Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn

Me: Anne Boleyn;
You: Henry Tudor;

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Anne was sat on the edge of the fountain, she her nose buried in a book of poetry. As she read over each lyric in her head she could feel her heart splurging over the pages. Usually when she read poetry she found it boring but this time as she read each poem it spoke to her ... she could relate them to her Henry. He had stolen her heart as she had stolen his away from that wretched Catholic. Flicking over a page she let out a sigh, running her fingers under each word ... "Beautiful," she whispered too herself. Her eyes flickered up to the castle, seeing ladies and gentlemen walking in pairs around the lake and willow trees. Life was bliss, her sister was out of the way and Anne had fully captured the King's attention. She had never have thought she would spark such a desire in the King. It excited her. He excited her. She lay the book down on her lap, leaning her head back ... feeling droplets of water kiss her cheeks as she sprung from the fountain. To think she would be Queen. Little Anne would be Queen.
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