A/N: I have a surprise for you. I've decided to come clean. I am, in fact, Shakespeare. I have been in hiding for many, many years, using dark glasses, false mustaches, and blond wigs. And now I am finally reemerging to reclaim my former literary glory, so spread the word, ye knaves.
Since you now know the truth about who I am, I shall bestow upon you, the first to know, the privilege of reading my first of many novel-renditions of my various theater-related works. So I do, in all honesty, own everything in this story.
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Thorns - Chapter 1
She was just turning thirteen – still a child. But she was, technically, of marrying age. And while she didn't particularly want to leave her parents to run off and get married, she was not openly opposed to it, so marry she would. Or at least, that was the plan.
Her parents were prominent citizens of Verona, wealthy and close to the prince's family. The prince's kinsman, Paris, was promised her hand in marriage, a very prominent connection sure to secure the Capulet's position in society above the Montague's, their feuding neighbors.
From early childhood, Juliet had been taught that the Montagues were monsters. They attacked innocents in the streets, and even their servants caused havoc and mischief. They were a drain on society and should've been exterminated like the vermin they were when the whole feud began.
Often, her governess would remind Juliet of how important her marriage with Paris would be – the final step to overcoming the Montagues and possibly the key to convincing the regency to banish them to Mantua, thus ridding the Capulets of their continued abrasive presence.
She had seen Paris on various occasions when he would visit her family, but had not begun to connect him as her future husband. He was…well, old. Not old by most people's standards – only about twenty-seven. But to a thirteen-year-old girl, he seemed as old as her father. How much longer would he really live, what with the general life-span of men? And then where would she be? Returned to her family – but that was fine with her.
But really, she had her doubts. They had, of course, conversed on several instances, but she had not felt any true interest. She had no real interest beyond curiosity in him, and as far as she could tell, the lack of sentiment was reciprocated with mirrored exactness.
In actuality, our story begins on her thirteenth birthday, which the Capulets celebrated with as much grandeur as they could lavish on their only daughter. A ball in honor of her thirteen years of life was to be held, with every prominent figure in their land in attendance, excepting only the Montagues.
On the morning of the special day, she sat in her dressing chamber, excitedly awaiting her nurse to finish pinning her hair in curls. Her rich, flowing red dress awaited her in the corner on a stand. Her chemise made little noise as she fidgeted in impatience. She wanted to go running up and down the galleries of their estate, to escape into the hills, to enjoy the day and while away the hours until the guests arrived.
But there were still preparations to be made, and she still had to select her birthday present from among her mother's jewels. Granted, there would be other gifts later, but this was the special gift she had been waiting for since she was four.
She tried to remain calm as her long, dark hair struggled to escape the pins, attempting to thwart even the most valiant attempts by her nurse to tame it. Juliet sat, twisting her hands and fussing as she forced herself to stay on the cushioned stool and not jump up and tear screaming down the hallway out of madness.
Her hair was taking much too long.
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The only son of Montague had taken another lengthy walk under the trees. Though his family did not know, he had been spending time with a young lady by the name of Rosaline. For quite some time, he had admired Rosaline for her beauty and wit, but she was not to be caught. She had taken a vow of chastity, and would break for no man.
He was returning, gloomy in countenance, from this particular walk when he happened upon his good friend and cousin, Benvolio.
"Goodness, Romeo, what is the matter? Why is your face so terribly dark?" Benvolio asked, light-heartedly.
"Love!" Romeo spat, turning away and casting his eyes down.
"You are in love?" A tease. He had suspected a young lady was involved in Romeo's long walks, but he noticed his cousin did not seemed especially pleased to be in love.
"No, out."
"Out of love?" He grinned broadly.
"Out of her favor, while still in love." Romeo knelt down to pick up a stone off the street.
"Alas, that is the way of young women. But you shall soon be returned to her good favor," he said, trying to encourage Romeo.
"Nay, nay, she shall not be won. When she dies, she shall take all her beauty with her, having passed it on to no child." He angrily threw the stone into the weeds at the side of the road.
"Ah, she has sworn to be chaste?"
"She has, and is now lost forever to the world of men."
"You're sure she will not break?" Benvolio asked with some scrutiny. "Perhaps she is playing coy?"
"Nay. She is in earnest."
"Well, then," Benvolio said after a moment, attempting to cheer his friend, "it would be best to forget about her entirely."
"And how, pray tell, shall I do that? Teach me, if you can." He cracked a defiantly grim smile.
"Was she beautiful?"
"Yes."
"Look to other beauties, then."
"T'would only serve to remind me of her."
"Well, you are quite young. Perhaps in time you shall find a new pretty face upon which to bestow your attentions. For now, be as gloomy as you want. I shan't be taken in, though. I shall remain as joyous as I choose, for I am unscathed in the affairs of love."
"Only for now, dear cousin. Soon you shall feel love's sting at your throat," Romeo replied, shaking his head.
After a moment, Benvolio took his friend by the arm and they turned down the road to return to the house of Montague. The road was dusty, and the day hot. They were both greatly looking forward to chilled wine when they were stopped by a servant passing on the other side of the way.
"I pray, sir, can you read?" the servant asked, somewhat nervous.
"Mayhap I can, mayhap I cannot. Who is to tell?" Romeo stated, being entirely unhelpful.
"Sir, if you would jest with me, I shall ask some other man," the servant cried, exasperated. He turned to leave.
"Stay, stay, I can read," Romeo responded, becoming impatient himself.
The servant turned to face the men and handed them a rather long invitation list. Romeo took it and read aloud as Benvolio looked on over his shoulder.
"Signior Martino and his wife and daughters; County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of Vitruvio; Signior Placentio and his lovely nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair neice Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt; Lucio and the lively Helena."
"'Tis quite a party, that," Benvolio commented when Romeo had finished. "Where are they all headed?"
"Up," the servant said, with a pointed look at Romeo.
"Where?" Romeo asked, trying to amend for his earlier behavior.
"To supper and a ball at the house," the man replied.
"But whose house?" Benvolio asked, good-naturedly, before Romeo could say something rude.
"My master's," the servant said, vaguely.
"Obviously!" Romeo said, getting frustrated.
"Well then, I'll tell you without asking, then. I serve the great, rich Capulet. 'Tis his fair daughter's anniversary of birth, and there is to be a great celebration in her honor. If you are not of the house of Montague, I invite you to come and join in a cup of wine." The servant went on his way, pleasant once he had found out whom it was he was employed to summon for the ball.
The two cousins watched his retreating figure trot down the road. A moment of silence passed and then-
"Well, shall we go then?" Benvolio asked, eyes dancing mischievously.
"To the ball? But 'tis the Capulets'. Surely we will be thrown out!" Romeo glanced at his friend's face with much misgiving. Benvolio had had a habit of getting them into trouble ever since they were little.
"Ah, but dear cousin, 'tis a masquerade! We shall not be known. And you forget - the fair Rosaline you so love will be there," Benvolio replied. "And I shall prove to you how ugly she is when you gaze upon the other beauties in attendance."
"Oh, liar! There is no comparison to Rosaline! She is more beautiful than any other creature of the earth. She has no equal." Romeo returned to thoughts of his unrequited love.
"You only saw her apart from other beauties. Tonight you shall see your swan become a crow before your very eyes when you look upon the other ladies," Benvolio said, wagging a finger at his cousin.
"It will not be so. You torture me, cousin. I tell you, there is nothing under the sun more beautiful than she."
"You thought her fair, no other lady being nearby. Surround her with dozens of women, and her true beauty shall be measured."
After a moment of silence, Romeo responded.
"I shall accompany you, not to see the measuring you describe, but to have the pleasure of seeing her again."
They continued on down the dusty road toward the house of Montague.
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A/N: So…yes. I hope you enjoy this new presentation of my old tale. Yes, I shall soon be having theater critics knocking on my door, asking where I've been for the last few centuries or so…
R and R or I shall smite thee soundly!