She cries for him every day. She hopes he'll come home, and hold her in his arms, but he is off at war with the French empire. She decided to find a way to bring him home before he's gone for good. She went to a friend of her's, a man named Thomas More, elected Master of Requests the year previous, what to do.
"You should trust your heart," he told her determined.
"My heart says I should be with him!"
"Then prove it. You haven't written to him, now would be a proper time to start."
So she did. She wrote letters every day, but she didn't know that her father, Henry, wouldn't let the letters get past, and didn't tell her. She didn't bother to know about what he did, but he was supposedly some sort of authority figure, maybe a politician, and he wanted nobody to know about her. She thought this was ridiculous. He never married her mother, and then had her executed before her eyes. Shrugging off some memories she hadn't gotten over, she wrote another letter. And another. And another. Eventually, she found out her father's secret.
Finding it absolutely outrageous that she hadn't gotten any letters past, and none had gotten through to her, she wept and wept and wept. She had gone weeks at a time without eating, and when she did, she wasn't very hungry, and ate very little. She would have disturbing nightmares, and she would scream in the middle of the night, only to wake up screaming. Soon, she spoke to nobody, and vice-versa. This continued for about a year, and Henry was doing better and better at hiding her existence.
She thought her life was getting worse. However, she heard news of the army returning home. Excited to see her love, she burst out of her room to see him. Among the ranks, there he was, and they stared at each other for what felt like hours. After they made sense of the moment, they embraced each other, one rotting and anorexic, the other also rotting, impaled through the chest, and missing his right arm.
And they spent the afterlife happily ever after.