escape from the grim reality of our circumstances during our time in the tower. We knew exactly what was going on outside of the door. Richard looked at me with an expression that seemed to say "What are we going to do?" For this question, I had no answer. There was no time to think before one of the assassins opened the door.

     By the light of a torch, I could make out their features. The first one, the one who had opened the door, was the size of a mammoth. Dressed in the regular executioners garb for the guillotine, with a black mask to obscuring his face. A bloodstained sword hung from his thin black belt. The second one was considerably smaller than his behemoth of a partner, although he was considerably large himself. He was dressed the same way as his partner, only a dagger hung from his belt instead. By the way his eyes flitted from side to side, I could tell that he was considerably more nervous than his partner. The other one's eyes seemed to gleam with a malicious intent that sent chills down my spine.

     They advanced closer, the first one drawing his sword  from his belt. Panic was instantaneous. I had no means of defending myself from the weapons. Even if I did manage to disarm the man with the dagger, the prospects of being able to escape his partner seemed grim.