Juliet awakened to a slow funeral dirge. She was startled, but tried not to move. She kept her eyelids shut tightly as a single white lily was placed in her hand. A thin cotton shroud was draped across her body. She was careful not to breathe too deeply. Sprigs of fresh rosemary were sprinkled across her shroud.
The potion had not worked. What would she do? Would she suffocate in her own tomb? Might she be driven mad? Might she bash her own addled brains out with Tybalt's femur? What if she died before Romeo got there? Romeo and Friar Lawrence, that is. Yes, the friar was supposed to be there too. Her mind was already slipping away. But she must not move. She could not marry Paris.
Juliet was shut in the dark monument. The air was thick and heavy with dust. A rank, musty odor of decay filled the room. Juliet tried to breathe deeply, but there was little breathable air to be had. She felt her strength leaving her. With no oxygen to sustain her consciousness, Juliet fainted.