A/N: This is my first Tudors fic. I apologize in advance for the historical inaccuracies in all respects. But that's why they call it a fanfic right? So I can bend things a little haha. Anyway enjoy. Italics are the memory

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

With Jane, you are the most happy. Her golden hair and glimmering smile brings you such joy. The joys you've never felt with anyone before. Late at night, in bed with your beloved, you stare at her, love flowing out of each pore.

"My Lord," she hums, "I have never loved anyone more than I love you."

You answer with a kiss, of which true adoration flows beautifully through. Harshly, though, your memories knock on your brain, and whisper "Your Majesty, with your permission, let us take a journey together"

How can you say no?

The bold knock on your door is unmistakeable- no one dared to take that authority but her. Foretelling the future, you find yourself afraid to open it. Though your feet disobey your head, briskly walking you to the entrance of the room.

She stands there, in a crimson dress, adorned with taunting threads of gold. You cannot help but travel even further back, to a time when there was love in your heart. You look into her eyes and are briefly reminded of your hatred, though her dark orbs tell different stories than before. She left her armor in her chambers, and she stands there, truly naked in front of you. It is terrifying.

"Your Majesty," she whispers with a shaking curtsy, "May I have an audience with you?"

You are tempted to spit on the ground she walks on, to rip off the jewelry on her neck that patronizes you, to slit her small neck yourself. Everything betrays you. You nod your head fiercely and let her pass through.

"Is it true?" she projects boldly, though the unmistakable vibrato shows her true self.

"Is what true?"

"That I am to be executed. That Elizabeth is to be declared a bastard. That you want nothing of me- no love, no annulment, no memory of me."

You look at her and see her shame and frustration. You see her love.

"What am I to say to that? What do you want of me?"

"The truth," she pleads, clinging to his shoulder, "I've always solely wanted the truth."

Without thought, you slap her across her porcelain face. You have branded her.

"Liar," you spit, "You're wanted power, the crown, and me. So you could control those around you in my name. You manipulate me, you destroy me. You are the harlot that is destroying my kingdom."

She slowly backs away, creeping into the shadows as she was before.

"You cannot believe that. The lies the people are spreading are just that- lies."

You scoff in her face and turn away. You cannot get lost in her any more. She struts to you and grazes your shoulder once more, this time with a gentle familiar ease that somedays, you miss. Only some days.

"You love another, this I know," she whispers in your ear, "I pity you."

"Stop." you command and shove her clear away.

"She is weak. She is simple, you need much more than pretty smile. Any woman can do that."

"You don't understand," you fumble, awkwardly sensing the instantaneous power shift.

"No. I don't. You will be happy, this I am sure. But for how long?"

You begin to interrupt her, though she pays no attention and presses on. Again, she struts to your ear and her whispers dance with it.

"Someday," she sighs, "you will miss me." You laugh straight in her face at her insolence.

"Do you believe that? Is that how you soothe yourself?"

"You may try and erase your years with me to the public, and even to yourself. But you know as well as I that you will never truly dispose of me. You are a fool to try."

"Get out." you grit.

"With pleasure," she curtsies again, mockery flowing through her veins.

You find yourself twirling a lock of hair whose golden hue shocks you. You expected a more comforting soothing color, a black that matches the night.

Yes, Jane is beautiful and vibrant and wonderful. Yes, she is the love you've never had.

No, you're wrong. She is a different kind of love.

Though, you will admit, you remember Anne.

Sometimes wish Jane's hair were darker, or that she was stronger, or that she had a different kind of fire in her.

Indeed, some days you remember Anne.

Some days, you even miss her.