The year is 1464.
The War of the Roses rages on; a great showdown between Lancaster and York.
Yet, asleep in her bed, fiery-haired Melissa Woodville dreams of splintered shields, broken swords, and the resounding screams of wounded men in the Battle...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
DECEMBER 24TH, 1469 — the Palace of Westminster:
There were many things Melissa Woodville was sure of in life. Her goals, her achievements, and her love for her husband and her children were only a few of them. However, there were also many things she was unsure of.
'Twas a difficult thing, having the gift of premonition. She could almost look into the future, discern what might be happening in this moment or that, except that her ability was — at best — uncertain. It hit her at unexpected times, and — as John's death had proved — only showed a fraction of what could actually happen in the moments, minutes, days to follow. As a result, Melissa was no longer as confident in her seeings as she had once been.
Certain things she saw and felt were now terribly faux; she did not know how much she could trust them. Gut instinct told her not to discard them out of hand, so she carefully considered every little flash and debated whether to put any stock in it or not.
The real ones, the genuine ones felt different. When Melissa was caught in those, she felt as though she were living in the moment, as though the event was actually happening to her right then and there. The faker ones — the ones that had a lesser certainty of occurring — turned her into a bystander; she was not an active part of the vision, simply one who was witnessing it happen. This distinction, therefore, aided greatly in telling her what to be careful of and what not to.
So, as the uneasy feeling of many seeings foretold pervaded her, from her perch inside one of the many warmed halls of Westminster, and standing behind a great window of stained glass, Melissa watched the Countess of Warwick and her daughters descend from their carriage, observing the palace courtyard carefully. Isabel, in particular, looked restless, shuffling to and fro as her husband joined her side.
