I became Queen of Scotland when I was six days old - top that, Elizabeth, you slag! When I was five, my mother sent me to France, the country of my heart. There, I learned to be pretty and accomplished and, well, FRENCH. I was excited when my dear husband Francois became King Francois of France, because that made me Queen Marie of 2 countries (3 if you count England. Which I do). My idyll was brief however, for Francois was something of a weakling, and he died, leaving me alone with my jealous and ugly mother-in-law, Cathering de Medici. Well, needless to say, I was sent back to Scotland posthaste!
I was nervous, but I was sure that everyone in Scotland would love me. After all, I was young, pretty, fashionable, and Catholic- what's not to like? Come to find out, everyone in Scotland is old, ugly, fashion-challenged, and PROTESTANT. Well, I'm not sure I adjusted too well. Of course, it didn't help that John Knox and my illegitimate brother Moray talked A LOT of shite about me to the people. I decided I needed to marry a nice, handsome royal who loved poetry and the Holy Mother Church.
Darnley was everything I dreamed he would be. Except for the time he killed my Italian secretary in front of me. And the time he plotted to seize the throne. Oh, and the time he CAUGHT SYPHILLIS! JERK! Ehem...well, let's just say it wasn't THAT big a surprise when someone blew him up and strangled him. The surprise was that no one had done it earlier! However, it was very shocking when I, a royal monarch, was accused of assisting my loyal noble henchman Lord Bothwell with this dastardly deed! I knew nothing of it, although I have my doubts about Bothwell, especially after he forced me into a hasty marriage, infuriating my people more. Things pretty much went downhill from there, and I was forced to abdicate in the name of my baby son, James VI (later the I of England, oooh, burn Elizabeth!). I was forced to flee to my other kingdom, England.
Okay, okay... so if I'd said it once, I'd said it a million times: Elizabeth was a heretic bastard who needed to be overthrown. But yeesh, who knew she would take me so seriously? Turns out that queens do not like it when you call them names and threaten to usurp them, even if they are your cousin. Elizabeth "kindly" decided to "detain" me until an "inquiry" could be made into Darnley's death. At this inquiry, was I allowed to attend? Nope. Was I allowed a defense? Uh-uh. I was convicted because of these supposed "Casket Letters", which proved my complicity with Lord Bothwell in Darnley's murder. Well, let me tell you something about those letters my friend: forgeries. I spreche mui better Francais than that!
So I was stuck in England, under house arrest for about...TWENTY F-ING YEARS. I became ugly and arthritic. My son never wrote me even once. Elizabeth, that coward, wouldn't even come meet me, her sister queen, face to face! Heart and stomach of a king, my arse. And in that twenty years, I might've done a teensy bit of plotting against her...c'mon, do you blame me? I spent over half my life imprisoned after being run out of my own country for something I didn't do! Gimme a break! My complicity in the final "Babington Plot" is somewhat dubious (Walsingham's a jerk!), though. No matter; it led to the scaffold at Fotheringhay and my messy end. Let's just say, there really should be a rigorous training and certification for headsmen...People on my shite list: John Knox, the Earl of Moray, Elizabeth I, Lord Burghley, Sir Francis Walsingham."The daughter of debate,
That eke discord doth sowe,
Shal reape no gaine where former rule
Hath taught stil peace to growe."
Oh yeah, Elizabeth? Is that what you think? Well two words for you: YOUR MOM.
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