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My Living Nightmare; tag JShils
Topic Started: Jan 9 2012, 09:22 PM (150 Views)
Anne Shilston
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*January 1513*

How Anne had come this far she did not know. So many things had happened since her return and now she was regretting the decision. It had been too soon, much too soon. She should have stayed in Lavenham; there she would not have to endure the hardship her husband continued to put her through. Perhaps even she would not have found out about Elizabeth, because out of all his mistresses that one had killed her the most. She blamed him for everything, hated him more like. She hated him for driving her to being the unfit mother she was to be now. She wished she had known what he would be like all those years ago, but perhaps that was her problem. She missed their first years together and couldn’t come to terms that they were all a lie. She blamed him too for her having allowed another man take her to bed. She wondered if that was John’s case, but did he really hate her that much that he would prefer to find solace in another woman’s arms…or truthfully between her legs. Anne found most nights crying herself to sleep for failing her duty to those she loved. But most importantly, she hated herself for being so weak when she allowed Leo to take her. And now she seemed she was being punished for it.

She awoke in the middle of the night to dampness. It confused her. She lifted the covers off only to see herself covered in a dark liquid. At first she thought she had spilt wine, but as her eyes finally adjusted to the light the dying fire provided, her nose adjusted too, and it recognised the scent of blood. Throwing back the covers, Anne sat up to discover that she was sitting in a puddle of her own blood…and she screamed. She had miscarried before, but this was different, she had no idea at all that she had been with child. And to think she had been congratulating Mary for her news, Anne didn’t even recognise the signs coming from her own body, and now it was too late. She screamed and screamed, kicking the covers off in her fit as her whole body shook. She tore at her bloodied chemise desperate to get it off, but her efforts were futile. She gave in and just sat there and cried. She was crying into her hands when the servants came to her, one look and they knew what had happened.

Anne soon sat naked on the floor, her knees brought up hugged to her chest as she cried, waiting for the servants to fix her a bath. She felt cold and she trembled, the memory of her first miscarriage coming back to haunt her. She had resorted to anger that time, blaming it on John and Mary who ironically was Anne’s only friend in the world. But as she thought about it, she realised that she had no one to blame but herself this time. The same bed she had shared with another man was now tainted by blood. And she knew that this was her punishment. Her tears stopped then as if she had finally run out of tears to shed.

She was dead silent as the servants tended to her and the room. But she refused to return to that bed, not now, for all she saw was a river of blood. Instead they coaxed her back to her old room, the one she usually shared with her husband. Once she realised where she was, she could only stare. It felt strange being back here, even if it were only about month away from it and her husband. But she allowed the servants to coax her into the bed as if she were being drawn to John’s scent. She didn’t know why it felt comforting after all he had done, but his scent felt as good as being in his arms, even if his affection was only pretend. As she fought off the thought of comparing her husband with her onetime lover, she only had one request.

And she had it now clasped firmly in her hands. The only gift he had ever given her. It had been lost in her rage and her depression after he had admitted his affair with one of her closest friends. She hadn’t wanted it then; the last thing she wanted was to be reminded of him. But now…she needed him, because he was the only person she had. Though she forbade the servants to send for him, she didn’t need another reminder that she had again failed him. But by the second day with all their whispering she was sure they had. She ignored them though, refusing to believe he would come. Because the last thing she wanted was false hopes…she had enough of them already.
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John Shilston
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It seemed as if John Shilston was rid of his wife yet again. Surely there were those that still remembered Anne's odd, prolonged absence those years ago, and seeing the knight staying and living at court without his wife was perhaps the least bit surprising. If anything, the pair had gone through yet another fit of turmoil, and to distance himself from the insanity, John had fled indefinitely to the palace. It had been nearly months since he'd last seen his wife's bed, even their London manor, and visits to the city did not include a stop at their home. His sons were gone to Suffolk, and the thought of Anne there alone with only her staff of servants was hardly a thought he felt compelled to oblige. She could stay there for however long she liked, and aside from the household bills and that of the like, John heard little about his wife. Which was, of course, just fine for him... what did she have to give him, anyway? She had been so distraught about his brief fancy with the Lady Carew girl that he saw her teetering on the edge of madness. For what? A silly little blonde? Elizabeth was not worth it, and neither was Anne's idiocy. He would find his entertainments and quality of life elsewhere.

And so he had. It had been easy, almost natural, and the knight would have gladly welcomed this as his new lifestyle if he hadn't known any better. But of course, John would never be truly rid of his wife, and for that he managed to keep her in his thoughts every now and then. He even corresponded with the servants of the manor from time to time, completely without her notice. John would not have it any other way. It was like this that he had grown accustomed to not having to worry about her, about their sons, and with this lifted from his shoulders, it was safe to say he was not happy to see one of her servants standing in the middle of his chambers in the darkest, latest hour of the wintry night. Sitting up in his bed, awakened by his palace servant, John blinked and furrowed his brow, the candles about the room having been re-lit, the flames tall and flickering ever so. The air was a bit chilled, much different than the warmth he had harbored beneath the blankets, and was only moments away from sending the maidservant from his room and back to the manor where she belonged. What business did she have, coming here? Surely whatever news she brought could not wait until the morning? But recognizing her, John knew her as one of Anne's closest maids, and with a long and defeated sigh, the knight lifted his hand and motioned for her to begin.

"I am so very sorry for the hour, Sir," the maidservant began, her hands clasped in front of her bodice and her eyes cast worriedly, almost fearfully down to the floor. Dismissing it, John waited; he had grown accustomed to Anne's servants being so nervous around their master. Narrowing his dark blue eyes, he watched the woman take a short breath and then another, her bottom lip going in and out from between her teeth in anxiety. Bringing himself further upwards, John peered at her. What bloody was it? "But we did not think it would be best to keep the matter waiting for another minute," she continued, for the poor babe's life was already gone... the blood already cleaned... there could be no more waiting. Clenching his jaw, the knight drew in a long, steadying breath, trying his hardest to muster down his brimming irritation. If this woman was going to come into his chambers, wake him up with the basis of dreaded news, then the last thing he wanted was to be kept on pointed toes. He would rise a hand and smack it out of her if he had to. He watched her hands fidget with themselves before she took another breath and brought her dull, watery gaze to John's. "It is the Lady Shilston. She woke with a pain naught but two nights ago.." furrowing his brow, John climbed from his bed and planted his feet firmly on the floor, squaring his shoulders and staring hard at the maidservant. His tolerance for her bumbling was getting very, very low.

"In her womb. There was blood, so much blood... we could not locate a physician in the city at this time of night, but it is most safe to say that she has lost a child." John's eyes flickered wide, his eyebrows shooting upwards, shock and then confusion rippling across his single expression. He did not move, but instead parted his lips and asked the only question he could. "How?" The maidservant looked at him with mirroring confusion, as if she could either not answer the question for him or was wondering how stupid the man had to be for not being able to answer it himself. Either way, John's chest deflated with a long sigh and he finally took a step forwards. "We did not know... she did not know. It was much too early to see any signs of a pregnancy.... this babe came and gone without total notice." For some reason, the knight wanted to hit her for saying those words. He wanted to throw her to the floor and kick her in the ribs. His paternal instinct ground his jaw and clenched his fists, wanting so badly to prove to this lowly woman that his children would always be noticed, and she would pay for thinking otherwise. Yet, he could do nothing, and knew it was only the foolish grief of a father that could have had yet another son to make promise of his family. Though he had two alive and healthy, this was the second he had lost... the second babe that his mind told him was a son had been ripped from its mother's womb.

A mother that should have never let this happen. Flaring his nostrils, John had himself quickly dressed for the cold weather and lastly threw on a heavy leather and fur cloak, moving through the sleeping palace with silent haste. Two younger boys followed him, along with the maidservant that had come with the news, and in under the hour they had saddled their horses, left the palace and finally made it to the city. The route to his manor was easy enough, and though the torches in the streets were nearly gone and the night was turning slowly into the unnoticeable first bits of morning, midnight passing, John and his small train of servants were not the only ones out. Of course, London never slept, and he was not surprised. Leaving the horses, John came through the doors of his home without any fear of being stopped or hushed, and though a few more servants came hurriedly to the sound of his entrance, he moved past them and advanced up the flight of wooden stairs. Having assumed she had always used the larger bedroom of the four, he pushed through the door and saw her there, lying beneath the blankets, her head on the pillow with her hand extended and curled around whatever it was curled around. Crossing the floor in only a few long, deliberate strides, John came to the side of the bed and placed a warm, heavy hand on her narrow shoulder. He remembered seeing her the night of her first miscarriage; he could only wonder what this had done to her now.

"Anne," he said, more deliberately than softly, more imploring than comforting. Furrowing his brow, John could only wonder why she had taken so damn long to send for him. Not only could he have hit the maidservant she had sent -or had come by her own accord- he could have hit her, as well. For losing another of his unborn sons. For not sending for him the moment it happened. But, he had no true desire for any of this, and instead took a step back and sighed in utter defeat. "Anne," he said again, this time a hint of desperation taking his voice. His eyes flickered to her hand, the pearl necklace he had gotten her the month past finally having its purpose now at a time like this. Sighing again, he brought his eyes to her face and reached a hand down to her cheek. "How could this have happened?"
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Anne Shilston
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Anne had no idea that her husband had been sent for, until she was aware that he was in the room. She wanted to cry all over again, but only one single tear rolled down her cheek. She was fearful now that he would yell at her. It didn't matter what she would be yelled at for, for not sending for him straight away, for being a miserable mess, even for being so weak to lose the baby in the first place. It didn't matter she knew she would be yelled at, which is probably why she didn't want him to find out.

The last time she had lost a babe, she had been more angry, especially at him, seeing as she blamed his affair with the now Mary Carey as the cause that made her lose the babe. And just as he hadn't believed that their first child was his, he had refused to believe that his affair was to blame. It was just like him to think such a thing, and to think she was now close friends with his previous mistress, it was no wonder she was so miserable and broken.

She couldn't ignore him though, not with him standing right there and calling her name. If she ignored him, she would just make him angrier. She blinked and looked up at him when he touched her shoulder. It felt weird to her, not only was it a gentle touch but he hadn't touched her in weeks. It made her all the more guilty for being with another man, even if John never felt guilty with his affairs.

When his hand touched her cheek, she looked up at him and with her free hand she wiped at the tears from her eyes. She hated being like this. She should have been dressed and refreshed to appropriately greet her husband, not in a miserable she was, even if she had lost a child. But that is why she hadn't wanted him to know. He had already left her so what he didn't know couldn't hurt him right?

But apparently her servants didn't see it that way. There were times they favoured their mistress over their master, but there were times when they knew who was truly in charge here, even if he was not in residence. They, and everything in this house, including their mistress belonged to John and they were sure to remember that. And Anne knew that too, so she knew she couldn't ignore her husband or ignore his questions. She though was not going to point out to him that the likely reason for the miscarriage was because she had had an affair. That was the last thing she was going to tell him, but instead she shook her head apologetically and said. "I'm sorry, I don't know. I didn't even know I was pregnant." Finally, she sat up and wiped away the remnants of her tears. "I'm sorry John, I didn't send for you, because I didn't want you to see me like this. I hate failing you and it seems to be the only thing I am good at lately. Don't you see it's why I suggested for you to tend to your mistresses, they make you forget how a burden I am to you. They at least only have to spread their legs, but me...I just keep stuffing things up."
[align=center]PLOT: :BIO: :TRACKER

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John Shilston
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She had been crying. That, he could clearly see. Looking down upon her, she did not look like his wife Anne... she looked like a daunting, sick memory of her. He had deemed long ago that childbirth did not put a Heavenly glow about a woman, but instead made them look pale and weak, and a miscarriage... the look of her almost frightened him. Taking a step back, he withdrew his hand and only tightened his jaw at her apology... it only seemed to solidify her position as the one to blame. His dark sapphire hues solidified on her face as he listened to her go on, speaking the words she'd always spoken, proving no more than just a poor, miserable mess. Sighing in annoyance, John only shook his head and slowly lowered himself to the edge of the bed, sitting just beside her legs and lifting a hand to rest on the side of her hip. It was a hollow gesture, an aimless and confused one, but it seemed the only thing he could do.

"I have not..." he began, almost muttering the words. But taking a breath as if to center himself, he turned his head to look over at her. His poor wife. "Taken a mistress. I have tended only to myself." He looked rather empathetically at her, for once not a resentful and liberating husband, but a spouse that shared the deep and miserable loss of a child. Of children. There would be no other woman on Earth that could take Anne's place, and that he knew. A long breath deflated his shoulders and chest, and very slowly he moved his hand to hers and folded his fingers about her smaller ones. Her skin was a little chilled, and he refrained from pulling away in discomfort. Still, he did not like the way she looked, the way she felt... it nearly upset his stomach.

"Concern yourself only with feeling better," he began, nodding ever so slightly. "Picking yourself up from this mess." He glanced about the mattress and the blankets, the pillows she had thrown and nestled herself upon, and sighed again. She had certainly made a nest out of her misery. "Perhaps it is best this way. God must know it, as He saw fit to take another child from us." Yes, John did not doubt the legitimacy of the premature stillborn... even though this was the only time when he should have. Nevertheless, he gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and nodded again. "Turn your thoughts to the sons we were given, yes? I hear they are well and spending much time with their tutors in Lavenham." John nodded, hoping this would be enough to put some sort of life back into Anne's face, anything but this upsetting pallor that reminded him of nothing more than a ghost... a corpse, even. Indeed, childbirth and miscarriages were nothing sightly. Not the act itself, and certainly not who the affects were inflicted upon. "And if God sees fit, He will put another babe in your belly."
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Isabel Leigh
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Virtue alone is invincible.
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