“The only judgement I will receive is from God himself,” was whispered from the lips of the fallen Queen as the shouts from the burly crowd below had risen to the top of the towers, reached through the metal bars and suffocated her ears.

Pacing across the wooden floors with the grace she had been taught to have at an early age, Queen Anne was beautifully masking her agony from nobody but herself. The accusations placed upon her were believed to everyone who did not know the truth.

“With my death I will atone to the offenses I have been believed to have taken against the Kings graces and thus yield myself to the law against my own wishes,” sighed Anne as her fingers brushed across the smooth skin of her neck.

Anne now cried out to God, “With such accusations by the King of witchcraft and adultery being false, and no proof of my innocence, what more am I to do?” Not allowing her emotions to flow beyond the breaking point, she stood tall with her back arched and prepared for the inevitable. The door of her room started to quiver steps away from where she stood. The fate of her time was here.

“It is time my lady,” spoke one of the courtiers of the King, ready to escort her to an undeserving death.  

As the ever so beautiful Queen stepped upon the stage with no fear,  she glanced across the public to see the watering eyes of her once proclaimed citizens. Stopping for all to see she stated with dignity, “I heartily desire for you all to pray for me.”

Before the moments of her death the sound of her prayers are heard along with the crowd that claimed in unison, “God save the Queen.”