Disclaimer: I do not own the Libertine or any recognizable historical figures or characters all I own is the plot of this story and unrecognizable characters including the main OC
"Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven"
-Ophelia, Hamlet Act I Scene III
Chapter I: Ophelia's Song
A tall actor in a romantic tunic and darkly tights approach in forward manner, his tone condescending and lively with spark and dramatic irony, some may even consider it to be satire, perhaps the thespian considered this mood of portrayal to be accurate of the dark prince for the fictional majesty harbored macabre humor and rude, sarcastic wit. The pretending Hamlet practically galloped over in gallant manner to a young woman (hardly a woman, practically a girl still, just bloomed into mature appearance) a breath-taking sight to behold is what those who have seen her previously in Tristan and Isolde claim her to be, her features darker than society's fair-haired view of beauty but nonetheless it was impossible to ignore the starlet's comeliness.
How luck had struck her, her hair fell in black silk down to a length most of the weaker sex dreamed of possessing, her ebony, wavy ribbons rippled just pass her ample posterior, framing a heart shaped face with roundish cheeks that did not take on any blooming, rosy coloring like most Western girls, for this ingenue was of Iberian and Mediterranean lineage and held an olive complexion most would find in sicily, southern Greece, or spain. Her lips so full and pouting naturally taking a dusky rose pigment, and eyes so wide with innocence despite being a slave to the playhouse, there on her picturesque face were a pair of unusual eyes that were enticingly queer due to the rare shade, a violet-blue that favored a sparkling amethyst more, eyes that were as famous as her convincing acting.
"I have heard of your paintings too, well enough. God hath
given you one face, and you make yourselves another. You jig, you
amble, and you lisp; you nickname God's creatures and make your
wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't! it hath made
me mad. I say, we will have no moe marriages. Those that are
married already- all but one- shall live; the rest shall keep as
they are. To a nunnery, go.." The tall actor had exclaimed to the violet-eyed Ophelia with sarcasm melting into well portrayed anger and betrayal of his supposed lover. His rage was convincing, it was believable which was his job but all he did was his job he didn't feel it that was clear but he played it well.
On the other hand the dark-haired Ophelia was trembling, her lavender gaze stinging with tears that spilled down her cheeks like drops of diamonds, her soft and small shoulders that were exposed in the thin, white-pale blue dress that was more of a nightgown than proper dressing had shuddered with fear and her voluminous lips painted a reddish color for the stage, frowned with loss, her body language displayed the loss of love and exposed herself as a woman who has given everything to the man she loves only to have him spit in her face and practically call her a whore and her father a pimp, the audience was silent some even shed tears for they felt pity for poor, naive Ophelia's pain, the maternal wished to console her, and then she spoke her voice soft, but her volume heavy and blustering with sound so all in the theatre could hear her woes, her Castilian accent subtle as she pronounced a more English sounding inflection to appease her spectators as she recites Ophelia;
"O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!
The courtier's, scholar's, soldier's, eye, tongue, sword,
Th' expectancy and rose of the fair state,
The glass of fashion and the mould of form,
Th' observ'd of all observers- quite, quite down!
And I, of ladies most deject and wretched,
That suck'd the honey of his music vows,
Now see that noble and most sovereign reason,
Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh;
That unmatch'd form and feature of blown youth
Blasted with ecstasy. O, woe is me
T' have seen what I have seen, see what I see! " Her sheer, white veil swept around her form, her gossamer, wispy gown with bell sleeves and exposed shoulders, her gauzy hem falling to pastel green material pretending to be silk flats, her wide, tearful eyes that were rimmed with theatre kohl to pronounce the eyes for the audience's vision, cheeks wearing rouge paint for the role of a nymphet. The Latin Ophelia shook with her sobs but her words were clear and she fell to her knees as her virginal material floated gracefully around her and soon the curtains drew closed and the scene ended and the audience was in awe but they had to wait for the end for the Norse King to claim the Danish throne to cheer and clap and weep for the Ophelia that made all of England forget all about Lizzie Barry's drowning maiden.
From the box seats the merry gang resided with their cocaine and their libation and witty remarks, pounding walking sticks stomping on the wooden floors and judgmental eyes assessing the production threaded together by the Duke's Company.
"Well I can see why she's the King's Favorite." George Etheredge rubbed his nose after taking a sniff from a compact with snowy dust, Charles sackville eyed a wandering scarlet woman before pulling her into his fleshy lap causing the woman of ill repute to put on a giggle for her customer. "I think we can all see why the spaniard is the King's Favorite!" Cackled sackville crudely as he eyed the streetwalker's cleavage.
"Yes, she is a buxom little minx isn't she?" Etheredge remembered what he saw of her from his seat and allowed a smirk to lift the right corner of his thin mouth.
The dramatist sir Etheredge had to cast a curious glance at his arrogantly appealing friend oh he just HAD to it was an absolute must to see what the infamous, the notorious Earl of Rochester was thinking about the spanish rose that has planted herself in English soil during a Protestant era.
His friend's reputation was a famous one, a man who has escaped death more than a cat's nine lives and recently recovered miraculously from a fatal illness, back in the King's favor as long as he comes up with a play by the end of the month, it wasn't fair the man ate more than he deserved.
Looking at him now he knew the sardonic Earl had the Iberian starlet on his mind but in what manner? Lust was there yes of course but that was not the main focal point...it couldn't be that he found a new Elizabeth Barry for the girl was not a horrid actress, quite the opposite she exceeds pass those who have been patrons to the stage for decades so he could not be her guide and mold her like a Pygmalion character...what was it this time Johnny?
"What thoughts do you have on the spaniard John?" sackville had asked him and in return he received a fleeing Earl that disappeared from the box, to where? Well George had an inkling...