WHO: Anne Neville and Richard Plantagenet WHEN: Early evening WHERE: The graveyard WHAT: Anne and Richard's arrival RATING: TBC STATUS: In progress
Anne stumbled, throwing her hand out to steady herself. Her hand hit something hard and cold, the rough surface biting into the soft surface of her palm. She gasped in anguish, pulling her hand back and cradling it to her chest as she righted herself on her feet. She was cold, the thin linen of her shift doing little to keep out the chill wind that was playing around her. Keeping her shoulders hunched against the breeze, Anne looked down to inspect her injury. Her palm was grazed, a few little droplets of blood forming on the lacerated skin. Frowning, she lifted her hand to her mouth, cupping it in the opposing palm as she let her tongue run over the wound, the warmth of her lips making it sting and smart. She could feel grit on her skin and, as she tended to the injury, she looked down over her thumb at the object she had fallen against, in an accusatory manner.
At first, she couldn't make out what the stone was. It reminded her of a way marker but it didn't look right, somehow. The writing on it was different. It looked more like a human name than a place, a date rather than a distance. A chill tremor of fear trickled through her as she turned her head, first to the right, then to the left, to see the stone's regimented brothers and sisters, each standing a foot or so apart from the last, stretching off in either direction. Realisation dawned on her, making her skin crawl unpleasantly: she was in a cemetery, the stone she'd fallen against, a grave marker. She was surrounded by the dead as truly as if she were standing in the middle of a battlefield.
But how? How could she be in a graveyard? Only moments before she'd been in her bed at Middleham Castle, her face pressed into Richard's warm back, breathing in the sweet smell of him in the fresh morning light. How could she now be in a graveyard, in an entirely unfamiliar place, at what looked like dusk?
Witchcraft. It was the only explanation. She must have done something.
Fear pulsing through her, Anne started forward, wrapping her arms around herself to keep her warm, make her feel safe. She needed to find something familiar, some point in the landscape she could reference to find her bearing, to find help. If she was still in the North, she would be able to find help, she was sure she would be able to find help. Almost all of the North was still allied to either the Nevilles or Richard. As long as she was still in the a North, she was among friends. As long as she was still in the North...