Matt Ford

In its centre, a charred object illuminated by the moonlight.

She gathers her skirts, crouches down, stares at the object.

It's a small, half-burned idol of the Virgin Mary.

She feels herself stiffen as she collects it in her hands, her fear replaced with anger as she takes in the delicate face, blackened with charcoal.

Mary gently turns it over to find memento mori scratched into the dark wood, then drops it before she too falls to the cold floor.

We just Googled it.

An hour later, Mary paces her private quarters.

She feels utterly violated.

Can she not even find sanctity in her private chapel?

She glances up to see her secretary approach.

Kirtley waves him away.

Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I come with a reply from Elizabeth.

Mary feels a rush of adrenaline as she focuses on the small box he holds out on a tray.

She rips the letter beside it open.

It brings me great joy to know we share not only blood, but also the unique burden of ruling as women.

Mary sits down and reads on.

I propose that we think of ourselves not as rivals, but as sister queens.

United, we could be a powerful force.

I send a symbol of the unbreakable bond I hope we can forge.

Mary opens the small box.