A Potentate Incarceration

At ten thirty on a spring morning, an assembly of aggravated eighth-graders disregarded their monotonous tour guide elaborating the confinement of two of King Henry VIII's wives in the central tower in The Tower of London – otherwise known as The White Tower – and their executions implementing the method of beheading.

Among the students, only one was genuinely interested in the history of the Tudors, and she was knowledgeable about them too; she listened attentively, avid that she had received an opportunity to visit a location so legendary. Unexpectedly, an ear-piercing scream rang out from her classmate; if only it were just a little louder, all the glass would have shattered.

The students jerked their heads toward the sound, their hands shielding their ears in case of any future ear-splitting noise.

Directly in front of them stood the ghastly spectacle of a sallow-skinned woman wearing a dark robe; many would have perceived the dark hue as either a dark gray or black no matter from what angle they viewed it – even for a glance. As she examined everyone's petrified state, her bloodshot eyes pierced through each one like a sharp blade that would cut through anyone, despite how infrangible — or indestructible they may look.

Blood trickled through her neck and flowed to her robe, and as the students gazed at the uncanny woman more keenly, a continuous line became visible from one side of her neck to the other.

Ultimately, the mysterious woman's short-lived hunt ceased on the stupefied adult opposite her; a sudden excruciating sensation of overwhelming alarm and panic washed over him, and he darted out of the room for his life, hurtling out of the commotion as fast as lightning.

Silence filled the room momentarily, and the ardent student whispered with the slightest indication of terror in her voice, 'Anne Boleyn?'