Catherine of Aragon sayeth:

VII is dead. I should not be happy about it, but my confessor says he was an asshole that deserved to die. I don't know. It seems very un-Catholic to wish someone dead, but I think a little tiny tiny bit of me feels that way. My gown was torn, dirty, and out of date. The last days all I had to eat was rotten fish. My women are getting testy, and who can blame them? I'm supposed to arrange good marriages for them, take care of them, pay them, clothe them, and feed them. They know it's not my fault, but, you know, Catholic guilt. We have to live like urchins while my rightful allowance is being withheld by the King. My father doesn't care. I'm his favorite daughter, and I feel very lucky about that. He locked his less favorite in the Tower for being a little touched in the head.

But things are looking up! Maybe Henry VIII and I can be together now. I will at least be able to pay my women their wages, and that stress will be off. I'm feeling better already. Stress was making me sick. It turned out that it was okay that I had nothing to eat, because I had no appetite. Oh well, God has a reason for all things. All the trauma has made me a stronger person.