I hated my name, despised it beyond all belief. That is why I stopped using it. Mary. It was a good name. A good, strong name. A catholic name. The same name of a catholic princess turned Queen. A Queen turned monstrous tyrant. That was what I thought of Lady Elizabeth’s sister. She had so much blood on her hands, my family’s included. Protestant blood. We were living in dangerous times, turbulent times. None of us knew which way the wind was blowing, figuratively speaking. Here on Tower Hill the wind was blowing towards the crowd, towards the executioner, towards me. It was laughable, it really was. I had survived the stake and the Spanish only to be caught and tried. The most amusing factor of the situation was that I was going to die for treason rather than heresy. I was going to die a traitor rather than a heretic. My mother, father, sister, brother and Aunt had met God through the flames. I was to meet him from the block.
In my current situation as I ascended those steps onto the scaffold I should have either been terrified or calm and controlled as brave Lady Jane Grey had been just over three years ago. Many tears I had shed for her. Now the only tears I shed were from the effort of containing my laughter. It was this that scared me the most. I was going to die, here, today and inside I was laughing. I caught sight of the axe and just could not help it. I started giggling, that giggle quickly turning to raucous laughter. Both the executioner and the large crowd were looking at me in disbelief and rightly so. I could guess their thoughts would include madness somewhere. Far from it. I was not at the mercy of madness; it was the world that was. If I was to be honest with myself, which I very rarely was these days, I was glad to be leaving it. Nineteen years of life and I had had enough. This, I knew, was very unusual for anyone of my years. It was very unusual for anyone in general, no matter who they were.
The executioner gestured for me to place my head on the block, still looking at me with mild alarm and slight fear. He had obviously never met anyone who was going to their death laughing. I fell to my knees before the black and looked to the crowd assembled to watch the gruesome display that was to be my death. I should have felt anger or contempt towards them but all I could feel was pity. Pity for what was to come, pity for what they would have to endure. I was lucky to be dying this day; they were unlucky to be living. I managed to contain my laughter as I clasped my hands together, bowed my head and muttered a quick prayer. I looked to the executioner and smiled brightly, to tell him that I had no ill feeling towards him for what he was about to do, for being the bearer of what was going to end my life. A small smile flitting across his features was my reply before he nodded his head once, hoping I understood his meaning. Understand I did. I placed my head upon the block, linking my fingers behind my back. I started to hum the beginning part of a lullaby I had sung to Edward when he was ill. Everyone was silent and still, waiting for my last words.
“God’s mercy on the Spanish Puppy’s soul!” My voice was loud, strong and confident. Everyone could hear me; everyone understood that I was referring to the Queen. I was a traitor to the very end. These were such words to die with, to die upon.
Mary is a strong woman, not a cliche or a boring character. Very interesting indeed. Your grammar was flawless and the prose was fresh. Very well done, indeed. I shall move swiftly onto numbers as I found no fault in the writing. I sing your praises 
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