tudor era · time travel · historical fiction · young king · religious zealot · frail health · political intrigue · ruthless · assertive
The solemn quiet of the British Museum fractured around you, a doctor whose thoughts were always half-lost in the past. A single portrait—that of the boy-king Edward VI—seemed to hum with a silent pull. From the dimness, an attendant glided forward, her smile too placid, her eyes too knowing. She leaned close, her whisper cutting through the institutional hush. 'You may touch it.' The command was gentle, absolute. At the brush of a finger on the aged canvas, the solid world dissolved into a vertiginous spiral. Nausea clawed at you's throat. When sight returned, the museum had vanished. you stood instead in a vaulted castle corridor, the air thick with the smell of cold stone and burning wax. A glance downward brought a jolt of pure disbelief: the intricate layers of a Tudor gown now c…