Sunday Morning, 1593
Verona, Italy
The parade of decorations seems to be a mere trickle compared to the flood it was in the weeks leading up to this day. Often I wonder where all these things come from, since there are more things entering this house than in the whole of Verona. Or, at least, that is how it seems.
Now the house has finished its preparations for what is to be the party of the year. The maids all are like Echo, cursed by Hera to speak only in echo, for they pick up phrases and conversations at an amazing rate. What little pieces of rumor I have caught from the household servants have stated in one form or the other that everyone who is anyone has accepted their invitation to the party. Of course everyone has accepted their invitation except for the members of the Montague family, our rival house, who did not receive an invitation.
This feud between our houses has gone to everyone's head; there is no longer a purpose to this bloodshed. It is a vile thing to have to say that yet again a brawl has broken out in the streets. Observation shows me that the people who involve themselves in these brawls do so repeatedly. Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. This recent heat has made even the sanest man forget his sanity and, if the sun has her way, the definition of the word. For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. Oh, how I love my family, but it makes me ashamed at times to be part of this. I do hope that father can hold everything under control for a while yet because his presence is sometimes the only thing that keeps our wits with us. Not even mother has that much influence.
This will be the third party I will have gone to since my launch into this world of dust and strength. My mother sees to it that I am properly introduced into society so I do not age into an old maid with no sense of propriety. There must be something planned for me since the Lady is always shining the best light on me when in public, yet I have no hint to what it is. My mother is like a fox, quiet, sly, swift and beautiful. I know she is not full of treachery but I cannot help but be curious and fear what she has in store for me.
Later
My suspicion was correct, mother was concocting a plan, but I did not expect it to be such an unwanted plan. Marriage, she planned for me to be married, she planned for me to be married to Paris! Why Paris of all people? He was like a wallflower, something to be looked at and enjoyed but it was untouchable, useless. I cannot say I have not looked upon his face many times and found Aphrodite's creation pleasing to my eye, but his beauty was physical. I knew nothing of his dreams, of his conquests, of his failures. What would I find beneath that face?
My very dearest nurse seemed happy enough about this proposition, especially that such a man of wax would be interested in me. The excitement of it all made her mouth get a mile ahead of her head, my cheeks blushed more than once at her tongue's lude suggestions.
Even if the Nurse was happy about this, I was not, and I made it clear enough that it was an honor I dreamt not of, Paris or not. I have the feeling that my mother will not be deterred by my refusal. Hopefully her swarm of wasps will not seek to reach out and sting me. I love and trust my mother, but sometimes that's only because I know I should. The Nurse may be a servant to this household but she is much more like a mother to me than Lady Capulet has ever been.
I must admit this idea has sent a shock through me. Now I will seek to hideaway in the garden for a few quiet moments until I must prepare for the party.
Before the Party
There are musicians filing into the great hall below. Many of these musicians I suspect cannot actually play but are pretending to be musicians in order to be here. I have heard them grinding nails in their throats as they came through the gates. Either the tastes in music have changed for the worst since the last party or they truly are bad. If they are caught they will not be punished for this is a time for merry making, not for anger.
Well, not only are there musicians but there are culinary masters from all of Italy. There will be the finest of wine, roasted lamb, and heaps and heaps of figs like mountains.
I am excited to see what costumes will arrive and dance in this very house. There will be masks made to match the dress, but only the men may wear their masks since it is considered a sin for a woman to hide her face behind a mask, no matter how beautiful the mask or how ugly the face. The punishment for wearing masks is almost as serious as Arachne's punishment.
This excitement runs through the house making it seem abuzz with movement when really everyone is in their quarters preparing themselves for this, even the servants. The halls are empty and scrubbed into a shine to make this house look its best. I hope that more than person scrubbed the great hall since it is so huge the task of cleaning it would be far too much for one person.
I must cut this entry short for I hear some noise within. Sad hours seem long, making the dance seem far away but the climax of this excitement is coming near and I can almost feel the dance come upon me. Oh, what a night this will be!
After the Party
The party was everything I could have hoped for and more, but amidst the dancing I met the stranger Romeo, whose name I will forever whisper feverishly from my lips for he is my first love. Love's embrace has never taken me before this time but now I have felt it with total conviction in the presence of my stranger and my true love, Romeo. I must record my encounter with the young Romeo this evening while it is still fresh in the sky, not yet touching the horizon.
The party was so lively I hardly ever stopped dancing, my feet followed the music. Nothing could catch my eye for as I moved everything else was a blur. For a large part of the evening I was paired with Paris but as evening fell into night, the dance drew us apart. The whole of Verona seemed to have gathered in our very hall and indeed the hall which is always cold, even in the heat of summer, became an oven. A thin layer of sweat rose on the nape of my neck but no breeze would enter and relieve the severe heat.
The dancing ended soon after, for tradition calls for a farewell song before the last dance. The dancers, many of whom were faceless to me, gathered around a slightly raised stage. Almost immediately the lyrics and tune to the song were lost to me when I saw a stranger in a dark mask that was black enough to be death. The build and litheness of his body made me think that perhaps if this was death I wouldn't mind going to it so quickly. After studying its creases for a time I released that the face beneath its folds was studying me with the same, or maybe more, intensity. Like kissing lips our eyes met and clung, neither one of use moving or averting our gaze. There was no hint to who was beneath that mask. As thought seeked to swallow me the crowd broke apart and the music began again.
I slipped away from the dance for a quick moment hoping to go out into the garden to catch a comforting breeze when suddenly my hand felt a soft touch. In my surprise I forgot to cry out, instead I turned to the masked stranger whose hand was warm against mine own. His honey words slid from his tongue with such conviction and grace that they will be as prized as the Golden Fleece till I grow old, so I must repeat them here.
"If I profane with my unworthiest hand,
This holy shrine, the gently sin is this:
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss." I was not so quick to allow such a thing but after a while I could find no argument to why we should not, and so our lips met. The kiss was gentle, not asking for anything, in short, it was perfect. I was not shy to tell him this.
How wonderful it all was! But this simple happiness was shattered when I found he was a Montague, a son of our most hated enemy! He would still be perfect if he were not a Montague. Why couldn't he have some other name? That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet. Oh fortune! How could this be my fate? To love my only hate? I am sure this could not be so; the Nurse must be teasing me as she always is. How could she do that to me now? How could she know? Yet, how can I love a stranger whose face I have not yet seen?
Night
O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard, being in night, all this is but a dream, too flattering sweet to be substantial. Oh magical, wonderful, beautiful night, how I thank you for your sky's dark blankets. How can I think of Paris when there is only Romeo? How can I think of hate when there is only love? I can only hope that my eyes have not been blinded, that these welcomed advances are not false. Please say that I have not been made a fool of, for my heart's wall has become weak. At least I will know tomorrow by the earliest if he was false or not.
So much, almost too much, has happened this night. The stranger who is now Romeo came to me by this very light. The moonlight, which is like an elder to me, did not hold any answer for me as it usually does when it's radiance has reached its peak. Nor did it reveal to me Romeo as he spied upon me on this very balcony. I blush to think he heard some things that I should not have said, but he loves me! He swears upon himself that he loves me! Eros has touched me too easily. To think that this very day I said I would never think to marry and here I am worrying that Romeo will not marry me. Ha!
If Paris is handsome, Romeo is beautiful. If Paris is the moon, than Romeo is the sun. In every way Romeo surpasses Paris. Paris may have pleasing features but Romeo is pleasing to my heart. Indeed, he has his hand around my heart and if he squeezes I will fall apart. Romeo is Jupiter to my heart. Do not abuse my heart Romeo, for it is all I have to love you with. Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow.
Monday Morning, 1593 Verona, Italy
My father often says that I am the only member of this family who has inherited wisdom. At times I do not agree with his adoring tongue, I think he gives me more praise than I deserve. This is one of those times. If I was so wise why am I hurdling head first into something I cannot see?
One of the more popular phrases in this house among the maids is 'Love is ruled by the heart, not the head'. I suspect they use this phrase to justify their indulgence and stupidity for what they call Love. Love is like candy, it is sweet, but too much of this sweetness can lead to a blinding stomach pain. Indeed, I am in pain at this moment, a delicious agony that will not take its bow until my wish is granted. This delicious agony is death to my senses. Imagine what years of being with Romeo could do to me if this is my reaction after speaking with him for only a few moments! I am almost afraid that my mind has created a Romeo of dreams, that my love is not how I thought him to be. Or, maybe, I will wake and find he never was at all. Oh woe! The thought is almost too much to bear! If I should wake I would take all the pieces from all the men and create my Romeo. My vows would remain unspoken and as the meat rotted from its bones so would I; my grave is like to be my wedding bed.
This is not wisdom spouting from my lips, it is madness! Some spirit has taken me. I must find myself before the Nurse returns, for then I will know if I am fool or not.
This feeling of dread and excitement will not leave me. There is naught to relieve my anxious heart. The Nurse has been gone since nine and now is the sun upon the highmost hill. Oh, if only she were younger! Fresh blood and a strong body would give her Mercury's soles. She would harken to Romeo with my words and then my agony would be cured. How I love you Nurse but you pain me so!
After
Oh my dear Nurse! How you always find a way to avoid my questions. But I can forgive you, and I will, I will, for Romeo will marry me to-day! Your lips find a way around these words but you have spoken them! No longer can you be a bystander in this peace, but a conscience to my plan. What a plan this will be, an end to this war through love, not bloodshed. The streets will fill with laughter and hope, anger and war shall elope. Flowers in bloom have no fear of past crimson doom. May love last long hours.
Time is very short, moving so quickly life is like a smeared water color painting. Nothing stands out in great detail except for the broad stroke of brilliant color which defines the vague haze surrounding it. This is our love, because of it I can only speak with repetition of "My Romeo!".
Our meeting, first smiled on by moonlight, will now be casted in gold. The hands of our only lord shall see this peace and where others have gone to hell we will have our release. I will be a wife to the only man in this city who could understand my heart. This is not jokery, he will not be Jason to my Medea. If this marriage should fail all we shared I would destroy with a single stroke of blade, our child, our home, our love. But now is not the time to think of such things for I must hasten to Friar Laurence's cell where Romeo is waiting for my vow.
Wedding
Romeo and I are now married! I am now to act his wife! But it began in such a strange way. I can hardly begin to understand the significance of this happening to its full extent.
I left for the cell in the highest of spirits. All I could think of was how happy this would make us. Then I began to worry, we had just met the night before. He might be ready to marry me but what if I was not prepared to marry him? Marriage entirely one sided is so painful it makes it apparent why Henry VIII allowed divorce. Thank the lord he only a Protestant, for if he was a Catholic our entire church would've turned on him, like it already is. In the corner of my mind I acknowledged that I was beginning to stray in the wrong direction but somehow the rest of my thoughts dominated these observations.
Once we were married would we be able to hide this marriage? Would I manage to pry my mother's mind off of Paris? My mother would never change her mind, I knew this. She was, after all, the lioness of our den. As the female she hunted for her pride leader, as a Lady she ran the household. Not even father could control what was to be done with me, even though he was allowed to speak his opinions. But what if I was forced to marry Paris? The chances were not as slim as I would've liked to hope, especially with mother at the helm.
The streets dimmed slightly as if the sun had hidden behind a cloud. Its glittering rays still fell in pools on the loose stones of the roofs and streets. I drank in this sight as a comfort to my mind which was already straying into darker territory.
Our marriage was forbidden by both houses. There was no official text stating this, but if our families discovered our bonding there would be no mercy spared for us, no shame kept from us. Or even worse yet, what if blood was split on our behalf?
I was pulled to the broken cobble stones as my toe snagged on their corners. My body was like a rag doll, crumpling uselessly into a pile. A tear opened above my lips and a single drop of life spilt out, as if to say that He had been listening and was answering my worries. It brought a curve to my lips. Again I touched the skin above my lip to check the cut; already it seemed to have healed.
In the beginning there was only silence, until then the sound of falling water reached me like softest music to attending ears. For the first time since I had begun walking I looked up only to see with dismay that the streets looked in no way familiar. Only the sight of a fountain was welcome to my eye. The water was cool and more refreshing to my face than water had ever been before, like sleep after exhaustion. It was in this very second, this very second, that I realized that I would be willing to give up everything for Romeo for I loved him with everything I could love him with.
Cupid looked on at my resolved struggle from his perch in the fountain. His wings were folded, as if he had found what he needed to find and he would leave love to mortals from now on. The twinkle in his matching round eyes had a dimmed quality compared with other interpretations I have seen. Every feather, every lock of hair stood still in the silence, but his love filled arrow was pointed at my breast and the street leading on into the distance behind me.
I turned to walk in that direction, too afraid to turn back and find my Cupid gone. Never again in my journey to the cell did I loose my way as if Cupid was guiding me to my true love.
This is unlike anything that has ever happened to me before, but it is of no importance since now it is over and done with. Spread thy close curtain, love performing night, that runaways' eyes may wink, and Romeo leap to these arms, untalked of and unseen.
Evening
For a day that had such a promising beginning this has turned into a very sorry day indeed. My hand trembles as I write this for I fear I may never see Romeo again. Tears blur my eyes so heavily I am forced to tilt my head up so I will not feel their wetness become waterfalls on my cheeks. Even the sky feels my loss. Its clouds are gray and heavy like rags used to clean ancient dust. The woe of this day!
I can hardly begin to say what has happened, but in short I can say this is both the most wonderful and the most hated day of my life. Tybalt is dead and Romeo is banished for it is his hand whose skill forced Tybalt to draw his last breath. Oh Romeo! Tybalt is my cousin, but my loyalties are to you no matter what your intentions were. If my whole family died I would be happier, but you are banished. You are banished. It is like waking from a dream only to find that I am living a nightmare.
At hearing Romeo ceased the beating of my cousin's breath I could only think that he had tricked me like Hades tricked Persephone. Only, if Romeo was Hades than he would still truly love me for Hades had truly loved Persephone. I thought Romeo to be a serpent heart hid with a flowering face, but even so, why would he have to lie and kill my own blood? It did not matter. I would have to be there for him anyway. A wife's loyalties first lie with her husband, then with her flesh and blood, for a man is only as strong as his wife's support. No matter what wrong he may have committed I was still his wife. Shall I speak ill of him who is my husband?
Our happy marriage and love so short lived! I may never be a wife to you. If I kill myself now I will know that I will not have to suffer what consequences lay before us. Oh kill me now! Oh let me be banished as well!
Tuesday Night, 1593 Verona, Italy
These shall be my last words in this world of being. If things work as they should then I will have died and revived again to find Romeo beside me and the feud of Verona behind me. I can only trust the Friar since no other has the knowledge to help a pair of lovers defy their very flesh. He has told me that "no warmth, no breath shall testify thou livest." This is all I can hope for. This liquor I shall dine on tonight will be raised to our love. If I shall awaken in the morrow's morn then I will release my soul in the full, not waiting for love's wings to save me.
Paris has taken advantage of this time of grief saying that "these times of woe afford no times to woo." I was right in finding Romeo far better than Paris for Paris is inconsiderate to everyone but himself. He finds his beauty enough to win be over, but that is not so for he has no charm. A woman of more avarice might want him, but I have my Romeo. He thinks I love him, he thinks I wish to marry him. When he has enough intelligence to realize that my love is negative to him a gourd of cold water poured on his head shall reproduce the feeling he will receive.
I am like a flowering plant in the winter, waiting desperately for spring to come again. Only with this liquor will spring come, if I stay to be married to Paris my flowers will never bloom again, or if they do, the blooms will have rotted, no longer beautiful.
Our marriage has come about when Pandora's Box has opened; everything terrible has been released into the world, everything terrible has happened to our love. Dear Romeo I drink this liquor to our love. If I shall never see thee again know that my heart is still yours. I wait to see thee in waking, do not fail me for love is a taint.
The parade of decorations seems to be a mere trickle compared to the flood it was in the weeks leading up to this day. Often I wonder where all these things come from, since there are more things entering this house than in the whole of Verona. Or, at least, that is how it seems.
Now the house has finished its preparations for what is to be the party of the year. The maids all are like Echo, cursed by Hera to speak only in echo, for they pick up phrases and conversations at an amazing rate. What little pieces of rumor I have caught from the household servants have stated in one form or the other that everyone who is anyone has accepted their invitation to the party. Of course everyone has accepted their invitation except for the members of the Montague family, our rival house, who did not receive an invitation.
This feud between our houses has gone to everyone's head; there is no longer a purpose to this bloodshed. It is a vile thing to have to say that yet again a brawl has broken out in the streets. Observation shows me that the people who involve themselves in these brawls do so repeatedly. Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. This recent heat has made even the sanest man forget his sanity and, if the sun has her way, the definition of the word. For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. Oh, how I love my family, but it makes me ashamed at times to be part of this. I do hope that father can hold everything under control for a while yet because his presence is sometimes the only thing that keeps our wits with us. Not even mother has that much influence.
This will be the third party I will have gone to since my launch into this world of dust and strength. My mother sees to it that I am properly introduced into society so I do not age into an old maid with no sense of propriety. There must be something planned for me since the Lady is always shining the best light on me when in public, yet I have no hint to what it is. My mother is like a fox, quiet, sly, swift and beautiful. I know she is not full of treachery but I cannot help but be curious and fear what she has in store for me.
Later
My suspicion was correct, mother was concocting a plan, but I did not expect it to be such an unwanted plan. Marriage, she planned for me to be married, she planned for me to be married to Paris! Why Paris of all people? He was like a wallflower, something to be looked at and enjoyed but it was untouchable, useless. I cannot say I have not looked upon his face many times and found Aphrodite's creation pleasing to my eye, but his beauty was physical. I knew nothing of his dreams, of his conquests, of his failures. What would I find beneath that face?
My very dearest nurse seemed happy enough about this proposition, especially that such a man of wax would be interested in me. The excitement of it all made her mouth get a mile ahead of her head, my cheeks blushed more than once at her tongue's lude suggestions.
Even if the Nurse was happy about this, I was not, and I made it clear enough that it was an honor I dreamt not of, Paris or not. I have the feeling that my mother will not be deterred by my refusal. Hopefully her swarm of wasps will not seek to reach out and sting me. I love and trust my mother, but sometimes that's only because I know I should. The Nurse may be a servant to this household but she is much more like a mother to me than Lady Capulet has ever been.
I must admit this idea has sent a shock through me. Now I will seek to hideaway in the garden for a few quiet moments until I must prepare for the party.
Before the Party
There are musicians filing into the great hall below. Many of these musicians I suspect cannot actually play but are pretending to be musicians in order to be here. I have heard them grinding nails in their throats as they came through the gates. Either the tastes in music have changed for the worst since the last party or they truly are bad. If they are caught they will not be punished for this is a time for merry making, not for anger.
Well, not only are there musicians but there are culinary masters from all of Italy. There will be the finest of wine, roasted lamb, and heaps and heaps of figs like mountains.
I am excited to see what costumes will arrive and dance in this very house. There will be masks made to match the dress, but only the men may wear their masks since it is considered a sin for a woman to hide her face behind a mask, no matter how beautiful the mask or how ugly the face. The punishment for wearing masks is almost as serious as Arachne's punishment.
This excitement runs through the house making it seem abuzz with movement when really everyone is in their quarters preparing themselves for this, even the servants. The halls are empty and scrubbed into a shine to make this house look its best. I hope that more than person scrubbed the great hall since it is so huge the task of cleaning it would be far too much for one person.
I must cut this entry short for I hear some noise within. Sad hours seem long, making the dance seem far away but the climax of this excitement is coming near and I can almost feel the dance come upon me. Oh, what a night this will be!
After the Party
The party was everything I could have hoped for and more, but amidst the dancing I met the stranger Romeo, whose name I will forever whisper feverishly from my lips for he is my first love. Love's embrace has never taken me before this time but now I have felt it with total conviction in the presence of my stranger and my true love, Romeo. I must record my encounter with the young Romeo this evening while it is still fresh in the sky, not yet touching the horizon.
The party was so lively I hardly ever stopped dancing, my feet followed the music. Nothing could catch my eye for as I moved everything else was a blur. For a large part of the evening I was paired with Paris but as evening fell into night, the dance drew us apart. The whole of Verona seemed to have gathered in our very hall and indeed the hall which is always cold, even in the heat of summer, became an oven. A thin layer of sweat rose on the nape of my neck but no breeze would enter and relieve the severe heat.
The dancing ended soon after, for tradition calls for a farewell song before the last dance. The dancers, many of whom were faceless to me, gathered around a slightly raised stage. Almost immediately the lyrics and tune to the song were lost to me when I saw a stranger in a dark mask that was black enough to be death. The build and litheness of his body made me think that perhaps if this was death I wouldn't mind going to it so quickly. After studying its creases for a time I released that the face beneath its folds was studying me with the same, or maybe more, intensity. Like kissing lips our eyes met and clung, neither one of use moving or averting our gaze. There was no hint to who was beneath that mask. As thought seeked to swallow me the crowd broke apart and the music began again.
I slipped away from the dance for a quick moment hoping to go out into the garden to catch a comforting breeze when suddenly my hand felt a soft touch. In my surprise I forgot to cry out, instead I turned to the masked stranger whose hand was warm against mine own. His honey words slid from his tongue with such conviction and grace that they will be as prized as the Golden Fleece till I grow old, so I must repeat them here.
"If I profane with my unworthiest hand,
This holy shrine, the gently sin is this:
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss." I was not so quick to allow such a thing but after a while I could find no argument to why we should not, and so our lips met. The kiss was gentle, not asking for anything, in short, it was perfect. I was not shy to tell him this.
How wonderful it all was! But this simple happiness was shattered when I found he was a Montague, a son of our most hated enemy! He would still be perfect if he were not a Montague. Why couldn't he have some other name? That which we call a rose by any other word would smell as sweet. Oh fortune! How could this be my fate? To love my only hate? I am sure this could not be so; the Nurse must be teasing me as she always is. How could she do that to me now? How could she know? Yet, how can I love a stranger whose face I have not yet seen?
Night
O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard, being in night, all this is but a dream, too flattering sweet to be substantial. Oh magical, wonderful, beautiful night, how I thank you for your sky's dark blankets. How can I think of Paris when there is only Romeo? How can I think of hate when there is only love? I can only hope that my eyes have not been blinded, that these welcomed advances are not false. Please say that I have not been made a fool of, for my heart's wall has become weak. At least I will know tomorrow by the earliest if he was false or not.
So much, almost too much, has happened this night. The stranger who is now Romeo came to me by this very light. The moonlight, which is like an elder to me, did not hold any answer for me as it usually does when it's radiance has reached its peak. Nor did it reveal to me Romeo as he spied upon me on this very balcony. I blush to think he heard some things that I should not have said, but he loves me! He swears upon himself that he loves me! Eros has touched me too easily. To think that this very day I said I would never think to marry and here I am worrying that Romeo will not marry me. Ha!
If Paris is handsome, Romeo is beautiful. If Paris is the moon, than Romeo is the sun. In every way Romeo surpasses Paris. Paris may have pleasing features but Romeo is pleasing to my heart. Indeed, he has his hand around my heart and if he squeezes I will fall apart. Romeo is Jupiter to my heart. Do not abuse my heart Romeo, for it is all I have to love you with. Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow.
Monday Morning, 1593 Verona, Italy
My father often says that I am the only member of this family who has inherited wisdom. At times I do not agree with his adoring tongue, I think he gives me more praise than I deserve. This is one of those times. If I was so wise why am I hurdling head first into something I cannot see?
One of the more popular phrases in this house among the maids is 'Love is ruled by the heart, not the head'. I suspect they use this phrase to justify their indulgence and stupidity for what they call Love. Love is like candy, it is sweet, but too much of this sweetness can lead to a blinding stomach pain. Indeed, I am in pain at this moment, a delicious agony that will not take its bow until my wish is granted. This delicious agony is death to my senses. Imagine what years of being with Romeo could do to me if this is my reaction after speaking with him for only a few moments! I am almost afraid that my mind has created a Romeo of dreams, that my love is not how I thought him to be. Or, maybe, I will wake and find he never was at all. Oh woe! The thought is almost too much to bear! If I should wake I would take all the pieces from all the men and create my Romeo. My vows would remain unspoken and as the meat rotted from its bones so would I; my grave is like to be my wedding bed.
This is not wisdom spouting from my lips, it is madness! Some spirit has taken me. I must find myself before the Nurse returns, for then I will know if I am fool or not.
This feeling of dread and excitement will not leave me. There is naught to relieve my anxious heart. The Nurse has been gone since nine and now is the sun upon the highmost hill. Oh, if only she were younger! Fresh blood and a strong body would give her Mercury's soles. She would harken to Romeo with my words and then my agony would be cured. How I love you Nurse but you pain me so!
After
Oh my dear Nurse! How you always find a way to avoid my questions. But I can forgive you, and I will, I will, for Romeo will marry me to-day! Your lips find a way around these words but you have spoken them! No longer can you be a bystander in this peace, but a conscience to my plan. What a plan this will be, an end to this war through love, not bloodshed. The streets will fill with laughter and hope, anger and war shall elope. Flowers in bloom have no fear of past crimson doom. May love last long hours.
Time is very short, moving so quickly life is like a smeared water color painting. Nothing stands out in great detail except for the broad stroke of brilliant color which defines the vague haze surrounding it. This is our love, because of it I can only speak with repetition of "My Romeo!".
Our meeting, first smiled on by moonlight, will now be casted in gold. The hands of our only lord shall see this peace and where others have gone to hell we will have our release. I will be a wife to the only man in this city who could understand my heart. This is not jokery, he will not be Jason to my Medea. If this marriage should fail all we shared I would destroy with a single stroke of blade, our child, our home, our love. But now is not the time to think of such things for I must hasten to Friar Laurence's cell where Romeo is waiting for my vow.
Wedding
Romeo and I are now married! I am now to act his wife! But it began in such a strange way. I can hardly begin to understand the significance of this happening to its full extent.
I left for the cell in the highest of spirits. All I could think of was how happy this would make us. Then I began to worry, we had just met the night before. He might be ready to marry me but what if I was not prepared to marry him? Marriage entirely one sided is so painful it makes it apparent why Henry VIII allowed divorce. Thank the lord he only a Protestant, for if he was a Catholic our entire church would've turned on him, like it already is. In the corner of my mind I acknowledged that I was beginning to stray in the wrong direction but somehow the rest of my thoughts dominated these observations.
Once we were married would we be able to hide this marriage? Would I manage to pry my mother's mind off of Paris? My mother would never change her mind, I knew this. She was, after all, the lioness of our den. As the female she hunted for her pride leader, as a Lady she ran the household. Not even father could control what was to be done with me, even though he was allowed to speak his opinions. But what if I was forced to marry Paris? The chances were not as slim as I would've liked to hope, especially with mother at the helm.
The streets dimmed slightly as if the sun had hidden behind a cloud. Its glittering rays still fell in pools on the loose stones of the roofs and streets. I drank in this sight as a comfort to my mind which was already straying into darker territory.
Our marriage was forbidden by both houses. There was no official text stating this, but if our families discovered our bonding there would be no mercy spared for us, no shame kept from us. Or even worse yet, what if blood was split on our behalf?
I was pulled to the broken cobble stones as my toe snagged on their corners. My body was like a rag doll, crumpling uselessly into a pile. A tear opened above my lips and a single drop of life spilt out, as if to say that He had been listening and was answering my worries. It brought a curve to my lips. Again I touched the skin above my lip to check the cut; already it seemed to have healed.
In the beginning there was only silence, until then the sound of falling water reached me like softest music to attending ears. For the first time since I had begun walking I looked up only to see with dismay that the streets looked in no way familiar. Only the sight of a fountain was welcome to my eye. The water was cool and more refreshing to my face than water had ever been before, like sleep after exhaustion. It was in this very second, this very second, that I realized that I would be willing to give up everything for Romeo for I loved him with everything I could love him with.
Cupid looked on at my resolved struggle from his perch in the fountain. His wings were folded, as if he had found what he needed to find and he would leave love to mortals from now on. The twinkle in his matching round eyes had a dimmed quality compared with other interpretations I have seen. Every feather, every lock of hair stood still in the silence, but his love filled arrow was pointed at my breast and the street leading on into the distance behind me.
I turned to walk in that direction, too afraid to turn back and find my Cupid gone. Never again in my journey to the cell did I loose my way as if Cupid was guiding me to my true love.
This is unlike anything that has ever happened to me before, but it is of no importance since now it is over and done with. Spread thy close curtain, love performing night, that runaways' eyes may wink, and Romeo leap to these arms, untalked of and unseen.
Evening
For a day that had such a promising beginning this has turned into a very sorry day indeed. My hand trembles as I write this for I fear I may never see Romeo again. Tears blur my eyes so heavily I am forced to tilt my head up so I will not feel their wetness become waterfalls on my cheeks. Even the sky feels my loss. Its clouds are gray and heavy like rags used to clean ancient dust. The woe of this day!
I can hardly begin to say what has happened, but in short I can say this is both the most wonderful and the most hated day of my life. Tybalt is dead and Romeo is banished for it is his hand whose skill forced Tybalt to draw his last breath. Oh Romeo! Tybalt is my cousin, but my loyalties are to you no matter what your intentions were. If my whole family died I would be happier, but you are banished. You are banished. It is like waking from a dream only to find that I am living a nightmare.
At hearing Romeo ceased the beating of my cousin's breath I could only think that he had tricked me like Hades tricked Persephone. Only, if Romeo was Hades than he would still truly love me for Hades had truly loved Persephone. I thought Romeo to be a serpent heart hid with a flowering face, but even so, why would he have to lie and kill my own blood? It did not matter. I would have to be there for him anyway. A wife's loyalties first lie with her husband, then with her flesh and blood, for a man is only as strong as his wife's support. No matter what wrong he may have committed I was still his wife. Shall I speak ill of him who is my husband?
Our happy marriage and love so short lived! I may never be a wife to you. If I kill myself now I will know that I will not have to suffer what consequences lay before us. Oh kill me now! Oh let me be banished as well!
Tuesday Night, 1593 Verona, Italy
These shall be my last words in this world of being. If things work as they should then I will have died and revived again to find Romeo beside me and the feud of Verona behind me. I can only trust the Friar since no other has the knowledge to help a pair of lovers defy their very flesh. He has told me that "no warmth, no breath shall testify thou livest." This is all I can hope for. This liquor I shall dine on tonight will be raised to our love. If I shall awaken in the morrow's morn then I will release my soul in the full, not waiting for love's wings to save me.
Paris has taken advantage of this time of grief saying that "these times of woe afford no times to woo." I was right in finding Romeo far better than Paris for Paris is inconsiderate to everyone but himself. He finds his beauty enough to win be over, but that is not so for he has no charm. A woman of more avarice might want him, but I have my Romeo. He thinks I love him, he thinks I wish to marry him. When he has enough intelligence to realize that my love is negative to him a gourd of cold water poured on his head shall reproduce the feeling he will receive.
I am like a flowering plant in the winter, waiting desperately for spring to come again. Only with this liquor will spring come, if I stay to be married to Paris my flowers will never bloom again, or if they do, the blooms will have rotted, no longer beautiful.
Our marriage has come about when Pandora's Box has opened; everything terrible has been released into the world, everything terrible has happened to our love. Dear Romeo I drink this liquor to our love. If I shall never see thee again know that my heart is still yours. I wait to see thee in waking, do not fail me for love is a taint.