Early Childhood
Rosaline as a child was very pretty and very lonely. She lived a cloistered life. She had very little friends and as she grew up she saw no need for friends. She wasn't fascinated with the world like most children are. She was sorrowful and gracious. From a young age she found this word to be full of suffering and she dreamed of Heaven.
Most of her beauty came form her father. He was a stern but gentle man. She adored him very much and saw very little of him. When she did her happiness consumed her.
Her mother was quite plain and sickly. She was from a rich well known family and had many trials growing up. Her fragile exterior was misleading because she was passionate beyond belief. When Rosaline was fourteen her mother perished from disease. After the death of her mother, Rosaline began to love her. She dreamed of her mother and hoped death would take her.
Though her childhood was veiled by the sadness of her mother's death she still remembered these pockets of happy thoughts. She remember the flaxen hair of her mother. The certain cups she used to drink with. She remembered the feeling of her bony chest when they would fall asleep under a tree. How blessed was little Rosaline for getting to spend so much time with an angel.
Rosaline was very pensive as a child and when her father or mother was away she spent the time she had by herself. When a maid would ask her was she was doing she would respond, " I am thinking." The maid frustrated would ask what she was thinking of and she would again respond, " I am thinking about God."
The visits from her father were normally spontaneous. The only sure visit was the early mass on Sundays that she was so happy to journey for. She didn't mind walking because when she was tired he would carry her. Her mother was there but as she grew more sick she could not make the journey.
After the mass was over she would ask her father.
"How can God fit into such a tiny host?"
Her father would throw his head up in the air and laugh, saying.
"God is infinite."
The most distinctive memories that Rosaline had was her mother's last communion. She was more beautiful in death than she had ever been before in life. After that Rosaline began to love the Blessed Sacrament.
Young Adulthood
Time had past and Rosaline had grown up. Her porcelain face had turned pink. The dark eyelashes surround her face had turned fair. Her little curls had straightened out. Spring had passed and summer was now approaching.
She was taking a walk and looked for particularly nothing. Until she came closer to a ornate but small building. It was a small cemetery that would be mistaken for a garden if not examined closely. The case wasn't that the cemetery was over grown but all the beautiful flowers that bloom and climb the fences. She was entranced at the beauty and would find herself sitting among the stones. She grew tired with time.
She sat for a while and started to close her eyes until she decided to rest. She busied herself pulling little shreds of grass from the ground. Until this tedious task made the heavy lids of her eyes sink with exhaustion. She fell asleep.
"Do you think the girl is okay?"
"I can't seem to get her to wake up."
Then Rosaline opened her eyes.
She saw three little ladies surrounding her. She looked and smiled.
"Who are you?"
The three ladies were startled and had not seen the girl before.
" The question is child who are you?"
Rosaline opened her eyes more. She saw that it was three sisters. The one in the middle who had done most of the talking was tall the gangly with blue eyes. She smiled kindly on Rosaline. The other one to the right was short and petite. She didn't look particularly angry but very concerned. The one to the left was a girl the same age as Rosaline.
"My name is Rosaline Maske and I come from beyond those hills."
The sister looked at each other.
"You look familiar." the middle one said with awe.
"It seems that everyone does."
Rosaline began to feel dizzy and sick from laying on the grass for so long. She lifted her head and adjusted the hair on her head and flattened her skirt.
"Thank you for your generosity. I know my maid would be very concerned if I were missing or my father if he has returned from business."
The middle sister stared intently on Rosaline and asked.
"What is your father's name? "
"My father's name is Gabriel and yours?"
"I am Sister Catherine of the Lord's Passion. Do come and see us Rosaline. It get very lonely being isolated here."
A Party
"Rosaline do hold still, don't fuss, no, no!" said the maid trying to maneuver braids into a bun on the little head placed in front of her.
" I told you that my hair is too thin and fine for braids." she rudely responded. She remembered events like these. They weren't necessarily festive parties. They required minimal talking on her part and she was happy for that.
"Your hair is also to thin for curls."
She smiled at herself in the mirror. Her face was little and charming. She was a princess in her own way. Sheltered and protect by her father that was never there. She couldn't find a means to point the feeling she felt when she looked in the mirror. Pride was it? What did she have pride in. She was well learned in many different subjects. Could sing, draw and do all the other things that young ladies did in her day. How grown up she looked in that moment and how tormented. What joy the finest painters would feel to paint her face. Yet, what was she but a stain on society. Her father had prospered but only because of her mother.. What a petty event. What a worthless life! She had an ominous feeling about tonight. She felt as if something was going to be stolen from her. Something that could never be bought back. She glanced at her maid with a sad sort of look.
"I hope it turns out well." She told her maid.
"I'm sure it will."
It was quite dark when they arrived. The estate was large and quite dark. The only obvious sign of life was a small candle and an average size man leering outside the door. The house was ornate and decorated as such. Though in these events very little dancing is done and in effect nothing was lively. All was calm within the house and little Rosaline was quite indifferent to it. She grabbed her fathers arm and leaned her head on it. She had gotten little night's sleep before from the excitement of seeing the sisters and the new found joy of the future. She and her father followed the cobblestone path up to the house. Rosaline charmingly smiled as they opened the doors.
When their name were announced she looked in with diffidence and blushed. She had never been to an event before. She had traveled little and interacted little with society. Before she could have a peevish fit they were ushered into a small room off the center. The room was white and had a few pieces of wooden furniture. There was not fireplace so the room was a little chilly. It had a distinct scent of tobacco. She maneuvered her shall around her body and sat in a little chair. While her father sat opposite of her. They didn't talk. Rosaline began to find herself at a state of composure and rest.
There was a knock.
"Lord Montague and his son Romeo Montague."
Rosaline's father quickly stood with alertness. Rosaline was quite unaware of this and was not aroused out of her lethargic state. She was oblivious to the newly entered guests.
"Rosaline." Her father muffled under her breath.
Quickly she stood and curtseyed.
"My lord we are quite gracious to see you. I hope you are in the best-"
"Enough, enough don't you know were partners." Lord Montague said in haste. He had a sort of glimmer in his eyes as he looked down on Rosaline.
"Yes, of course your lordship." Rosaline's father said this with great humility.
"Shall we get started with business." He remarked with a glance towards Romeo.
"Of course your lordship."
"This conversation must be so tautologous for our poor children. Why doesn't my Romeo entertain your Rosaline. He has much to say."
"Very well." spoke Rosaline.
Rosaline's father and Lord Montague left leaving only Romeo on one side of the room and little Rosaline sunken in a chair. Silence lingered for a while until Romeo spoke in a morose manner.
"Your dress is very pious."
"That's an odd thing to say about a dress. I think that my dress is very pretty."
" I agree." He spoke not looking at her.
" Why don't you look at me?" Rosaline asked.
"What alot of passion bundled up inside such a small girl."
" I think I have complete sovereignty over my own feelings and actions."
Romeo was tall and gangly. He might have been called handsome by many other young girls. They might have thought his his dark hair or eyes to be pretty. Rosaline thought of him as being quite ugly. Though her interaction with men was very limited she couldn't help as herself; who would want to gaze on someone so sad looking?
"Was your trip pleasant here. I hope the carriage wasn't terrible."
"We walked."
"How concise you are." He sneered.
Rosaline you have to be smart. She thought to herself. How could she be so selfish in risking her father's material happiness.
"I'm sorry if I have angered you. How are your studies?" She asked in a pleasanter tone.
" They are progressing. I'm not terrible. And you."
" I enjoy reading. I read a lot when I'm alone and when I have nothing to read I wonder about. When I'm done practicing, I walk."
" Where do you walk to." Romeo spoke brusquely.
"I've never had a particularly favorite spot. Sometimes I get lost and I have to find my way back. I get short of breath often in my walks. Yet as I have gotten older I find that I have very little interaction with my maids and they don't seem to have a sentimental care over me and I am forgotten as if I were a stray cat."
"Your father?" He asked with a sense of curiosity.
" I adore my father. He is my light and my joy. He is my most love person on Earth."
"On earth?" Romeo questioned.
"Yes."
They were then interrupted by the opening of the door.
"Miss. Maske your father awaits."
Romeo lounging in his chair regained a decent stance and rose with a bow. Rosaline smiled urbanely and left.
The Passing of Time
Rosaline never ventured beyond those hills after she had encountered the three sisters. In Rosaline's mind they had become a phantom. Yet every time she thought of them they brought back a new joyful memory. Each were like unwrapping a little chocolate. She began to dream of the sisters and their little acts of suffering. She too longed to suffer for the conversion of sinners. She wanted to be kicked around like a little ball all in the name of Jesus. She wished to become little and obscure.
She distinctly remembered the coldness of that day when she walked out to receive the letter from the Montagues. She felt as though her life were changing. If some plan was contrive to make her one of them.
With clumsy fingers she opened the letter. It reads as follows.
My dearest, Rosaline
How can I live when we are parted? I feel as though there is rope connecting you to me and the farther the way we are away the more strain is put on the rope. When you venture far enough this rope will break. Leaving you free but me internally bleeding. I think you good, kind and noble in mind and every day my adoration for you seems to augment. I can't stand to not see you. Please tell me that you will see me again
Romeo
She became more and more lachrymose as time went on. She withered like a poor flower that has outlived her life because winter was dawning. She knew she had a choice between passion and reason. How can she knowingly destroy the happiness of her father when she rejects him? Truly she knew this was but a petty excuse. How can she decimate the relationship she has with God.
She decided to respond as follows.
Romeo,
I will have to reject your invitation of seeing you. I cannot chose you over what my heart truly desires. I would not lie and say I have conflicting feelings over this. I do not feel the feelings you feel. How can you fall in love so fast? How can you spend your life worshiping people that pass through so quickly? I am nothing but an image. I represent your passion and not your reason. I represent your self perfection. I am not flattered nor am I taken aback. I know I am beautiful, smart and rich. Your dark hair will turn gray. Your curled lashed will flatten. Yet dust is dust and I think nothing more. The difference between your heart and mine is that yours flutters and mine beats. I thank you though. You have made me realize my vocation.
Thank you,
Rosaline Maske
She wrote this letter with such fever and passion that she quickly sent it off herself instead of leaving it to a maid. She was contemplating her use of words and realized that she loved God more than she did before. She offered her sacrifice up to God. In her heart was a secret place where no one was there and she could be alone with Him. She realized this place was with the Sisters in the little beautiful church that seemed so far away before but now was very close in her heart.