It was your marriage day, to marry the prince himself. Prince Henry. You were walking on a Bridge made of Slate, 1478. Holding your hand Prince Henry. His mother standing in-Front of you both.

She’d slit both of their hands, then placing them together. Giving you the royal blood. You’re “husband.” Prince Henry than carrying on the bridge. Pausing. He’d whisper, “I’m sorry.” Before throwing you off, in a deep hole.