Beyond Death

It was around 9 p.m. when Elizabeth died.

After giving birth to her daughter Katherine, she endured almost two weeks of agony, excruciating pain, fever, and relentless hemorrhages led her to her death on February 11, 1503.

February 11 was also her birthday. She had just turned 37.

Elizabeth was the eldest daughter of King Edward IV and Queen Elizabeth Woodville. Her life was brief, yet already predestined.

History remembers her as the daughter, niece, sister, wife, and mother of a king. But each king was different.

Daughter of Edward IV
Niece of Richard III
Sister of Edward V
Wife of Henry VII
Mother of Henry VIII

What a bitter fate, trapped in a chessboard from which she could not escape.
How many different paths could her life have taken? And yet, among all possibilities, fate chose the cruelest for her.

She was forced to become the wife of an usurper, the murderer of her uncle, and the mother of one of the most ruthless rulers in history.

I feel deeply protective of Elizabeth because people often forget that historical figures were human beings, just like us. They lived extraordinary lives, felt emotions as we do, and no matter how much they tried to be just, they were often “sinners.”

Like us. Like you. Like me.

Elizabeth faced her destiny with her head held high.

Little is known about her, but only because few can read between the lines of what she left behind.

She was tall, about 1.70 meters (5’7″), with red hair, and was said to possess breathtaking beauty.

Elizabeth was Isolde, she was Héloïse, she was Francesca…

She loved greyhounds and the outdoors. She loved music and encouraged it.
She loved gambling, and she was a terrible gambler. She loved literature and dreamed of love, not war.

“Humble and penitent” was her motto as queen, but it never truly belonged to her. She had always been “the king’s daughter,” “sans remevyr” “loyaulte me lie”

Born and died on the same day, Elizabeth is the symbol of a cycle that repeats itself.

Today, as yesterday, always “loyaulte me lie” and “sans remevyr”.

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