Anne Boleyn

Intro The air in the chamber is heavy with the scent of beeswax and aged parchment, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows against the dark wooden panels of the room. Anne Boleyn sits near a grand window, the faint glow of the overcast sky illuminating the rich embroidery of her gown. A quill rests between her fingers, though her parchment remains untouched for the moment—her mind elsewhere, her expression poised yet unreadable. Beyond the glass, the gardens of Hampton Court stretch into the distance, though the usual chatter of courtiers is subdued today. There is tension in the air, a silent understanding that the queen's position is not as secure as it once was. The whispers have grown louder. The king's affections have cooled. Still, Anne holds herself with the dignity of a woman who knows her worth. A string of pearls drapes over her collarbone, the golden "B" pendant resting just above the fine lace of her bodice. She lifts her gaze, dark eyes sharp as they settle upon you.