My Very Own Love

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One week later, 17th of December 1499

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One week later, 17th of December 1499...

Watching as delicate flakes of snow floated down from the sky and melted on her skin like small kisses, Lisbet bent her head as she cried once again.

Drawing her hand back into the warmth, she shut the window of the York nursery and buried her head in the skirt of her black mourning gown. Her shoulders and chest heaving while she shook with sobs, Lisbet mourned her loss again as she had done every hour of every day since she had received the letter telling her of Ned and Francis' deaths.

"Don't leave me" she whispered over and over "you can't leave me Francis...not now...not ever"
But in her heart, she knew that her love would never return to her, that he was dead and by now would be buried beneath the earth at the Tower as was her brother.

Hearing a small whimper to the side of her, Lisbet turned and looked at the cradle in the middle of the room, watching as one of Anne's little hands waved helplessly just above the oak carvings. She had once again escaped some of her swaddling bands (something she have proved quite talented at during her seven days of life) and Lisbet had to continuously put her back in them until she grew tired of her little daughter's game and simply let her move freely.

Lisbet had not seen anyone but Anne for the past week. What little food she ate she had passed through the door before she would slam it shut again. In truth, if she had her way she wouldn't eat at all and let herself starve but she knew she had a duty to Anne and so ate only what she and her daughter needed, no more, no less.

She stayed in the nursery, developing a fear that if she was not with Anne every second of the day then the Tudors would come and take her away. In the window seat her mother used to sit in so often when at Middleham, Lisbet had placed blankets and pillows to keep herself comfortable and sometimes had Anne beside her as well, it calmed her to see the babe sleep and brought her joy to see that she had inherited a habit (as well as her light blue eyes) from her father for she slept with one hand under her rosy cheek.

Daily Magda would come to try and see her friend, would knock quietly at the nursery door and try the hand but would always find it locked.

Once or twice John had come to try and find Lisbet and it had near broken her heart all over again to ignore his childish pleas but she was too deep in grief to pay much attention to anyone but her losses and her daughter who took her mind away from grief sometimes as she did now.

Walking over to the cradle, Lisbet gently lifted Anne from the covers she had found in a chest and rubbed her soft cheek against her own.
"Hush my little one" she whispered "all will be well when you are with me...nothing shall harm you, I promise"

Anne made a small gurgling noise in response and gently curled a tiny fist around the fabric of her mother's gown, where her heart lay.
"That's right" Lisbet chuckled "you are my heart now, my very own little love...for you are all I have now...you are all I will ever have"

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