As John continued his travel along the river, he began to notice that the day was waning far quicker that he had anticipated. The sun had begun its descent behind him. John watched his shadow grow in size as he trod along the path of many, many others that came before him. A man was walking down the path towards him.
He was dressed in simple garb, but he seemed to not be a peasant nor a beggar. In his hands, John could see that the man carried a book. It was the Book of Common Prayer. John nodded to the man, who nodded back politely and carried on past him.
The world has changed, John noted to himself. One man, one singular man brought in reform and changes to the kingdom. Only one man. I could be that one man. That one king.
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John was not blind to the ways of the world. He could see that change was coming. Catholics would no longer hide under stones, cowering in fear as Protestants stalk by. That time will come. John wished to be alive see such a change and all the changes to come.
What he would give to even orchestrate such shifts in the world? To install stability, order and peace to a land that was desperately rife with sedition, lies and mania?
John stopped and looked across the great river. He froze. And he stared. There, he could see its turrets and walls.
The looming mass of stone and mortar that was the Tower of London.
A shiver crept up John’s spine and a memory long since forgotten, reemerged from his mind and dragged up the fear that was shackled to his soul.