Is blood art? I whispered to myself as I slashed the tender meat in my wrists. ‘It is so beautiful’ I thought. It’s lovely and it’s pure. I know you felt the same way about it. The unique carmine color and the taste of iron made me insane. I liked it. I enjoyed every drop slowly falling through my arms, my once pure and untouched skin. I knew I had sinned. My immaculate queen, I beg for your forgiveness. I know I don’t deserve it, but I beg for the pleasure to feel as you did. If it would’ve been my choice, I would’ve walk with you the first of October, 1553. My crude renaissance queen, my beloved monarch. We are both unusual and bizarre, clearly destined to the failure. But your passionate brilliant soul will always live, my Mary.