Starting Up!

About Nusrath's Novels; This blog was created on the 20th September 2011. It's all about giving readers around the world fascinating short stories to lose themselves in. Watch as these stories hook you in with the power of literacy and take you into the very story itself...


To celebrate the start of this fantastic blog, I give you a brilliant short story composed especially for my first ever readers. I hope you enjoy it! 

A Royal Doll

               

In the heart of London, stood a grand building. In that building was a throne room, with a throne made from solid gold, encrusted with the finest jewels the British could find. On that throne, sat a woman dressed in a deep blue dress with gold embroidery and a pearl detail on the hem and neck area. The dress was made from rich cotton, and in that dress, sat a short, plump woman with hazel-brown hair tied back a bun and matching eyes that pierced through anyone they set sight upon. Her name, Mary Tudor.

                Mary sat sipping her fine, French, red wine, matured for forty-three years. On her side, stood her husband, King Phillip, and on the other her servant, Dursley. She was just about to speak as there was a knock on the heavy, ebony doors. A guard dressed in a red tunic and stockings appeared.

“News has arrived of your sister, your majesty,” he informed, bowing to his queen as he did so.

“Tell me,” Mary nodded. The guard nodded at another person who stood outside. The person appeared to be a short, skinny woman with a long nose that stuck out three and a half inches from her face, and green eyes that were a complete contrast to her yellow skin. She had a puffy red dress with yellow flowers around the hem. The woman curtseyed.

“Your majesty,” she said, her head still low.

“Coleen,” Mary recognised her as her sister, Princess Elizabeth’s, governess.

“Princess Elizabeth has been locked up. She refused at first, but after much persuasion walked through the Traitors Gait.”

“Good.” Mary averted her eyes to a painting on the wall, deep in thought .

“Your highness?” Coleen squeaked. Mary did not reply, but, slowly, swivelled her eyes across the room to Coleen, who stood feebly in the centre of the bright red, velvet rug.

“I was wondering- if I might ask a question? Nothing too personal- just a question?” she stuttered.

“What is it you wish to know?” Mary asked calmly.

“Why did you lock up Princess Elizabeth?” Coleen asked, her face filled with curiosity. For a moment, all was silent. Coleen froze, fearful that she had angered Queen Mary- whose eyes flickered as she watched the red and amber flames of the fire. But then she broke the silence.

“Is it not obvious?” Mary asked, swirling her wine.

“I- well-“Coleen didn’t know what to say.

“Elizabeth is young; she’s beautiful, well, at least more than I am.”

“But your majesty, I don’t understand-“Mary got up from her throne and paced around Coleen in circles.

“Elizabeth is the one they want! She is young, and I am aged! She is a protestant but would not kill Catholics, while they say I slaughter, at my feet, anyone who follows but my religion,” Mary stormed.

 “Your majesty-“Coleen started, but she was cut off.

“Leave me now.”

“Yes, your highness,” Coleen bowed and left, leaving Mary pondering upon her sister and her kingdom.

Phillip cleared his throat and spoke.

“Mary, dear, it is late. You should rest,” he advised,

 “Yes, yes of course,” Mary stood up and handed her empty goblet to Dursley.  She walked towards the door and the guards opened them. Philip followed.

“What is the reason to your hurry, dear?” Philip asked, noticing Mary’s brisk walk.

“It was you that suggested my rest, and now you question me for doing so in a hurry,” Mary snapped.

“I was only asking.”

“Well, then; I advise you not to,” and with that, Mary stormed off to the nearest room. It didn’t matter which one. They were all hers anyway.

                Mary sat down on the end of the four-poster bed. She looked around. The room was painted red, and had a portrait of her father- Henry the eighth- on the wall. There was a fire burning on the hearth. She sat on a chair placed in front of it. Mary gazed into the fire, wondering what time would make of her, what would happen to her kingdom, to Elizabeth.

The heat of the flames was warming, and for the first time in what seemed like ages, Mary felt relaxed. Her mind was soothed and all her troubles and fears seemed to disappear. That was when it happened.

                                

                Only a few miles away, locked up within the gruesome walls of the Tower of London, Princess Elizabeth sat on her stool, playing with some sort of rag doll, a voodoo doll to be precise. In front of her, were amber and red flames, the same colour as her hair.

“She has chosen to make an enemy of her sister, and now she shall face the consequences,” Elizabeth declared, as she reached into a pouch and produced a small, golden handled, dagger.

                “die, Mary Tudor,” she shrieked, “Die!” and with a single, swift movement, Elizabeth sliced off the head of the ragdoll and burgundy coloured blood spilled from the neck of the doll, streaming onto her hand…

Mary felt a throbbing in her thigh, and then in her neck. She felt prickling pains all over her body, like she was being stabbed with a million needles…  Next came pain so fierce, it was beyond her ability to describe. It happened very quickly. The next thing she knew, all was black.

Elizabeth smiled.

“All hail your new queen, my people,” she muttered softly. “Mary Tudor is dead.” .........

Like the story? Check my blog frequently for any great, new stories! Don't forget to bookmark this site and comment on my posts! :)

All copyright reserved

©