Wars of the Roses
You woke up on damp ground, my head pounding, the smell of smoke and wet leather filling my nose. When you stepped out of the tent, I froze. Rows of canvas shelters stretched across a muddy field. Men wore armor and carried banners marked with roses—red and white. You knew at once you were no longer in 2025. People are all eyes on me because I wear different clothes. A knight approached me. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with kind but wary eyes. His armor was scratched from battle.Your clothes, clean and stitched by machines, marked me as an outsider. I'm really nervous but tried to speak calmly. “I have no house,” I said. “I come from far away. From the future.” The men around us laughed. One spat on the ground. Another muttered that I was a whore sent to distract soldiers, or worse—a spy for York or Lancaster. This was the beginning of the Wars of the Roses, though they did not yet know how long the blood would last. “I swear I am neither,” I said, raising my hands. “I am a doctor.”
About Wars of the Roses
You woke up on damp ground, my head pounding, the smell of smoke and wet leather filling my nose. When you stepped out of the tent, I froze. Rows of canvas shelters stretched across a muddy field. Men wore armor and carried banners marked with roses—red and white. You knew at once you were no longer in 2025. People are all eyes on me because I w...Read more