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Anne of Cleves has her own place. There’s a spacious unit above The Castle, filled with her clothes, shoes, and makeup—- and there’s glitter on the ceiling! The centerpiece of it all is above the fireplace in the living room: her portrait, a Hans Holbein original, watching over her, her motto inscribed beneath. “God Send me Well to Keep” The motto has been particularly apt in her lives, if you ignore the little hiccup with Stephen and-- that’s another story, we aren’t here to hurt Toni for once.  The furniture is draped with luxurious furry blankets and fluffy pillows, almost every surface has rhinestones, and she has a full audio system built into every room. The bathroom doubles as what is practically a professional spa, with fluffy towels and robes, fancy bubble baths, and all the accents in real gold. It’s the perfect space for a Queen—- and right above her palace, at that.

Yet somehow. Somehow, for some reason, she is always at the penthouse. On their couch. Eating their food. Hogging the remote control. Leaving glitter in her path, quoting scripture, singing and dancing, constantly, in the penthouse. One night, after a night of particularly hard-partying, she and Mephisto even stumble through the front door together, before he seems to come to his senses, glowering at her. “You live above the club we were in!” He had hissed, and she only muttered something drunk and sleepy, before passing out in an armchair. He doesn’t know why he put the blanket over her. 

He also doesn’t even know how she got the damn key— or if the doorman just believes she lives there now and keeps letting her in. She begins to get mail there, in an absurd twist of fate, because who is writing mail to a queen from the 1500s? Each time, he tells her “You don’t live here, Anna!” and each time, she just gives a sheepish giggle and shrug, and then goes back to watching The Real Housewives. 

A line is finally drawn on the Sunday that Riley returns home. When he brings her bag into her room, the initially happy moment is shadowed, when he notices there’s something slightly off with Riley’s bed-- closer inspection finds an abundance of glitter on the pillows, and in the sheets, and when he turns, the closet’s slightly ajar and when he whips it open, it’s full. Of Anna’s extensive wardrobe. Riley finds her stammer back as she tries to assure him that it’s fine-- she wasn’t home, no harm done, really, and he does make a slight attempt at reassuring her too. But then he’s hauling armfuls of ridiculous sequined and gemstoned and gauzy outfits and high heeled shoes into the hall, dropping them in a heap in the entryway. 

Not much later, Anna sweeps in the doors, returning home from mass, and completely steps around the heap of her clothing, as if it doesn’t exist. She steps around where Mephisto stands, glowering, waiting to tell her what exactly he thinks, too. Instead, she sweeps Riley into a tight hug. “Oh, Riley, my beautiful girl, I’m so happy you’re back.”  Riley just laughs nervously, giving her half a hug back, because while Anne can’t see Mephisto’s face, Riley can. It’s not going to look good to her parole officer to be witness to a murder the very first day she comes home.

“Anna.” Mephisto says, more darkly than usual, and Riley is once again frighteningly aware of the situation, while Anna seems to not notice at all. “Dad, it’s okay…” Riley manages, as Anna releases her, looking back at Mephisto. 

“It’s so great that she’s home, ja?” She asks, grinning. Mephisto does not smile back. “Yes, Anna, and do you know what would be greater?” Anna purses her lips in thought, looking back at Riley. What would be greater? “... Nothing?” She asks, batting her eyelashes in an action that may have made Mephisto laugh, were he not already so angry at her.

“If she came back to her room in proper condition, instead of being used as a dumping ground by someone who--” Anna seems to have stopped listening again already, fussing about Riley’s hair. “It’s fine, Riley didn’t mind--”  

“ANNA. THIS IS NOT YOUR HOME.” 

The room stands still. Riley looks like she wants to crawl the whole way back to juvie. Mephisto and Anne both don’t move. Then, Anne’s head tilts to the pile of clothing, and she walks to it demurely, scooping up a shimmery cardigan, and a swirly skirt with rhinestones on it. “I think these will look good on you, Riley.” She says, gently pushing them into Riley’s arms. She considers the pile for a moment, picking up a few of the more absurd items of clothing-- then she leaves through the front door. Mephisto and Riley look at each other. 

“I’ll wash the glitter off your sheets.” He says, turning abruptly. 

----------

There’s no sign of Anne for the rest of the day. 

The next day, there’s a knock at the door, and Mephisto briefly considers, for a fraction of a second, maybe Anna’s learned some respect-- but when he answers it, it’s not the queen herself, but a singing telegram apology for Riley, who showers glitter and confetti across the entryway when he’s done. It takes Stephen and Sigyn both to hold Mephisto back. 

But then the rest of the day, Anne doesn’t show up either. The next day, Riley gets an invitation to Anne’s apartment, since she knows she can’t be in a bar during her probation. When she returns home, Anne leaves before they get to the door, and when Stephen asks her how it was, Riley fidgets. “It was good, but she didn’t seem like herself.” 

“Really? How so?” Stephen asks, mid-dishes, because he always has to do the dishes. It’s part of his punishment for the timewarp. Riley shrugs. “She seemed…. Not sad. Not lonely. But something close? I don’t know!”  Thankfully, they have Sigyn there to say nice words to Riley, and once Riley’s gone to her room, to text Anne. When she replies, all four of the adults lean over her phone to try and read it. 

“I…. don’t know what this is.” Sigyn says, and Mephisto groans. “It’s. Lyrics to her song.”

nm u? 

all alone

on my throne

in a castle i happen to own

---

They don’t see Anne the next day. Or the next. Or the next. That evening, as Mephisto and Stephen get ready for bed, Mephisto frowns and stares pensively out the window. “It’s…. Too quiet.” He mutters, feeling uneasy. Stephen knows better than to laugh, but he knows what’s up here. 

“Maybe you should go check on her tomorrow.” Mephisto just rolls his eyes. “Who?” Stephen shrugs, but doesn’t argue. Silence passes between the two of them, and Mephisto finally finds his voice again. “She’s the one, always--- making Riley feel upset -- leaving her things all around.” Stephen gives him the look but doesn’t say anything. Mephisto hates the look. He doesn’t want to think about any of this, wants to feel relaxed about the fact that the penthouse is his again, that there aren’t any unexpected visitors--- but the relative silence is unsettling. Even more unsettling is Riley’s description of Anna, and Sigyn’s text message, which somehow disturbs him. He should be pleased by the silence, by the opportunities it invites. Instead, he has a feeling in his stomach he hasn’t felt since the opera house, and when he lays down, he turns his back to Stephen, and Stephen has to keep himself from laughing at how obvious the situation is. 

Someone misses Anne of Cleves. 

---- 

Anne shows up half a week later, with a dubiously large bag of clothing, and sunglasses on, even though it’s the middle of the day. “Is Riley home?” She asks, when Mephisto answers the door, pursing her lips. When he shakes his head, adding “No, she’s in class”, Anne tries to hand over the shopping bag of clothing, with the price tags carefully chopped off, to Mephisto. 

He can only sigh, stepping back against the door to hold it open. “Anna. Stop. Come in.” 

“I thought this wasn’t my home.” She says, her lip trembling just so-- but she walks through the door, regardless, and drops herself into a nearby chair, gently setting down the bag of shopping for Riley. Mephisto makes a noise that’s half a groan and half a snarl, but follows after her. “You shouldn’t— She deserved something nice to come home to.” 

“I was going to clean it up before she got here! It’s not my fault she got an early release! And— I know. I felt really bad! I apologized, and got her gifts, see?” Anne pauses in her sulking to pull various pieces of clothing from the shopping bags to show off to Mephisto. Shockingly, she’s matched Riley’s style pretty well, and managed to fairly toned down things, nothing like the type of thing Anne normally brings out after shopping. No bedazzled fishnets for Riley. Instead, everything has a nice sparkle and the occasional rhinestone, but nothing too dramatic. Just. Nice. He doesn’t know why she’s showing him this, so he just kind of stares at her as she pulls them out and shows them off, then folds everything nicely up and returns it to the bag. “She forgave me. I explained it was only because she was gone, and that I knew it was her room, and—-“ 

“Anna.” He says again, halting her rambling. “Where have you been?” She frowns, but sits up straighter, as if she’s moving to go. 

“Well—- you were right. This isn’t my home! I have my own Castle now, ja? I don’t….” She trails off, and he makes another small, annoyed sound—- that at least makes her smile, slightly. Frustrating him is a familiar feeling at least. “Anna. You have to use. Your words.” 

She groans at that, dramatically falling backwards into the chair. “Well. You said it wasn’t my home. And you were right! You and Stephen, and Sigyn and Loki… This is your home, ja? It’s always full of life here. I love it. It reminds me of the opera house, but without the feeling of being trapped, and without the murder. Having so many people around. So much life. It’s comforting, and safe, and… Well. I’m the Queen of my own Castle. It’s what I do best, ja? Sitting all alone, on a throne, in a—“ 

“In a palace that you happen to own.” Mephisto finishes for her, and the tears that were welling as she rambled hold off a bit more, and she nods. He looks exhasperated. “Anna. You can stay here. You just can’t use Riley’s room as a dumping ground for your shit.” 

“But——“ She begins, and he steps to stand over her, trying to be intimidating. It doesn’t work on her. He knew it wouldn’t. “Anna. Listen to me. You don’t live here. But if it’s so important to you— it can be your home.” 

Anna stares at him like he’s grown an extra head. Which really would be remarkable, since in her experience, people lose their heads, and don’t grow new ones. Then, she’s blubbering, and up to her feet, and hurtling herself against him. Mephisto is way too cool for this, so he just awkwardly pats her on the back until she calms down, and maybe, just maybe, wraps a single arm around her back. 

“I’m…. so glad I’m not—-“ Anna sniffs against Mephisto, while Stephen rounds the corner behind her back. He assesses the situation, give Mephisto a thumbs up, and Mephisto returns with a much ruder gesture, behind Anna’s back still. She thankfully doesn’t notice. “—- I’m not alone anymore.” She musters, and Mephisto once more has to encounter one of his most loathed feelings: guilt. He remembers the talk they had in the opera house. Her insistence that she did have friends, that she was content in her life before. As he releases her, and steps back, he gives her hair a good ruffle, thankful her hair is no longer holding literal spikes in it. 

“You’re not alone.” He repeats. She grins, relieved, scooping up the bag of clothing. 

“I’m going to surprise her by putting these in her closet.” She announces, bolting off quickly. Mephisto’s left standing there, feeling very uncomfortable. He’s invited an annoyance back into his life. An annoyance he’s gotten used to. Stephens so rarely right, he hates it when he is. 

He missed Anna von Kleve. 

this one made ME cry so thats not a super great sign for everyone else

 

Anna hates February 13th. 

Those around her have assumed it’s the upcoming valentines day holiday, which she has scheduled dates for-- but on February 13th, she cancels them all. Is it the rage of living around so many people in relationships, while she’s a woman known for her famously failed marriage? No-- but the marriage thing does get closer to the real issue at hand. When Stephen finds her in the kitchen, scarfing spätzle and wurst out of a takeout container, she’s already halfway through a bottle of wine and has a dark expression on her face. 

The dark expression is alarming, but there are other worrying facts at play here. When she announced that she’d thrown away all of her plans for tomorrow, the entire household had balked -- Anna had seemed genuinely excited about some of them. She hadn’t been the most successful at dating, but she loved the thrill of it anyway. There was also the idea that Anna would have gotten takeout from the German restaurant, instead of eating in, shouting at the cooks in the back in German, and excitedly chattering away with anyone’s immigrant grandmother in their native tongue. She was a local celebrity there. Then, there was the fact that Anna was drinking alone. That wasn’t like her at all. 

He briefly considers turning and running. He probably should have. But instead, he gets her a mug for her wine, a nod to a time long ago. She peers at him suspiciously, but takes the thing-- on a better day, she’d laugh, maybe make a joke about the tables turning. Instead, she pours a good bit of wine into the mug, then shoots him a particularly scathing look. “You can join me, or leave while you can. Last warning.” 

He takes his chances, gets his own wine-mug down and lets her pour a little bit in there, though he doesn’t drink like she is. Instead, he takes a sip, looking up at her, wondering what, or who has possessed Anna von Kleve. “Valentine’s Day has you down?” He asks, taking a guess. 

“No. February 13th.” She retorts back, mouth half full of spätzle. She narrowly avoids biting her tongue off, and thankfully, decides to finish chewing and swallowing her food before she replies for the rest of the conversation. She says it in a way that he should know what that means, and he takes a moment to think before he remembers something on public radio earlier that day. “...World Radio Day?” He asks, hesitantly, though he’s pretty sure Anna hasn’t seen a radio before coming to New York, and she likely hasn’t formed such a resentment for the invention that it might cause her such anger. 

Anna’s mid chewing when he makes the suggestion, but her face tells him it’s the wrong answer. She pushes away her food when she’s done, taking her time before she answers. “No. February 13th is the day Katherine Howard was executed.” He knows that name, but it takes him time to remember which of the other wives this was-- three of them were named C/Katherine, you can’t blame the man. Anna watches his expression, and fills in the blanks for him. “Wife number five. Divorced, Beheaded, Died, Divorced--” as always there’s a thumb pointing at her own chest “Beheaded. …. Survived, but who cares about Kathy Parr?” She takes a chug of wine, but doesn’t wait for Stephen to answer. “Katherine was sent to court to be one of my Ladies in Waiting. She was sixteen when she arrived. Ja-- I know.” She was responding to the disturbed look on Stephen’s face. “He liked her instantly. She was everything I was not. Pretty, young, educated in music and dance, and spoke perfect English! A few months in, my jewels started going to her. Another 3 months, and I had divorce papers.”

Stephen isn’t sure how to process this information, in combination with Anna’s anger. She never seemed this angry about Henry, just aghast at the disrespect and the tragedy of it all. “You didn’t like her?” He asks, wondering if maybe this is Anna’s expression of jealousy. Instead, Anna laughs, though the laugh doesn’t sound right, and he’s starting to feel even more worried about this situation he was in. 

“I loved the girl! I showered her in gifts for her seventeenth birthday too. I shouldn’t have, all that was mine ended up being hers, in terms of the Queen’s supply of jewelry and clothing, just a few months later. I signed the divorce agreement, became the richest woman in England, and nineteen days later, Henry made Katherine Howard his fifth wife. Second, in his mind, Wives one, two, and four didn’t count.” There’s the dramatic eye roll that normally accompanies her talk of Henry, and he feels relief for half a second, but then she’s talking again. “I came to see them both a few months later. She was lovely. She gave me a diamond ring, and when Henry gave her two puppies as a gift, she handed one to me. She was a child. I stayed away after that. I had a bad feeling. And I was right. She’s the one they accused of adultery, though-- her song always breaks my heart. Henry was always full of shit, and court was always full of monsters. They took her head on February 13th.”

A long silence stretches between them. Anna isn’t crying, but she doesn’t look right either. He reaches for the wine bottle, intending to pour the rest into his mug just to keep it away from her, but she swats his hand away and pours the rest for herself. He opts to speak, instead. “And that’s why today’s so difficult.” 

Anna laughs. It’s not a kind laugh. It’s the kind of guttural laugh that makes his stomach twist, makes him briefly doubt his sanity, reminds him of the sound he had made, way back--- her voice again distracts him from his panic. 

“No. It was sad. I felt terrible for the girl. But February 13th wasn’t about Katherine to me. It was….” Even drunk, she’s stronger than this. She lifts her head and looks him in the eye. “February 13th reminds me of what I escaped. It reminds me of why I accepted the divorce. Why I only returned to court on occasion, when it suited me. Why I didn’t push my brother’s agenda to become wife number six. February 13th is all about what I avoided.” His stomach twists. He knows what she’s going to say next. She’s said it in jest more than once, but never in this way. “Seventeen years.” She whispers. “Seventeen years after my divorce, I lived, and even though I was remembered as the second Divorced, I outlived Kathy Parr, the Survived by nine years. I converted back to Catholicism, to keep Mary’s favor. I distanced myself from Elizabeth, to keep rumors at bay. I played the game, so I would never. Ever. Have my own. February 13th.”

He can’t do anything. He’s paralyzed, too afraid to bolt, held in that seat by her gaze. She cracks. She sobs. “And then-- you---- you just….” She buries her face in her arms on the table and lets out a wail, one that makes him glad that the others are out, sans Mephisto, who he’s sure is lurking around the corner, eavesdropping. 

“Anna---” He musters, and she only wails more. She can’t even remember it, but the knowledge that her greatest efforts had failed in the end, that she had spent a life so lonely to avoid such a fate, only to meet it after being thrust into a situation that kept her closely with other people-- she hangs onto the knowledge that she had been executed, a mere week after she had sobbed to Stephen in fear of Henry doing the same. 

He’s not sure if he should leave, but he half fears that she may take some homicidal action if he tries to do that. He’s the worst person to be there for her in this situation, but he’s the only one there right now, and at least he has experience with trying to comfort her when she’s like this. He stands from his seat, taking the opportunity to move the wine out of her reach, and after pulling another chair beside her, cautiously wraps an arm around her. Surprisingly, she accepts it, and after raising her head from the table, she ends up crying into his shirt. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry.” He whispers as she cries, politely ignoring her wine and bratwurst breath. He’s said it before, but he’ll say it again now, say it as many times as it takes. “I didn’t know it--” He swallows. He should have known. “...Impacted you so much.” 

Now that she’s cried her feelings out, she seems to have returned at least somewhat to herself. She nods, lip trembling with an overdramatic effect that seems somehow reasonable right now. When she talks, it’s back to her regular quick, musical pace. “Ja. I try and… make it funny. Make it easy. But… My greatest fear happened, and I don’t even remember, and I’m being sad about it on the anniversary of a teenager dying!” More waterworks. Stephen feels sick, but also relieved that this all has finally come out. Put into the context of her life, and the way she had been during the sickness motive-- he gently pats her back until she’s done crying, until she sits up, and wipes her eyes with her arm.

“Sorry. I’m just really really really sad today. Not just about dying. About Katherine. And Henry. And the Opera house, and---” Fuck. How does he keep her from crying again? He squeezes her hand, which seems to at least keep her from wailing again. And she doesn’t stab him with her fork either, which is a nice plus. Instead, she whispers another “Sorry.” 

“No. I’m sorry. It’s okay, Anna. It’s okay to be sad today.” She nods, going to wipe her nose with her arm next--- he delivers a napkin into her hand instead. “I’m sad, and mad at you, but I still love you. And I’m not normally mad at you. But today...” She confesses, after blowing her nose in a less-than-royal fashion. Stephen smiles wearily, reaching to adjust some of her hair that’s fallen way-side in her meltdown. “You can be mad at me today, too.” He hesitates just briefly, then gives her a little squeeze. “I love you too Anna. It’s going to be okay.” 

And it was.