The Other Elizabeth *OLD VERSION*

XXX. Summer 1458

XXX

Summer 1458

Ludlow Castle, Shropshire, England

"Lizzie! Lizzie! Elizabeth!" I feel a hand shaking my shoulder, and I cease turning from side to side, drenched in sweat, eyes locking open. Little Elizabeth Tylney's face peers at mine, illuminated by the tallow candle, which she holds aloft. I take in a few shaky breaths, sitting up most abruptly.

"I am sorry, Beth, hasten back to sleep," I struggle to say, looking at the little girl with her long ropes of brown coils, her elfish face with her snub nose, her wide chestnut eyes regarding me with an air of unfeigned concern. My own heart is beating wildly and my blood is whirling about my body.

Beth, another Elizabeth, another other Elizabeth, cocks her head and bites her thumbnail. "You had a nightfright again, did you not, Lizzie?" I slowly nod, swallowing, sorry that I have woken her from sleep with my cries aloud. She does not know, they all do not know how much it so pains me to be called 'Lizzie'...

I push the door fully open, as Bessie hurls towards me. I throw her an indifferent look, and turn to the bedchamber, about to walk through it, and to see if Henry has come to here. I stop. I blink. I gasp. I gasp again. I gasp harder. I gasp louder and louder, heart quickening, slowly, my feet carry me backwards into my antechamber. My fingers fumble at my sides; my palms have quickly become moist. I can feel my whole body quake. My chest thuds up and down. My eyes grow hot and I choke out a sob. Bessie reaches for my arm, eyes flecked with fear, steadying me as my legs weaken beneath me. I can barely breathe. I stare in stony horror, as do the man and woman before me, who are hastily shifting under the bed's coverlet. I have felt as if an arrow has pierced my chest many times in my lifetime- Lady Isabel's betrayals, for one. But never have I felt as though the blood was dripping, so scarlet red, pouring into my hands from my heart, billowing and blossoming through my gown as I cup my hand to my chest, kneeling over, it trickling down through my fingers, pouring, gushing, as I do gasp.

"Elizabeth, Elizabeth." I look up. I try to struggle to my feet. I cannot look at his countenance- at any part of him, for fear my nausea shall increase. I whip around, hearing a scurrying. I see her. Her. From what is remained uncovered for the human eye, for she is pulling her grey gown on in a most dishevelled manner, she has the body of the goddess Aphrodite. The looks of her too. Tumbling masses of silky locks blessed by the most lustrous of sun gods, the clearest complexion, the most bewitching emeralds for eyes, which have black pronged veins in them, pulsing in fear. She may as well have been a Countess for her good appearance. I try to find fault in her tiny waist, her sooty black lashes that flitter with delicacy- vulnerable, yet commanding. Her eyes are too far apart from her nose; her cheekbones are too high, her lower lips are too full, I endeavour, clutching my stomach and shrinking back.