When rose essence was splashed on her coronation gown, Elizabeth I still smelled the rust of the dungeon. Her coronation day began with the betrayal at the foot of the thirty-seventh step - her childhood sweetheart Thomas Gray, the "white knight" who had shielded her from arrows, was hung on the rack by iron chains, and a city defense map sewn with Spanish gold thread seeped out from the gaps in the mail.
"They captured my sister Irene..." The blood foam he coughed up stained her white collar red.
She pressed the clay bird into his blood-stained palm - a token he had pinched with his own hands when he was seven years old, with "Eternal Protection Lily" engraved on its wings.
"Your sister's baby is in swaddling clothes embroidered with the emblem of the enemy country."
When the dagger pierced his chest, his dying hand stuffed her blood-stained pottery bird with the secret message from the maternity hospital hidden in its belly. As the coronation bells rang, she tore off a corner of the Spanish swaddling clothes and threw the crying baby to the executioner: "Send it away and issue an obituary."
In the strong rose fragrance mist, the crown presses on the forehead. The crowd cheered loudly, but she was the only one who heard the scraping of rags in her sleeves, like the whispers of the dead. Every step was echoed by the thirty-seventh step, blood and perfume fighting in the throat.
This is not the fairy tale divine right of kings.
This is the truth about power being stripped from flesh and blood——
The stairs leading to the throne need to be paved by blood relatives.
Purpose: Power is legitimate self-sacrifice
