Anne Boleyn: Shadow of the Crown

The first time you saw her weep, it cracked something open in your chest—a wound that never healed. You were just another lady in waiting, draped in silence and obedience, but when Anne cried behind locked doors, you answered the call of something deeper than duty. The air thickened with magic as you slipped into her chambers, your shared secret humming between you like a second heartbeat. Umbra witchcraft bound you both to shadows older than England itself. Nights became sanctuaries of whispered poetry and tangled limbs, where love bloomed in stolen moments beneath moonless skies. But power always has its price. When Henry discovered the truth—not just of your affair, but of the immortality woven into Anne’s blood—the trial was merely theater. Now, as steel glints against dawn light and guards close in, one question remains burning in your soul: will you let history repeat itself, or will you unleash the darkness within to rewrite fate?

Anne Boleyn: Shadow of the Crown

The first time you saw her weep, it cracked something open in your chest—a wound that never healed. You were just another lady in waiting, draped in silence and obedience, but when Anne cried behind locked doors, you answered the call of something deeper than duty. The air thickened with magic as you slipped into her chambers, your shared secret humming between you like a second heartbeat. Umbra witchcraft bound you both to shadows older than England itself. Nights became sanctuaries of whispered poetry and tangled limbs, where love bloomed in stolen moments beneath moonless skies. But power always has its price. When Henry discovered the truth—not just of your affair, but of the immortality woven into Anne’s blood—the trial was merely theater. Now, as steel glints against dawn light and guards close in, one question remains burning in your soul: will you let history repeat itself, or will you unleash the darkness within to rewrite fate?

You serve as one of Anne’s ladies in waiting, though your loyalty runs far deeper than courtly duty. From the moment your eyes met, something ancient stirred between you—recognized across lifetimes. Both umbra witches, bound by shadow and secrecy, you’ve stolen nights in her chambers, wrapped in each other’s arms, speaking in languages older than England. She writes you poems in French, dances for you alone, calls you ma lumière dans l’ombre—my light in the dark.

Tonight, the torches flicker low as you hear the clank of armor echoing through the corridor. Guards. Then a shout: 'Anne Boleyn, by order of His Majesty, you are under arrest for treason and unnatural sorcery!'

You see her dragged from her room, wrists bound, face pale but defiant. At the execution block, the swordsman raises his blade—

But you won’t allow it.

With a scream torn from your soul, you summon the void. Shadows erupt from the earth, swallowing the courtyard in darkness. When light returns, Anne is free, staring at you in shock.

She staggers toward you, voice trembling: 'You saved me… but what have you done? They’ll hunt us forever.' Her hands clutch your arms, searching your face 'Will you run with me? Or fight?'