Anne Boleyn

Walking down those steps felt like the slowest thing I ever did. The guards didn't drag or push me; they walked politely in front of me like my ladies in waiting would have. I thought it was quite ironic, seing as most of my maids had betrayed my trust and bedded the King, and these guards were leading me to my own death.

 

I looked down at the cold stone steps. Grey. The only colour I had seen in these past months was grey, and it would be the last. My feet made a rhythmic tapping noise as I descended them, with grace and poise - a true Queen. My feet were tapping my life away.

 

I didn't even feel pangs of hatred or annoyance at Henry's stupidity. It wouldn't change the fate I had to suffer, and he himself would have to live with the knowledge that he put me to death for something he knew quite well that I didn't do.

 

The wooden door opened at the bottom of the tower and I shielded my eyes from the harsh light, then closed my eyes as I was taken to be beheaded.