Prologue:
(SILENCE. Deathly silence. It seems as if the apocalypse has come and gone, for nothing in this universe still stands under its own power, excepting one clock tower, which stands in the ancient night like a wise, mournful sentinel on crumbling legs that by some miracle do not disintegrate immediately into dust.
A raven that has stumbled into this Dead Zone rolls its red eyes and squawks as a means to break the consuming stillness. Its shriek echoes again and again and again in the emptiness until the great black bird grows weary of hearing its own call, and flutters inside the majestic ruins of the clock tower, where a lone sigil stands watch over an enormous collection of flickering mirrors. The bird lands on the hooded figure's shoulders, which appears not to notice.
Underneath the hood, the sanguine red eyes bore into the oval-shaped mirror in front of him. There is no smile on his face, and while his persona regularly shifts into that of a young child, his young face is weary. The safeguard of time is in desperate need of a vacation, but needless to say, he won't get one for quite some time, even in your fleeting moments on Earth when you perceive time to stand still.
He isn't surprised to see you here-does anything surprise this man?-And invites you to venture closer. After some hesitation and his gentle assurance, you approach the mirror that has captured this lonely servant's interest. You can't imagine why; all you see are flickering images full of people and places that mean nothing to you: a furry creature in monks' robes, what looks to be a masquerade ball, a tower safeguarded by thorny roses, a chapel where sunlight is streaming through the stained glass windows, effectively bathing the two standing under it in color-a handsome young man with a deathly blue face and red eyes, and what appears to be a beautiful young girl with twinkling blue eyes and jet black hair.
The image changes, and now the happy couple are gone. Instead, you are peering at a majestic-looking city that puts the beauty of Rome to shame. Elaborate spires from towers are reaching into the overflowing blue sky, as if earnestly attempting to penetrate past the lovely blue and slip into space, with the stars. There are bubbling fountains on cobblestone streets that glitter, and majestic fountains of heroes you can't name.
But what surprises you most about this fair city is that on these streets, there are little children running around, shrieking and laughing merrily….alongside children who most certainly are not children-not live ones, anyway. They have a ghostly, unworldly aura to themselves, and they are doing their running in midair, alongside the live children, who took no notice of their bizarre fellows.
You are fascinated and aghast; there are drifting specters in this lovely place, occasionally arm in arm with some human whose heart still beat in his veins!
Your attention drifts to a majestic fountain in the heart of the city, where two golden statues are looking up at the sky, arm in arm with one another. On their shoulders and heads sit fat little doves, who hastily flyaway when the scampering children come too close, soaring past an enormous clock tower whose bells are merrily chiming the hour.
The figure shrouded in a violet cloak turns to you, and asks:
"Have you ever heard of a place called Spectral Verona?"
Yes, you have, though you certainly never imagined it to be real. It is a paradise between the real world and the endless catacombs of the dead one, a place that a parent might have told you about before tucking you in and kissing you goodnight. Allegedly, it was founded by a few humans who broke away from their rigid and fanatical societies, longing to live in peace alongside with the souls of the dead, the targets of their fascination. Once some well-meaning spirits had heard of this new colony being built in regions that had natural portals opening to their ethereal homes, many actual came to the colonists and petitioned to live alongside them. Both human and ghostly hands built the marvelous beauty of what they called Spectral Verona, and made it their home.
Ghosts and humans alike safeguarded the city at all times to protect it from trouble-making spirits and humans with malicious intent.
But, Clockwork will say gently, for a period of time, the harmony shattered because of two people who came to dwell in Spectral Verona for their own perverted interests. They were envious of the wealth and prosperity these foolish races decided to create together, and longed to drive out the other's race from Spectral Verona forever. One was a spirit, the other a man.
For years, their poisonous vendettas would sink into their respective family lines alike, traveling from one family head to the next. They caused chaos and confusion amongst the inhabitants of Spectral Verona, and many humans grew resentful of the ghosts, while many ghosts grew resentful of the humans. The only one keeping them from blowing Spectral Verona apart in a civil war was the Prince, who had been elected at the foundation of Spectral Verona. He and his men sought to maintain peace in the city by whatever means necessary. He could not simply throw out the families who had caused the simmering prejudice in Spectral Verona without facing severe retribution and possibly annihilation from their kinsmen, so he forced the families to sign a peace contract some years after their family founders-Jacques and Dan-had started the quarrel.
But it changed, you note hopefully. Things got better again. Clockwork nods thoughtfully.
Yes, he says. But remember, little one, there is no grievous affliction that cannot become worse in order for it to become better. Only by the first spectral-human marriage and a blood sacrifice was the feud then dissolved, and Spectral Verona bathed in light once again.
Clockwork raises an eyebrow, and transforms from adult into an old man. Leaning upon his staff, his red eyes bore down at you, and he asks:
"Would you like to hear a story?"
You would. You sit upon the floor, and try to make yourself as comfortable as you can. The raven glides down from Clockwork's shoulders to the ground, and hops onto your knee. Sure that he has your attention, the spirit begins to speak:
"Two households, both similar in dignity,
In Spectral Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where humans and spirits seek to cast out the other unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life;
Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows
Do with their death bury their parents' strife.
Their tender passion, so few would bless,
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Led two darlings to untimely distress-
Two walking shadows on an empty stage.
The which if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, their tragedy shall strive to mend."
With a bow, Clockwork steps away from the enchanted oval mirror, and you peer intently into its flickering depths, now able to make out what appears to be two people circling each other in a marketplace, swords glinting at the ready.
~*(0)*~
Act I, Scene I: Many Years Ago
A public place. One of the city's newest patrons has come to the marketplace to attract followers to his cause. He is a bigot who hands out pamphlets concerning how ectoplasmic beings are sins against God, and how the humans in Spectral Verona are committing an abomination. However, a ghost appears among their midst, and his red eyes are laughing. His fiery white hair is flickering against the gloomy clouds of the sky. It is about to storm soon. Speech interrupted, Jacques glowers at the other lord, who sneers in turn.
Jacques Capulet: Why have I stopped my noble speech? A dog of the house of Montague moves me.
Pariah Montague: And I am stopped in my business by one who is less than a dog; disgusting beast. I will show myself a tyrant: when I have destroyed your men, I will be cruel with your maids, and cut off their heads.
Jacques: Their heads? Ah! But you are a usurper, like that of King John
Who has ghosts lurking in the dark avenues of the night
To do dirty and unwholesome acts! The devil with you spirits!
You who remain on Earth rather than return to your Great Master In Heaven or in Hell
Are abominations spit out of hell!
(Dan gives Jacques a hideous look, and he draws a sword from his sheath. People immediately scatter as Jacques hops down from his box, and threateningly fingers his own sword.)
Pariah: My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will cut your tongue out.
Jacques: And I will have your throat for my wall! You steal away the good things of the world
And hoard them for no sake but for your amusement!
I will give thou amusement if you call me less than a dog,
By cutting you to pieces.
Pariah: And your filthy race is the scum of the Earth
Like a trillion starving termites
That eat away at all that is good
I call you an abomination, AND less than a dog.
Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.
(Jacques mockingly bites his thumb at Dan; Dan's fiery hair appears to be an inferno burning away at his scalp soon enough.)
Pariah: Do you bite your thumb at me, sir?
Jacques: I do bite my thumb, sir.
Pariah: Then upon my word, I will dispatch your thumb
And place it directly over your despoiled grave!
(People run away screaming as Pariah attacks Jacques with blistering energy bolts; Jacques dives behind his crate and pulls out an enormous gun, aiming directly at Montague. he fires.)
*~Act I, Scene II~*
(Two men are fiercely slashing at each other in the streets with rapiers. One is a tall, muscular blond man, his violet eyes alight with hatred as he duels with a dark-haired specter who is glowering back at him, pointed teeth set in a grimace. The two struggle as they seek to earn an advantage over each other, but they are evenly matched.)
Dash Tybalt: 'The pen is mightier than the sword…' Bah!
Rotten Montague, look well upon your death.
(Dash lunges forward; Mercutio sidesteps and tries to stab Dash in the eye, but the man dodges, only to take a swipe at Mercutio's exposed midriff. Mercutio sidesteps once again, and the two swords immediately clash against each other once again, the two duelists pushing with every bit of their muscle against one another. They are seething, sweating, their hateful eyes wishing death upon their enemy.)
Ghostwriter Mercutio: Mark my words, little rogue.
Your murderer in my newest story shall be a little girl, and your grave will be a pigpen!
(Delighted and horrified spectators have circled them, but now a trumpet is blasting, and people are making way as an enormous furry figure dashes towards the two fighters, dagger in hand. He manages to shove the two apart, although they are fighting like trapped cats in his hands to tear the other apart.)
Friar Frostbite: I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword,
Or manage it to part these men with me.
Dash: What, swords drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word,
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and you filthy ghosts!
(He jabs at Frostbite's ribcage with his sword's iron hilt; Frostbite staggers and drops them both, wincing in pain. Ghostwriter and Dash seize their swords.)
Dash: Have at thee, coward!
Ghostwriter: To your death, fool!
(They fight. Enter, several of both houses, who join the fray; then enter citizens of Spectral Verona, some of whom immediately take sides. Enter Jack Capulet and Madeline Capulet on the violent scene.)
Jack: What is this! What is this! Oh, give me my thermos-these horrid ghosts are hurting these good people!
Madeline: Aye, me! Why call you for a sword? This is supposed to be a neutral zone! The Prince himself will arrest them all!
Jack: My sword, I say! Old Montague is come,
And flourishes his blade in spite of me!
Madeline, give me my ecto-sword!
(Enter Dan Montague and Lady Ember Montague. Dan seethes at the sight of Jack, and tries to take a step forward; his wife seizes him and holds him fast)
Dan: Thou villain Capulet! Hold me not wife, let me go.
Ember: Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe!
(Enter Prince Aragon, with his servant the Fright Knight at his side. The fighting ceases abruptly.)
Prince: Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this hallowed kingdom of kindness
Will you not hear? What, ho! You men, you beasts,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your temper weapons to the ground immediately!
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturbed the quiet of our streets,
And made Spectral Verona's citizens fear for their lives
And act upon old grudges that threaten to annihilate our home!
Heed my words: Forget your grudge.
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time, all the rest depart away:
You Capulet; shall go along with me:
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To re-evaluate your agreed contract of peace.
You will leave all at once, on pain of death.
(Exeunt all but Dan, Ember, and Ghostwriter.)
Dan: Who set this quarrel alive again? I might thank them for it
If the Prince had not so rudely interrupted us.
Mercutio, are you injured? How did this come to pass?
Ghostwriter: I am uninjured, save for my pride.
Here were the servants of your adversary,
And yours, close fighting ere Frostbite did approach:
He drew to part us: he did not succeed
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared,
Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head and cut the winds,
My scorn overcame me, and I sought to silence his hissing.
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
Came more and more and fought on part and part,
Till the prince came, who parted both Houses.
Ember: O, where is my son Vlad? saw you him to-day?
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.
(Ghostwriter looks weary.)
Ghostwriter: Madam, an hour before the worshipped sun
Peered forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drove me to walk abroad;
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore trees
That grow so plentiful at the west outskirts of the city,
So early walking did I see your son there.
Towards him I made, but he was wary of me
And stole into the covert of the wood:
I, measuring his affections by my own,
That most are busied when they're most alone,
Left him be.
Dan: Many a morning hath he there been seen,
With tears accompanying the fresh morning dew.
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the furthest east begin to draw
Down to sleep for the night, away from the light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber locks himself,
Shuts up his windows, shuts far daylight out
And makes himself an artificial night:
Black and portentous must this humor prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
Ghostwriter: My noble master, do you know the cause?
Dan: I neither know it nor can learn of him. Dear Mercutio, have you importuned him by any means? Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow.
We would as willingly give cure as know.
(Enter Vlad.)
Ghostwriter: See, where he comes: so please you, step aside;
I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.
Dan: I would thou wert so happy by thy stay,
To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away.
(Exeunt Dan and Ember. Ghostwriter buries his face in his hands.)
Ghostwriter: Good-morrow, foolish friend.
Vlad: Is the day so young?
Ghostwriter: But it has just struck nine.
Vlad: Ay me! Sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
Ghostwriter: It was. I would ask of you what sadness lengthens Romeo's hours, although I fear
That the selfsame melancholy that has pursued you for weeks tis still here.
Vlad: My sadness is ot having that, which, having, makes the hours short.
Ghostwriter: You are still smitten with Lady Capulet? Good God, it is well
That your father and mother got hence, else
Your father would have you committed to a madhouse
And to the ground your mother would have dropped in a swoon. Are you still in love?
Vlad: Out.
Ghostwriter: Of love?
Vlad: Out of her favor, where I am in love.
Ghostwriter: But of course; she is a Capulet now.
Your letters to her must seem like cries from a sickly young boy
Come, Vlad, cease to look so gloomy.
Lord Capulet hath taken the maiden for his bride years ago.
It cannot be undone, pardoning death
Which were you to condone, your death would be certain.
Alas, that your love, so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!
Vlad: Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,
Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!
Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love.
Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
O anything, of nothing first create!
O heavy lightness! Serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire,
sick health!
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?
Ghostwriter: No, I would rather weep.
Vlad: Good heart, at what?
Ghostwriter: At thy good heart's oppression. And your stupidity.
Vlad: Why, such is love's transgression.
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast.
Madeline cannot be mine, will not, and so my heart must break-
For passion, for love, for blooming hour-mine life will take
No joy in its affliction.
Ghostwriter: We will heal this affliction yet. This I promise.
(End Act I, Scene II.)
~*Act I, Scene III:~*
(Enter Jack Capulet, Valerie of Paris, and a servant. Jack has just come from the Prince, looking unhappy, but resigned. He has now come to meet an important appointment Valerie has set up.)
Jack: Montague is bound as well as I,
In penalty alike; it should not hard, I think,
For men so old as we to keep the peace for awhile.
Though make no mistake; if he or one of his ill-fated ilk
Is to come to my compound, they are mine.
(Looking sympathetic)
Valerie: Of noble reckoning are you both for your family's honor;
Though it is clear to me that ghosts have no honor.
And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long
When the ghosts of that evil house should have rotted away
From their own black hearts years ago. (Looks seductive)
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?
Jack: (Looking pleased)
I shall say what I have said before:
My child will seek you out-never you fret.
He recognizes the importance of gallantry
And chivalry. He will demand you for a bride
Let two more summers wither in their pride,
And in his studies of manliness, will be finished
And ready to make you his bride.
Valerie: And if I wish him to be my bride?
Jack: What?
Valerie: I meant nothing by it, uncle. Forget I said anything.
But younger than he are happy moth-ah, fathers made.
Jack: (Looking slightly troubled)
And too soon distorted are those so early made.
The earth hath swallowed my hopes to see Spectral Verona
Rid of ghosts in my lifetime. However he
Has promise to make my dreams a reality when I am but dust.
I should like him to not be distracted with his training
Which he is oft to be, for some strange reason.
While you and he are young to be wed
He ought to have pursued you by now
You very clearly have favor with my young boy
Who has been your companion since you were but children
Eating honeyed almonds together underneath tables at parties.
However, I long to see grandchildren before I die-
At the ripe old age of forty-six.
I am sure he will agree, within his scope of choice
After that, there lies my consent and fair according voice.
This night I hold a merry feast
Wherefore I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love; and you, among the store, dear niece,
One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
At my poor house look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light:
Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
When ladylike angels such as you are in heel
Of splendid treads, such delight
Will you be among fresh female buds this night.
Come to my home, and I know Danny tonight shall see
The one he will wish to take up as his lady.
Come, go with me,
So that arrangements we might
Finish before the party, which begins at twilight.
(Jack hands the servant behind him a paper.)
Jack: Go, young Folley, trudge about
Through fair Verona; find those persons out
Whose names are written there, and to them say,
My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.
(Jack and Valerie leave, still talking. Tucker Folley swears softly to himself.)
Servant: Find them out whose names are written here! It is
written, yes, but I have not learned to read.
(Enter Vlad and Ghostwriter, who are talking as Tucker turns the paper around desperately)
Ghostwriter: For God's sake Vlad, one fire burns out another's burning,
One pain is lessened by the blossoming of something wonderful.
Turn giddy, and find a new face, a new infection to thy eye,
And the rank poison of the old face will surely die.
Vlad: You speak of poisonous herbs and remedies; I know of a herb that to you
May soon prove some assistance.
Ghostwriter: For what, I pray thee?
Vlad: For your shin, which I will shatter soon.
Ghostwriter: Vlad, art thou mad?
Vlad: Not mad, but bound more than a mad-man is;
Shut up in prison, kept without my food,
Sweet Lady's dear love. I am whipped and tormented and-(Notices servant) good evening, good fellow.
Servant: (Looking relieved)
God give you good evening, gov'nuh. I pray, sir, can you read?
Vlad: Yes, my fortune enshrouded in misery.
Ghostwriter: Forgive him,
Even the most noblest of friends
Turns to idiocy when in idiotic love.
Servant: Perhaps you have learned it without book: but, I
pray, can you read anything you see?
Vlad: Ay, if I know the letters and the language. I can speak Latin, English, Spanish, German, Fre-
Servant: You must be joking-rest you merry!
Vlad: Stay, fellow; I can read your letter.
(Takes paper, reads)
'Signior Manson and his wife and daughter;
County Lancer and his beauteous sisters; the lady
widow Paulina; Signior Baxter and his lovely
nieces; Kwan and his brother Valentine; mine
uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair niece
Star, Signior Valentio and his cousin
Dash Tybalt, Lucio and the lively Helena.' A fair
assembly! Where are they coming?
Servant: Up.
Vlad: Hilarious. But where?
Servant: To supper; to our house.
Vlad: Whose house?
Servant: My master's.
Vlad: Indeed, I should have asked you who he was before.
Servant: Now I'll tell you without asking: my master is the
great rich Capulet; and if you be not of the house
of Montagues, I pray, come and crush a cup of wine.
Rest you merry!
Exit
Ghostwriter: At this same ancient feast of Capulet's
Sups the fair Lady Madeline whom thou so lovest,
With all the admired beauties of Verona….
Ah! I know, go thither; and, with untainted eye,
Compare Madeline's face with some that I shall show,
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.
Vlad: You take leave of your senses. A Capulet's house?
Besides, the all-seeing sun
Never saw Madeline's match since first the world begun.
(Ghostwriter huffs, and rolls his eyes.)
Ghostwriter: Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by,
Herself poised with herself in either eye:
But in the crystal scales of your eyes, let there be another weighed
On the opposite side.
Your lady's love against some other maid
That I will show you shining at this feast,
And she shall scant show well that now shows best.
Vlad: I will find no one as beautiful as my fair Madeline.
I'll go along, no such sight to be shown,
But to rejoice in splendor of the love that is my own.
We will tell father nothing of this, and we will appear at this party in humble guise
To mask our personas and that of our lies.
End Act I, Scene III.
~(*)~ Act I, Scene IV ~(*)~
We look into a fair tower covered in red roses. A young nurse with long red hair is standing in front of a large mirror, helping a young man into a fair gown that suits compliments his thin frame. He is wearing lacquered gloves and a butterfly pin that Jasmine brought in wrapped in a handkerchief deep in her pocket. The breeze from the nearby window makes the dress billow and sway serenely, like cherry blossom.
Nurse Jasmine: Danny! Do you need help with the stays?
Danny: Women's clothes are so complicated, I wonder how in the world they can-(Grunts in pain as Jasmine pulls on his red ribbon stays particularly tight) bear it!
Nurse Jasmine: (Pulls back, looks concerned) Shall I loosen the stays?
Danny: No, no, pull them tighter. (Wincing again) Aaah, but I am glad I am not wearing the whale-bone corset to-day. Why on Earth are all the young women wearing them?
Jasmine: Fashion.
Danny: Masochism, I call it! (Turns around to look in the large mirror in front of him, scowl softens) But I am glad of you for bringing the new heeled shoes. They do not pinch, and they do not fall off my feet the way the boots that father brought for me do. I am taller, which you say does wonders for your figure.
Jasmine (Again looking concerned): You are perhaps too thin-your father has ordered me to serve you a plate of roast beef and a goblet of wine for your health. Your humors may be out of balance.
Danny: Rubbish. I won't have them. Mother's maidservant Samantha says that they butcher the little calves for that meat, anyhow.
Jasmine: But how will you with a faded cheek earn favor with the young men in the city?
Danny: I don't seek to earn favor with the young men.
Jasmine: Then why venture out in disguise to begin with?
Danny: (Twirling around in his ball gown; the stones at the chest catch the sunlight and send sparkles around the room. His happy expression turns to sadness) Because in the city, I might be anyone or anything in my lendings. While there are no rosy gardens I might venture into, I am still a bird who can take pleasure in anything I might choose. I might read poetry in the bookstores without being gazed upon, or buy bulbs for my garden without hearing snickering that father will reprimand me for later. And instead of people dragging me into bars and slamming a mug full of ale and a plate of veal at me, people smile at me in the streets, and I am able to have conversations with the young ladies about little rabbits that-
(Lady Madeline Capulet's voice echoes from a distance)
Madeline: Danny! Nurse! I must speak to both of you!
Jasmine: Oh, fie! Danny! Off ye lendings!
(Danny sprints off to the nearby closet, tugging desperately at his clothes before he slams the door shut. Lady Madeline enters the room in a lavender gown, looking breathless and excited.)
Madeline: Why, where has that boy gone off to now, nurse?
(A muffled response comes from inside the closet)
Danny: I am here mother, but I am not decent. Perhaps this might wait for another hour?
Madeline: Dress quickly, and be out of that closet. This cannot wait.
(After a few minutes, Danny stumbles out, looking flushed. He is now in men's clothing, but he has forgotten to take off the butterfly brooch fastened in his hair. Madeline gives it a bewildered stare, and Jasmine turns cold.)
Madeline: What in the world is that?
(Danny hastily pulls the item away)
Danny: A token which I earned from a young lady before a fencing tournament. Madam, I am here.
What is your will?
Madeline: This is the matter:-Nurse, give leave awhile,
We must talk in secret….oh, nurse, come back again!
I have remembered myself; I pray you will hear our counsel.
You know my son is of a handsome age.
Jasmine: Yes, he is very fair.
Danny: Stint thou, I pray thee, nurse, I say.
Jasmine: Peace, I will give you. God mark thee to his grace!
Danny was the prettie-ah, the most handsome child I have ever nursed.
If I might live to see him wed happily,
I have my wish.
Madeline: Marry, that 'marry' is the very theme
I came to talk of. Tell me, son Danny,
How stands your disposition to be married?
(Danny looks anxious)
Danny: It is an honor that I dream not of, mother.
Madeline: Well, think of marriage now; younger than you,
Here in Verona, men of esteem,
Are made already fathers: by my count,
I was your mother much upon these years
That you are now. I will be brief:
The lovely Valerie seeks you for her love.
Jasmine: Valerie, your childhood friend! She would make a lovely wife for you, good sir.
Madeline: Verona's summer hath not such a flower like her. She is a Parisian bloom
Whose blood boils against wicked spirits
Who seek to cause mischief. She and you will create a legacy
Of little ghost-hunters, fair and true.
She is the perfect match for you.
Jasmine: Danny is too a flower; in faith, a very flower.
Madeline: Well, what say you? Can you love the dear girl
Who is your cousin and gallant swordswoman?
This night you shall behold her at our feast;
Read o'er the volume of young Valerie's face,
And find delight writ there with beauty's pen;
Examine every lineament of her resolve and fire
And see how one another lends content
And what obscured in this fair volume lies
Find written in the margent of her eyes.
This precious book of love, this unbound lover,
To beautify her, only lacks a cover:
The fish lives in the sea, and 'tis much pride
For fair without the fair within to hide:
That book in many's eyes doth share the glory,
That in gold clasps locks in the golden story;
So shall you share all the titles that she doth possess,
By having her, you are making yourself no less.
Jasmine: A wise, wise choice!
Madeline: Speak quickly, can you like of Valerie's love?
(Danny clasps his hands very tightly and an anxious smile appears on his face. While many girls have sought to woo him before, he remembers he has never been physically attracted to any of them. Valerie is his long time friend-she was the bold one in their childhood scheming, and he was the meek one who tentatively went along with everything she said, because he admired the viciousness in her. He looked up to the girl who had defended him from his cousin Dash's needling, and adored her.)
Danny: I will look upon her tonight
And see if love will inspire me to look deeper upon her
And kindle in me more love. However, that is all.
Enter a Servant
Servant: Madam, the guests are come, the pantry is full, supper is ready, and everything that you
Have asked for has been arranged.
Madeline: We follow thee shortly. Danny, dress well in your finest clothes, and take this masquerade ball mask. May you find your fancy
From within a pair of hidden eyes.
(Exit Madeline and servant; Danny and Jasmine look at each other)
Danny: Oh, why did you agree with her, dear Jasmine? She listens to you. She will want me to announce my engagement
To Valerie before the end of tonight!
Jasmine: Do you not love her?
Danny: You know I do, as a faithful friend and companion
Which I believed you to be till this moment.
Jasmine: Thou hast little faith in your good nurse. You must eventually marry
Else you bring yourself and your House much grief.
It is far better to have a wife who knows what you are
And can accept it; if you were indeed a lady, she would be all the fonder of you.
Ever since her appalling injury
At the hands of that ghost in Paris, she has looked for someone to make the blood run hot in her veins
As she trains. She desires a face
To love and protect; I daresay she sees yours.
Dress in your finest clothing, and if the ball becomes too much, slip away behind a pillar
Where I will be waiting with your new snow-white ball gown
That will make you appear to be a swan.
You will be but a lovely stranger
Who has come to rest by the water before taking off.
No one will know it is you; I shall see to that.
But remember what I have said about Valerie;
You would not have a good spouse such as her.
Go, boy, seek happy nights to happy days.
End Act I, Scene IV
~(*)~ Act I, Scene V ~(*)~
(Vlad and Ghostwriter are standing outside Capulet's home, looking up. Many handsome carriages are passing at the gates, and finely-dressed people in masks are stepping out, laughing and talking. Ghostwriter is wearing a violet vest over a dark blouse, black leggings, long black boots, with a green cloak fastened at the front with a purple stone. Vlad's garb is entirely black, with the exception of the inside of his cloak, which is red. Instead of wearing the Montague crest, however, Vlad chose to wear an onyx pendant. Neither of them have dared to wear the blue colors that are synonymous with the house of Montague.)
Vlad: I fear this will end badly, if my own broken heart
Is not the death of me first. I shall wear a mask to cover my face,
And you shall hide yours, but what will happen if we are caught?
Ghostwriter: Peace, young Montague, we shall take flight if we are noticed
And be away before the Capulet House might drag out their weapons.
If Lady Capulet chooses to fire, we might fear
But that is unseemly for a woman, so her husband might fire instead
In which case, I might fear for everyone but
Whom he is directly aiming at.
Vlad: I hope he is to set me in his sights; I might kill him.
(Ghostwriter sighs, and drapes an arm around the mutinous Vlad's shoulders)
Ghostwriter: Now, now, we will visit but briefly
So that I might prove you wrong; we lusty gentleman shall approach the ball
And I will show to you beauties that will leave the good lady languishing.
You will no longer sigh Madeline's name-
The name shall soon become foreign to you; your passions
Will be directed for another entirely
While Cupid's arrow lies quivering in your heart.
Before the night is over, I will drag you away from this ball
And you be babbling like a madman over
Your newest affliction.
Vlad: If it could only be so.
Ghostwriter: It will. Ye are of little faith.
Vlad: I fear for my mind; it misgives
Some consequence yet hanging in the stars
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night's revels and expire the term
Of a despised life closed in my breast
By some vile forfeit of untimely death.
But He, that hath the steerage of my course,
Direct my sail! Onward, dear friend Mercutio. Be sure to remember your mask.
(Vlad puts on his black mask, and Ghostwriter puts on his. They follow the stream of guests up the stairs to the Capulet household.)