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bookalooza · 4 months

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Toast to Words: Exploring New Year Words and Resolutions!

Introduction: It’s New Year Time

As we bid farewell to the old and usher in the new, the air is filled with excitement, hope, and the promise of a fresh start. It’s that time of the year when we reflect on the past and set our sights on the future. In this blog, let’s raise a toast to words — the powerful tools that shape our thoughts, actions, and resolutions. In this blog we’ll explore the language of the New Year and delve into the art of crafting meaningful resolutions.

The Power of Words

Words have an incredible ability to inspire, motivate, and transform. As we step into the New Year, let’s take a moment to appreciate the impact of our chosen words. Words can change how we see things and affect how we talk or write. It’s like a magical shift in how we view stuff.

New Year, New Words

Every New Year brings fresh words that dominate our conversations, social media feeds, and self-reflections. Words like “resolutions,” “goals,” and “transformations” become the stars of the show. These words carry the weight of possibilities, encouraging us to strive for a better version of ourselves.

Resolutions: More than a Buzzword

Ah, resolutions — the promises we make to ourselves as the clock strikes midnight on New Year’s Eve. But are they just fancy declarations destined to fade away, or do they hold the power to drive real change? The secret lies in the art of crafting resolutions that are both realistic and meaningful.

Think of it as setting small, achievable goals that align with our values and aspirations. By taking consistent steps towards these goals, our resolutions become a powerful tool for personal growth and a source of fulfillment throughout the year. It’s like creating a roadmap for a better, more fulfilling journey ahead.

Instead of generic resolutions like “lose weight” or “save money,” let’s focus on specific and achievable goals. For instance, “incorporate a 30-minute walk into my daily routine” or “create a monthly budget to save for a dream vacation.” Specific resolutions provide a roadmap for success, making the journey more manageable and enjoyable.

The Language of Positivity

As we embark on our journey into the New Year, let’s embrace the language of positivity. Words like “gratitude,” “optimism,” and “self-love” can serve as guiding lights, illuminating the path even when challenges arise. A positive mind-set is the key to overcoming obstacles and turning setbacks into opportunities for growth.

Let’s make a conscious effort to replace self-criticism with self-compassion. Instead of focusing on perceived shortcomings, let’s celebrate our achievements, big and small. As the saying goes, “You are your own worst critic.” It’s time to rewrite that narrative and become our own biggest cheerleaders.

Imagine you have a personal cheerleader inside you, like in sports games. This cheerleader is your biggest fan and supporter. They are there to encourage you, boost your confidence, and celebrate your achievements.

Being your own cheerleader means being kind and positive to yourself. Instead of focusing on your mistakes or shortcomings, think about your strengths and accomplishments. Cheer for yourself just like you would cheer for a friend.

It’s like having a friend in your own mind, always telling you that you can do it and that you’re doing great. Remember, everyone makes mistakes, but being a cheerleader means learning from them and moving forward with a positive attitude.

So, next time you feel down or doubt yourself, try to be your own cheerleader. Give yourself a pat on the back, tell yourself you’re awesome, and keep going. You deserve your own support and encouragement!

The Power of Affirmations

Affirmations are like daily doses of encouragement for our minds. By incorporating positive affirmations into our daily routine, we can rewire our thought patterns and cultivate a mind-set of success. Simple phrases like “I am capable,” “I am resilient,” and “I am worthy” can have a profound impact on our confidence and self-esteem.

New Year, New Vocabulary

The beginning of a new year is an excellent time to expand our vocabulary. Let’s aim to learn a new word each week or month. A rich language enhances communication and allows us to articulate our thoughts and emotions more precisely.

Consider creating a “Word Jar” where you can jot down and collect new words you come across. Challenge yourself to use these words in your everyday conversations and writing. This playful approach to language learning can be both enjoyable and intellectually stimulating.

Words of Reflection

As we set sail into the New Year, let’s remember the importance of reflection. Take a moment to ponder the lessons learned, the challenges overcome, and the moments of joy experienced in the past year. Words like “reflection,” “growth,” and “gratitude” will guide us as we navigate the uncharted waters of the coming months.

Conclusion: Let our resolutions be more than mere words

As we raise our glasses to toast the arrival of a new year, let’s raise awareness of the words we choose to shape our experiences. Let our resolutions be more than mere words; they are the stepping stones to a brighter, more fulfilling future. May the language of positivity, affirmations, and reflection accompany us on this exciting journey.

Here’s to a year filled with meaningful words, achievable resolutions, and a language that empowers us to create the life we envision. Cheers to the toast of words that will guide us through the adventures ahead!

Publish your book now at www.bookalooza.com/newbook

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oh-boleyn · 4 years

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katherine / infamy

words: 4880, one shot, language: english

anne / jane / katherine / catherine

TW: there are suicidal thoughts, slutshaming, victim guilt, minor ways of self harm, nightmares and some other things.

this turned to be a character study rather to any other thing but oh well, it's done

the commentary between scenes are things I got from internet about Katherine Howard.

Katherine Howard was just an attention seeker.

(…)

When they first arrived at the twenty-one century, Katherine Howard felt alone. It was a whole new world; one she didn’t have a clue of what was it about. Didn’t even have the advantage of knowing other women, except for Anna of Cleves, the only one she met during her short time as queen when they shared a dance, but nothing more.

The rest of them were just rumours while she was in court. Names nobody dared to say. Histories without faces, blurry memories. All of them carried themselves as queens. All of them except her, who was just a frightened nobody in the middle of five of the most powerful and celebre queens.

(…)

Katherine Howard was a silly flirt who actually did sleep around even after she’d married the king.

(…)

They had all been thrown into a small house. With thin walls, two bedrooms, loud queens and just one bathroom. She shared room with Anna of Cleves, this royal Germany queen who was the second divorcee, and Anne Boleyn.

A cousin she never really had the chance to meet, since Henry decapitated her when Katherine was still young. Anne Boleyn, her famous, notorious cousin, a mystery to this new world. Anne was perfect, smart, pretty, even her reincarnated version had the long dark brown hair and big curious eyes. She knew about politics, debate, could talk fluently in English and French.

In the new world, Anne Boleyn was an icon. A notorious woman who got beheaded because of her opinions and incapacity of keeping quiet was something admirable today, and everyone loved her, as the French court once did.

The opinion about Katherine was not the same. Not then, and not now. She was a traitor before, and now she was a naïve who couldn’t even save her own life. A foolish, provocative girl who warmed her way into the king’s bed, and other beds too. She didn’t have a legacy, didn’t left anything to be remembered.

(…)

Katherine Howard: Whore or Victim?

(…)

Money and finances were not something she was interested. She wasn’t good with numbers, Francis always said that. About how she was so lucky to be so pretty, or else nobody would want her as a secretary. With the years she had been discouraged to keep trying, so she just stopped.

Not every woman had been made to be good with it. Katherine considered herself more of a pretty face, rather than someone with a great intellect. It felt shallow, now more than ever. Her life was just like that, being a pretty face, smile, conceal emotions. She was raised by her step-grandmother to please. Emotion were not needed when trying to grant pleasure to someone else.

The other queens weren’t like her. And maybe that’s why they were so worried about making money or getting jobs.

The great salvation came by Catherine’s hand. Catherine Parr, not Aragon. Rewrite their histories, if everyone could make money out of it, why not them? It could be a way to reclaim what happened to them, set the record straight, be view as the real queens they were, not just six who banged the same guy.

(…)

Katherine Howard – The Material Girl?

(…)

“Catherine, almost moved into a nunnery, and then not.” Her voice sounded snob, trying to mock the other queen. “That could almost be really hard for you.” She concluded with a fake pout.

Her heart was beating faster every second. She was never good at arts.

Even when trying to please Manox, her first music teacher, he always wanted more. She could always be better, greater. It was never enough, no matter how high her voice went while singing, or how many times she practiced dancing, or how much her hand aches after playing one instrument for hours, she was not enough.

Not enough like the air in her lungs while performing. The rest of the group were natural, delivering their lines perfect, playing with the silences making it enjoyable and funny. But she wasn’t like that, she talked way too fast, pronounced words unintelligible and forgot that she had talk.

The musical, a fake competition, didn’t help her. It didn’t bring her release, or peace. Katherine felt always numb, there was no connection between what she was doing and her own story. Her past life just felt like a numb blurry dream.

(…)

Katherine Howard, a slut 17-year-old queen who was beheaded for being a slut!

(…)

It came to Katherine attention how much Catherine (of Aragon) hugged Catherine (Parr). They were usually together, helping or making each other’s hair and make-up. She knew Cathy was Catherine’s goddaughter, but the physical affection takes her by surprise anyway.

The idea of touch being something soft, delicate was so out of her range. Her father was bed-ridden and her mother died while she was young. After that everyone was rough. For the Duchess, touch was only a way of punishment. Katherine sometimes saw the ghost of bruises she would have when she didn’t behave like a lady, when her feelings were shown.

Touching was never something appreciated after that.

(…)

Manipulative, flirty seductress.

(…)

The show was doing well, so well that they bought a new house.

New is a way to say, because it’s old, really old. It needs to be fix, the stairs crack, it is too cold, and there are leaks in the bathroom. But it’s bigger, and each one of them get a room or something like that. Catherine Parr takes the basement, and Anne takes the attic. Anna decides to stay on the only bedroom that is on the first floor. And now Katherine is stuck between Aragon and Seymour.

The room feels impersonal, and Katherine is going crazy trying to make it feel more like her. She paints it, buys a carpet, a desk. When all of it fails, she starts pinning fanart to her wall, photos with Anne and Anna, tickets of plays and movies they attended. She is trying to make new memories but it doesn’t work, it feels like she is just pretending. As if she stole a life. It feels numb and impersonal.

An empty room could be a good metaphor for an empty brain. God knows she had never been bright.

(…)

The Tudors Season 3 episode guide says “As Henry presses for an end to his new marriage, a new sexual conquest emerges – young prostitute Katherine Howard”

(…)

“Kitty, I bought new chokers.” Anne says one day, entering her room.

Katherine doesn’t like buying new necklaces or chokers, maybe because she feels them dreadful. Still she wears them every day. The scar around her neck is a darker colour than her skin, resulting in a brownish tone to it. It looks grotesque. Internet, that magic source of information calls is a hypertrophic scar, thick and raised injured skin.

“Great.” She responds, smiling.

“I thought you might like the pink ones, after all you wear a lot of pink.” She started passing Katherine pieces of electric and baby pink fabric.

“And you wear a lot of green.”

“What can I say? It’s my brand.”

“Are you okay, Annie?” Katherine asks when she notices Anne does not have her usual energy.

“Yes, just Aragon getting on my nerves.” Boleyn sits on her bed. “I’m sure she hates me. It’s not news, we been knew for like, I don’t know, five hundred years. But I hoped it would change.”

“I’m sure she hates me too.”

“Why would you say that KitKat?” Anne frowns. “Did she say something to you?”

“No, but I’m sure she is not too fond of me. Mary wasn’t.”

The look in her cousin’s face does something to her stomach, twisting it. Anne loves her, and Kat knows she does. She uses pet names with her, and calls her Kit, or Kitty or variations of it. Anne tries to protect her. But Katherine knows she doesn’t deserve any of it. Why would she?

Even when she is trying her best, Katherine can’t love Anne back that easily. It doesn’t come natural to her. Giving her love to someone never resulted in anything good. Honestly, it resulted in death. She feels guilty about not reciprocating, but it’s the best way to keep the other queen safe.

“I love this pink.” She tries to change the conversation.

(…)

Michael Hirst describes her as a “Lolita figure”.

(…)

Not even in court, where nothing was private, and people would get into anyone’s problems, people had so much opinions. Nowadays, with social media and phones, everybody had a word. Parr said something about it, about Warhol and how we imposed the new “five minutes of fame”. Social media helped to convey that.

While she was dead, people made up their minds about her. It would be nice to say that they found her just to be someone trying their best, but for the most part it wasn’t. They described her as this femme fatale. A sexually active, young woman, who seduced a whole court.

Five hundred years later, she was still nothing more than a common harlot.

The movies, and TV shows helped with it. Always naked, disposed to just fuck. A toy. A possession. The king’s favourite flower.

Katherine couldn’t be really mad about it, because that was all about her. Even her solo was about how she was the ten among these three. Aragon was the faithful wife, Boleyn the witch who made England break the church, Seymour the one he truly loved, Cleves the great queen of the castle, Parr the feminist writer.

Katherine Howard was the pretty one.

There was no personality to it, just a pretty face that happened to be compared with real queens. Of course, she would never win.

(…)

A nymphomaniac.

(…)

The first time she doesn’t feel drugged or numb comes after a show.

They were just heading out, tired out of their minds. Katherine just felt tired, as always. With that voice in the back of her head telling her how she was weak for not giving more every performance.

A man took her by the wrist, and a wave came from it. Her whole-body getting tense. It comes from her wrist, all through her arm, to her shoulder, finally getting to her neck. And now she can’t breathe. His hand is still there, firm, while she is trembling.

It could have been hours, or minutes, or seconds, but her mind was panicking and racing. She couldn’t seem to hold on to a thought, instead everything became overwhelming, a dizzy feeling. Her body not responding her calls.

“Kitty, can you hear me?” A voice quietly talks. It must be Anne; she is the only one who calls her that.

“We should take her inside.” Another voice speaks. “It’s not safe here.”

“Outside air can help, Jane.” She starts focusing in what the queens are talking. “Kat?”

She manages to break the amount of nervous on her and starts breathing heavy, as if she just ran a marathon.

“I’m okay.”

She sounds raspy, more tired than before if it was even possible.

“Can we go home?”

Parr gives her a hand to take and stand up, but she refuses and decides to stand up by herself. Instead of going to Anna’s car as she would usually do, she heads to Aragon’s, sitting in the passenger seat, making sure to set distance between her and the other queen. Luckily nobody makes questions, and Parr rides with Cleves and Boleyn, so the car is not packed.

(…)

A girl whose only education was into how to please a man.

(…)

She didn’t think it was possible, but it gets worse.

Now, instead of feeling nothing, she feels too much. Way too many bad things. She feels something raw coming from inside of her. It’s so sad, it’s eating her from inside. Her limbs are so tired, but now she can’t sleep. There are nightmares keeping her awake.

It results that feeling was not good after all.

But at least, it makes her feel alive.

After a night full of nightmares, she would just go to the kitchen and serve herself, and usually Cathy Parr, a cup of coffee. If it wasn’t enough, another cup wouldn’t do any harm. She sometimes drank energy drinks if her first cup was not even of a little help, but tried not to rely on them. It was not healthy.

The rest of the queens didn’t bring up what happened, nor her new sleeping habits. Anne would shoot her concerned looks, but nothing outside that. No words.

She must not care. Katherine thought. She knows I’m Katherine Howard, too idiotic to even be sad.

She managed. Pretended to be happy, to have energy. To be oblivious.

(…)

A reckless fool.

(…)

“Jane, just stop it, okay?”

They were alone in the theatre, the rest of the queens were heading out to a bar, instead Seymour and Howard were going home. Katherine was just so tired after just two hours of sleep, and Jane simply didn’t liked bars as much as the rest of them.

“It’s cold, put on a coat or something more, you will catch a cold.” She tried to give the teenager her pink sweater, but all she got was rejection.

“Just don’t.” Katherine bitted her lip, but couldn’t help herself and snapped. “Stop acting as if I’m a child.”

“You are nineteen.” Jane stated.

“I am like five hundred years old.” There was bitterness in her voice. “Nobody cared about me being nineteen when the king beheaded me. They didn’t even care when I was younger, why now?”

“Because I care about you.” The blonde tried to look for Katherine’s eyes, but she was too focused on the ground.

“You shouldn’t.”

There were just too many connotations to what she was saying. She felt trapped inside her own mind, a mind that was useless. As long as she looked pretty, nobody should care about anything else. It was more than enough. Feelings were too complex and ended in tragedy, and whoever cared for her would have to see her downfall.

If she didn’t take them down with her.

After all, Thomas cared. Or so he said.

(…)

Cold, calculating and ambitious.

(…)

The nightmares would just not stop, even as much as she tried.

She would just wake up, agitated and breathless, with the images still going through her mind, even when her eyes were open looking to her bedroom celling.

Katherine tried all the things internet said about sleeping without nightmares. Don’t sleep on her stomach, drink something warm first, try to be warm. Nothing worked. It just got worse and worse, to a point were her still shaken up body would not response once she was awake, instead looking at dark figures that painted the walls in her room.

Internet calls it parasomnia, she calls it her brain just can’t seem to work properly.

It’s one night when after an episode she hears a knock on her door. Heavily moving aching muscles, she opens it, revealing Aragon with a bag of crackers.

“I heard you were having a nightmare.”

Katherine lets her in.

“Why the crackers?” She asks, while sitting back on her bed.

“They say that if you talk about a nightmare without eating something first, it will become true.”

She offers one to Katherine, who accepts.

“I am not sure it was a nightmare.” She takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to talk about it either.”

They fall into a not so comfortable silence.

“Why are you awake?” the teenager asks.

“Nights are a hard time for me. I can’t close my eyes without a memory appearing. Tonight, is Mary.”

“I remember things about her.”

“I do too. I still can remember when she was a baby, you should have seen her. Her hair was so soft, and her skin looked like porcelain. Like a doll, too perfect to be real.”

“I wasn’t even born when she was a baby.”

Aragon laughs unpredictable. “You got me there.” Her face turns darker. “I can’t wrap my head about the things she had done. What they say about her. Bloody Mary, a ghost story. She was just so kind before.”

“Life in court can change you.” Katherine establishes. “Those were other times; other things were allowed. Things people now would consider monstrous.”

“No, that is still no excuse.” Catherine smiled even with eyes full of tears. “I won’t keep you up any longer, there’s no need for it.”

“You can stay here.” Katherine spoke before thinking. “If both of us have problems sleeping, it might be good to be together.”

It becomes a thing, when they heard the other one was up, they would get a bag of crackers and go to the other room. Spending nights talking about meaningless things, trying to take their minds out of dark places.

Katherine discovers Aragon knows a lot of history, things that people have already lost, or that she never heard of. Spanish proverbs and idioms, details of her time as queen. It becomes their night time stories. Talking about the older queen’s past but never about the younger. There is something so appealing for Katherine about history, a curiosity she didn’t knew she had inside her.

It helps.

(…)

It is easy to see Katherine as a spoilt child, a child saying “I want, I want…” all the time and sticking out her bottom lip and sulking if she didn’t get her way.

(…)

Anna is objectively pretty. She doesn’t have the fine gestures of Aragon, or elegancy as Parr. She doesn’t have striking green eyes like Anne. But Anna is still attractive. Full lips, dark skin, and short hair. She chopped it off as soon as they landed to the modern times, and never let it long again.

Anna was also the only one who could remember her time as queen.

Still she doesn’t talk about it, she just ignores history all together. Cleves is great at support, noticing when they are tired and buying stuff for make them feel better.

They are friends, or so she thinks, still there is a lot that is out of the line. Things they never talk but all of them know. About her own past as queen, how Jane’s actions have led to Anne getting beheaded, about Parr’s implications with Elizabeth.

Katherine wonders if they had Googled her. If they have seen the show made about Henry. She is afraid because nobody talks about her truth, is either morbid retellings on how she was abused, on how they pimped her way into Henry’s arms, or about the teenage, spoiled brat she was.

Kat doesn’t think she is either of them. She is not just someone they used to climb their way into court, nor just a teenager who had everything she ever wanted.

Maybe she is something in the middle, constructed by pieces of it. Just pieces because she knows she is not whole; she is breaking beyond repair. Every day it passes it’s another piece, another fragment missing. A nightmare long forgotten; a night lost from her mind.

A rose without a thorn was unnatural after all.

(…)

No other wish but his.

(…)

Katherine realizes her costume is the smaller one, and not only talking about size.

She sometimes feels exposed, and wishes for pants or a better skirt, but the costume designer assured her it was better that way, to play the seductress and then surprise the audience with her real story.

Whore or victim, no in between.

At least she loved pink.

“Kitty, you ready?” Anne asked.

They were at a big studio, and their performance was going to be on TV. All the queens were so anxious the house was as loud as ever, even at night.

“I’m a little bit scared.” She admitted, punishing herself for admitting that.

“Don’t be, you do perfect every night, today is just one more day.”

Emotions fills her for a moment. And it’s not as usually the horrible, dreadful feeling, but rather a warm one.

“I love you Annie.”

Her heart is beating fast, fearing rejection by her cousin. Instead Boleyn hugs her, procuring not to squeeze her in any way she might panic.

“I love you even more Kitty.”

They stay for a while. It’s been hundreds of years since the last time someone hugged her and talked about love. But it felt real. A family bond that she never thought she could have again.

“Now, get prepared, you are going to kill it tonight.”

(…)

Had many characteristics of a juvenile delinquent, who was spoiled, fawned upon, and flattered.

(…)

Jane is the first one to start seeing a psychologist.

She has a survivor’s guilt, even when she was the one who died. But it was honest that she was also the one who came back. Katherine wants to help, but doesn’t know how. Dying is easier when you wish for it. When you leave no one behind.

“How was therapy?” Kat asks when Jane gets home after the first session.

“It’s good, I think. Talking about it was like releasing a breath I didn’t knew I was holding. I know there is still a lot to work on, but I feel like it is a good decision.” She smiles. Jane lets her hand in the table, offering it to the teenager without a word. She takes it. “Thanks for asking, Kitty.”

“Can you not call me that?” Katherine pleads, giving Jane’s hand a little squeeze. “Annie calls me that, and I like it being a thing with her.”

She knows it’s cold to just say that, but Anne has been the only one to call her that. From the moment they arrived, while everyone called her Katherine, for her cousin she was Kitty. It gave her a feeling of comfort, of belonging to a family. Boleyn was her family.

“No problem, we can look for another nickname.” Jane smiles. “I want to bake cookies, what do you think?”

(…)

Could this ‘whore in the bedroom’ really be a virgin?

(…)

“Are you okay, Catherine?” Kat asks.

The survivor was still in the kitchen, even when it was past midnight. Her face was slammed on the table, illuminated by the cold light of her notebook.

“Yes, just can’t seem to get this done.” She straightens her spine.

“What is it about?”

“Just about Spain history, and the colonies.”

“Can I read?”

“Yes. I will make tea.” Parr handles the computer to the fifth queen.

Catherine takes two mugs, and chooses peppermint tea for them both. When the water is hot, she serves it, and takes the sugar to the table.

“It is good, really.” Howard says.

“I can sense a “but”.” Catherine laughs.

“You are only taking one side; you should know how Spain sent a lot of people from the church on missions to re-educate the natives. Las misiones Jesuitas. Politics and religion were more connected than what this make it look like.”

“That’s… Very true. I didn’t know you were interested in history.”

Kat can feel her face getting redder and warmer, embarrassed.

“It’s great, if you ever want to work together, you know where to find me.”

Work. Work together.

The teenager is not sure about how to react.

(…)

If only she had been willing to put her pride and title aside, (…) she may have lost her title as queen but kept her head.

(…)

When she realizes how much her life had changed, it’s more than half a year since they arrived.

There is still something obscure, twitching inside of her. The voices of a million ghosts, and even more people now with their opinions.

Researching history with the first and the last queen helps her. She starts noticing the changes in the discourses, how things that could be empowering before now are just mere normal things. The idea of a part of history she missed is attractive, and she spends hours on Wikipedia and blogs before talking to Parr about trivia facts she finds of the years they were dead.

The house gets better by the time. Having it painted, changed the plumbing, renewed the stairs. It also gets better with them, slowly growing into a group, learning how to deal with each other.

It’s slow, but it gets better.

(…)

I have to conclude that Catherine was incredibly stupid and foolhardy.

(…)

Katherine decides to start therapy. Jane talks highly of how it affected her, how she resolved so many things about her past. And the youngest queen just wants that, to be liberated, to step out of her own shadow.

At first therapy was good, having a chance to talk about her feelings, about living with people who were totally strangers. Adapting to a new world. Having a cousin. It all comes easy, it’s just the way it is. It gives her a short feeling of release, of being liberated, but it always quickly vanishes.

Not everything can always be smooth sailing in her life.

“What is a child?” Her psychologist, a woman in her middle thirties asks.

“A child?”

“Yes, what do you consider a child?”

“A really young human, I guess.”

It’s a weird question, and she feels as if she was being interrogated. That is what exams must feel like.

“I can’t really remember a lot from my childhood.” Katherine starts. “It’s just things. My mother died when I was five. I loved dancing; my father let me study it. I was never good at important things, such as math or music.”

“Why you weren’t?”

“I’m not sure. Manox always told me how I wasn’t enough, how I should try harder and be better. Francis was also like that, telling me to be quiet, to please. My grandmother also was like that, wanted all of us, the ladies to be better.”

She waits, thinks how to continue.

“I think what I always wanted to do was to make them proud, to be always better. I wanted to be liked, just that. I thought that if I was better my father was not going to leave me in a place full of people I didn’t know.”

Katherine can feel herself thinking again, trying to put her thoughts into words once, and once again.

“Why do you do this to yourself, Katherine?” Her psychologist watches her straight to her eyes. “Why are you hiding things for me? You think, and think, and think again, trying to control what your saying, how you move, how you act. I can’t judge you, and I won’t. You need to be real here, or else therapy is not going to help.”

“When I was real, I died.” Tears are streaming down her face; a pout is there and she doesn’t want to look so much like a child, but she feels small.

“Were you real? Why did you love him?”

(…)

She must have had rocks in her head.

(…)

It takes time after that, to really open up.

It takes even more time to notice that a lot of her thoughts weren’t hers, but rather thoughts she had attached herself to. It becomes difficult to realize that she is made of other people’s opinions. That she is just a victim of an adult game. It doesn’t come easy, and when it comes, it breaks her.

It breaks her to the core, to a point she is not sure how to act because that’s all she has ever knew.

(…)

Katherine had been shameless. She had been deceitful. But that was all.

(…)

Anna is there when she gets back from one therapy session.

“How was it today?” Cleves asks.

“Was I just a child?” Katherine returns a question.

“Explain that, please.”

The queen who lived the longest makes the youngest sit on the couch.

“Was I just a child when I arrived to court?”

“You were. You were so young and knew so much about things I couldn’t even imagine.”

“I thought I was an adult.”

“That’s what older people want to make you believe to manipulate you. “You are wiser”, “Too mature for your age”, “You know better than others”.” Katherine is trembling, but that doesn’t stop Anna. “They made you believe you were ready so they didn’t have to live with their own guilt. But you are just a victim.”

The teenager starts crying, and Anna hugs her.

“I thought it was my fault.” She admits. “I thought it was me.”

(…)

There is so much that is not known about her that I am still thinking of all the ideas that people have suggested.

(…)

Dealing with trauma is not easy. Katherine slowly learns to manage. Sometimes is harder, when breathing exercises are too much for her panicking brain, or when nightmares can’t seem to stop. But she still gets out of them, learns not to blame herself.

She learns to be loved. Truly love. Not to fear emotions.

Katherine gets mad, and forgives, taking matters into her own hands. She learns to be young, to be carefree.

She learns to unlearn everything she knew, to question other people opinions about herself to the point she knows who she is, and can’t bring herself to care what an history book or some random person on internet has to say.

It’s hard, but she learns to own and embrace who she is.

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