Roses are Red
Introduction: To those of you who are obsessed with the story of Romeo and Juliet like me, you'll greatly appreciate this fanfiction. I played the part of Rosaline (Romeo's love prior to Juliet) in a highschool play my sophomore year and was instantly obsessed with my character. No one pays much attention to the ditsy blonde that Romeo speaks of in a dreamy-eyed daze, but she was my heart and soul for an entire semester. In my drama group's production of Romeo and Juliet, we created a side love-story between Rosaline and Tybalt (Shut up they're only second-cousins through marriage). I. Loved. Every. Bit. Of. It. So this is my fanfiction that involves their flirtatious endeavors and side of the timeless story. Enjoy!
List of characters mentioned and ages:
Rosaline: Juliet's first cousin, niece of Lord Capulet (19)
Juliet: Daughter of the Capulets (16)
Nurse: Juliet's nurse (58)
Corrin: Rosaline's maid (23)
Lady Capulet: Juliet's mother and Lord Capulet's wife (37)
"Rome" (Romeo): Rosaline's fling (18)
Chapter one
Juliet and I have played together in this garden since she could walk. It's always been our special place. We'd play royals, and pretend we were princesses and of course, being the older of the two, I'd always crown myself queen with a headpiece made of roses. Juliet's dear nurse would scold me for tearing the roses up and pricking my fingers until they bled all over my dress, just to be able to wear a flower tiara. I didn't care that my white petticoats would end up polka-dotted. I was the Rose Queen, and I deserved a crown every mock coronation.
Today we lie in the grass, heads beside each other, our bodies laid in a different direction. I fiddle with a briar, picking off the thorns carefully. Juliet hums softly to herself, the breeze carrying her tune away to the daisies. She's always sung the most obscure tunes without any realization of her habit. When I was younger I'd tell her to shut it because my ears were loosening by the second, but now I find it a comfort. It means she's here, and she's her same, sweet self. She's innocent and gracious, much unlike me. I'm not a grace. I'm not innocent. Oh the things she has left to discover. She still possesses her virtue, unlike me. I've known men up to their throats in liquor, when the night has grown to its middle-age, and its winds howl and carry the laughter of merriment. However, this merriment was never ignorant. It was always aware of its dangers, its sins, its risks. And it never cared.
"What is it like?" Juliet's soft voice nearly whispers. Her hushed tone catches me off guard, for though she is soft, she is never afraid to voice her thoughts.
"Is what?" I ask.
"You know, Rosaline. You just don't want to tell me because you think I'm too sweet."
"Too sweet, Juliet? Cousin, if you are sweet, then I am as sour as week-old milk. And you know so. I will not be filling up your head with ideas that will destroy the Capulet household ere. Even though I have lost my virtue, it is an unspoken issue and I will have none of an extra risk." I hope to seize the conversation, but Juliet's curious mind only provokes her tongue to pry further.
"Rosaline," she whispers again, "It is true that you've known a man then?"
"Juliet, if you truly had any doubt that I hadn't then we wouldn't be having this conversation."
"Such defense, dear cos when I have not spoken a word of judgment toward you!"
"I suppose not, but I will spare you the details of my unladylike encounters in order to protect and not pervert your mind. I only mean you well, and you know so. Do not ask me again." There. I have silenced her. I am not in any way proud of my reputation, and I hope that naive Juliet will not follow in my footsteps. Juliet continues to hum her random tune, which begins to sound all the more unsettling. I feel as if an eerie atmosphere has just set around me, and I begin to wonder if my reputation will end up destroying me… Or worse, the people I love. My excuse then to leave is
"Dear Juliet I am extremely sorry for dashing so suddenly, but I have just remembered that Corrin told me to be back by midday to help with the laundry! Poor dear, all alone, swamped in piles of dirty garments I'm sure, I must attend my duties before the poor dear dies an untimely death in attempt to finish her chores! Farewell cos, I'll surely see you tomorrow!" As I recite my apologetic farewell, I trot faster through the garden, weaving through the rows of flowers and dashing under the many terraces. I've always wondered what exactly must go on inside Lady Capulet's head that she feels so many terraces are necessary. A blond ringlet of mine catches on the last terrace, and in turning around, a thorn scratches my cheek. I don't think much of it, for I'm used to feeling all sorts of pain. I suppose all women are, considering we all wear corsets. Yanking my curl out of the vines, I curse the day and it catches the attention of a young pedestrian.
"My lady, have you gotten yourself into a bit of a catch?" I can tell he stifles his laughter.
"Make fun of my petty mistake and I'll have your head," I threaten as I turn around to lock eyes with him. Although his comment made me want to slap him, his softened brow and sky-like eyes calm my sudden rage. "Oh," I stutter as I manage a curtsy, "I didn't realize how attractive you were when you made such a comment."
"I suppose it was a little out of line, yes, to mock a lady so gentle and fine," He replies with a wink. The only other thing that goes through my head besides the fact that his face and body are those of a god, is I hope he likes wine.
"A rhymer are you? Well, I must have stumbled upon a clover with four leaves then," I look down, as if to hint that I'm looking for such a plant, but I move my locks from my bosom purely to draw attention to it. When I look back up at the boy, he is in such a daze that many would argue could only be broken by sudden death.
"Well before you spend your entire afternoon looking for a clover, would your beauty be so humble as to accompany me tonight to a… special location?"
"Well that depends, will there be wine?" I ask, fluttering my eyelashes.
"My lady, there will be only the finest choice wine, and if you wear red, I will let you have some, so as not to ruin a beautiful dress, of course," he bites his lip between every sentence, weakening my knees.
"I'll meet you in town square, in the alley of the shoemaker's shop at dusk. Come with wine, and I'll come in red," I struggle to hinder my enthusiasm.
"It sounds too perfect, and it will be of course. There is one problem, however."
"And what is that?"
"I desire your name, sweet sunshine of a lady," he lowers his voice as he walks toward me.
"You needn't know it yet, gentleman. But for now, you know me as the lady in red. And you will, until after tonight," my breaths grow shorter as the stranger is almost close enough to touch.
"Red, I'll call you. Like your lips," he takes a step, "and your dress," he takes another, "and the wine that will soon quench our thirsts." I look directly into his eyes and ask,
"What of you, then? Have you a name?"
"Call me…" He looks down for a moment, a moment that feels like an eternity and nearly steals my breath. "Rome," he says.
"Like the fallen empire?" I almost laugh at his choice of masked name.
"Precisely," he replies.