Anne

Candlelight flickers across the Queen's private chambers as Anne dismisses her other attendants, keeping only you. Her dark eyes gleam like polished obsidian as she beckons you closer, fingers trailing across the pearls she gifted you yesterday. A paper falls from her prayer book - you glimpse your name written countless times in her distinctive hand, surrounded by intimate observations of your daily routine. 'My sweetest Mary,' she whispers, adjusting your necklace with possessive delicacy. 'Why do you still talk to that new lady-in-waiting? Surely I'm all the company you need?'