#The Star... whose servants TEAR THEIR OWN HEADS OFF IN FEAR OF HER

[some-teeth-in-a-trench-coat]

Can't sleep brain too full of death

[sooibian]

Wherever You Are

Pairing: Kai x You as Lys ft. Baekhyun, Minseok, Yixing

Description:  When you least expect it, love, quite literally, sweeps you off your feet

Themes: Romani AU, magical realism, romance, angst, drama ™ (i grew up on a healthy dose of Bollywood and it! shows!), secret relationship, heavily influenced by Mmmh Kai

Warnings: Blood, weapons, violence

Word Count: +9.5k (i’m sorry i haven’t had the time to proof-read this at all)

Tagging: @changshapatrol​ @rosetvler​ @bbyunz​ @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt​ @royal-aeris @bbhmystar​ @his-mochi-cheeks​ @littleflowercrown13​ 

Part of the Steampunk Romani AU collab with @leewalberg​ @vampwrrr​ @xui-n-soowillbethedeathofme​

Pre-reading notes:

1. This is a spin-off for Lys from Star-Crossed but it can be read as a standalone oneshot. I’ve tried my best to translate the events of that fic into Lys’ POV but feel free to shoot me a message if something still confuses you.

2. Lys is a mind-reader, Baekhyun has the ability to influence physical objects with his mind, Yixing is a dragon and he’s the leader of the clan (Bulibasha), and Kai - as we all know - can teleport!!

3. Glossary: bulibasha - clan leader, dado - father, dya - mother, gadjo - someone of non-romani descent / origin, dragă - darling, iubirea mea - my love, lautari - a group of romani musicians, zakono - a key institution for enforcing the Romani Code.

“Dado, can I go along with Minseok?”

“Where to, dragă?”

“To the horse fair....the one in the village?”

“That’s no place for a pretty princess such as yourself -”

“But..but.. dado!”

“The camp has everything you’ll ever need, dragă.”

You woke up to the same old chirping of crickets, the same old crimson, black, and gold panels draping your tent, the same old wine stained goblet on your nightstand, the same old aroma of steamed xaimoko and hearty cornbread, and... the same old stinging in your heart. 

Lips stretched into a habitual wide grin, you greeted the lass who brought you dinner with a drawn out “Morning”.

“It’s seven in the evening, Lys. You know how your father feels about you sleeping during sunset!” Vera exclaimed and gathered her skirts to sit on the edge of your bed, her gentle fingers combing through to untangle knots in her mistress’ long, dark hair.

Having mastered the art of repressing the emotions that threatened to colour your expression at the mere mention of your father, feigning excitement, you took her hand in yours and coyly quizzed her on the topic she was dying to discuss, “Tell me more about the whitesmith boy, Vera? Did he prove to be,” you cleared your throat and said in a hushed whisper, “worth his mettle?” and drew the question out with a roaring laughter.

“Hush, Lys!” Said Vera bashfully, biting on her lower lip to suppress the smile that was beginning to form on her mellow, innocent face. The whitesmith boy, better known as Kris, was the clan’s most eligible bachelor until yesterday. 

Young girls, in pairs or trios, would hide behind the shrubbery by the river to catch a glimpse of him shirtless, bring him bent out of shape wares to fix and polish - even the ones whose weights their delicate hands couldn’t bear - and watch him at his job for hours at an end as sweat would drip down his neck, making his light, cotton shirt cling onto his well defined back. 

As any young man his age would, Kris surely enjoyed the attention but he didn’t thrive on it. His heart belonged solely to his beloved. He settled for the most simple woman, some would say for the want of a better word, but you were convinced that none of them had experienced the sweetness that was love. 

You had - but only vicariously. Love, trust, anticipation, joy - all vicariously. The only emotions you truly understood, first-hand, were longing, anger, and sadness. 

“Lys?” A finger poking into your side broke you out of your reverie.

“Hmm?”

“I said, yes.”

“What for?” You asked, an innocent eyebrow raised in question.

She only giggled in response and darted out of your tent. Grinning wide, you turned to your meal and just then the aggressive tramp of horses’ hooves and sharp, piercing cries of pain and fear from men, women, and children reached your ears. Before you could make sense of the situation, your shell-shocked eyes followed Vera’s body as it fell inside your tent with a dull thud, an arrow pierced through her chest. 

Your dinner tray toppled over as you ran to her aid and struggled with the bitter truth that you could do nothing to breathe life into the one person out of the very few that truly cared for you. With your hand on her teared stained cheek, you listened to her conscience ferociously chant, dya...dya...take care of dya!

“I will, Vera. I promise to take care of your mother.” 

Only when she was reassured did Vera allow life to drain out of her eyes while tears started to line yours and grief clawed at your throat. You began to drag her limp body towards the bed and it wasn’t long before a familiar face barged into your tent. Throwing his crossbow to the side, your brother helped you hoist Vera’s body up onto your bed. 

“What’s going on -”

“We’ve been attacked by a group of dacoits. Stay inside. Whatever happens, do not leave your tent! You understand me?” Minseok commanded, his dark eyes piercing yours while blood trickled down the side of his face.

“You’re hurt -”

He shook his head and repeated, panic betraying his voice, “Just... stay safe, Lys. Will you?”

Breaking down into sobs you nodded frantically as the ugly realisation of loss washed over you. Minseok pulled you into a tight embrace, praying fervently, “It could’ve been you. It could’ve been you instead of - of Vera! Thank God! Thank God, it wasn’t you!” 

His every word felt like a punch in the gut.

He then marched out with his crossbow in hand, vengeance in his eyes and your heart clenched with fear for your brother’s life. Hiding behind the entrance panels, you watched the scene outside.

The settlement was barren except for the dacoits and a handful of men from the clan out on the field; the rest had scurried into the safe confines of their caravans and tents. Men on horseback, dressed in black robes, had their faces covered in black scarves. They spoke a different tongue but you understood that they sought revenge. A life for a life, they repeated over and over in broken Romani. They menacingly circled Baekhyun with arrows and daggers pointed to his heart. Baekhyun’s stance was alert with his jamdhar in his hand as a majestic black and gold dragon hovered over them, a tattered body dangling from his spine chilling, bloody mouth.

It happened within a matter of seconds - the dacoits lay slain - some with arrows pierced through their chests, some eviscerated into smithereens and the rest crumbled to black dust - the doing of Minseok, Baekhyun, and Yixing respectively.

With one flap of his massive wings, Yixing descended, gracefully landing on his human feet as a man-servant trotted to his aid with a black robe to cover his modesty yet, very little was left to imagination.

“They really thought -”

Before Yixing could complete his sentence, an unconscious Baekhyun collapsed - right in the centre of the bloody chaos. That jamdhar is going to be his undoing, you said to yourself. A girl with dark unruly hair rushed to his side - your fiancé’s side - the sight turning your limbs to ice.

Your heart sank to your stomach but the edges of your mouth curled up in a smile as you met her eyes from a distance with sheer contempt in your own.

A man you didn't recognise, supported by two others on either side, was being ushered into Yixing's private chamber.

You felt a hand against the small of your back. Minseok whispered into your ear, "Dado wants to see you."

***

In the centre of the room slouched a man on a wooden chair, his hands roped together at the back, face bruised and bloodied - evidently the doing of your own brother.

“What’s all this?” You asked the three men surrounding him.

“The bandits left their dog behind,” spat Yixing.

“So? What am I supposed to do?” You directed the question to your father.

“We need to know who he is, where he’s from, and...why we were attacked.” Replied your father, eyes forcefully trained on the unconscious man on the chair.

“You should’ve probably left him with some life in his body to answer your questions.” You said to Minseok indignantly.

“Lys!” Your father was prepared to reprimand you at your insolence in front of Bulibasha.

“Dado - ”

“Lys, just hold his hand and tell us what he’s thinking.” Minseok tried to lighten the tense atmosphere with his calm voice.

“I have better things to do than hold a gadjo’s hand and listen to the filth of his mind. I’ll leave you big and strong men to it.” You sauntered over to your father, the corner of your mouth raised in a smirk. Dusting the lint off of his magnificent black and red woollen cloak that was embroidered along the edges with the finest gold thread, you sang, “I’m nothing more than just a pretty princess, anway.”

“Lys, please!” Cried Minseok.

“What would you have me do, Minseok? Stay here with you all while my fiancé is canoodling with the Bladerunner by the pond?” You retorted.

Yixing shot you a puzzled glance while Minseok and your father averted their eyes.

"It’s known to be their usual hideout.” You half-shrugged at Yixing, your casual tone not doing much to ease the frown lines on his handsome face.

While you were busy squabbling with your family, the man on the chair lifted his head up, rope evidently cut loose with a push dagger, and immediately all four pairs of eyes turned to him. Underneath the caked blood and grime on his face, he flaunted golden skin, luscious lips, and sharp, distinct features. His eyes met yours and crinkled into crescents as his lips curved into a disrespectful smirk.

He gave you a casual two-finger salute goodbye and….vanished.

Breaking into an uncontrollable fit of laughter at the three men caught unawares, you turned on your heels and merrily skipped out of Yixing’s private chamber.

.

.

.

The next morning found you by the river, still trying to wrap your head around the events of yesterday. ‘Thank God it wasn’t you!’ Your brother’s gentle voice rang ominously in your ears. ‘But what if it was?’ you reasoned with yourself, ‘Would it have meant being finally free or trapped in a permanent state of oblivion?’ In tune with your mind, your feet wandered, taking you deeper into the viridian forest.

You stumbled upon something stock-still and landed on your back causing that something to stir and wince in pain as it slowly regained consciousness. You crawled as far away from it as you could only to recognize him by the pleated black cummerband around his waist. The gadjo struggled to hold himself up and flattened to the ground again.

His agony brought you some solace as Vera’s ashen face flashed before your eyes. Laughing, you exclaimed, "So this is how far you managed to get! A stone's throw from Bulibasha's tent."

The man winced again but a smile began to form on his lips. "Wa-water," he breathed but you leisurely rested your back against the trunk of a nearby tree and denied his request with a little shake of your head, “A life for a life, gadjo. Repay your debt. Your people killed my friend.”

“Not- not my doing,” he said throatily and began dragging himself towards the river. He was sculpted like the dancers of a lăutari - long and lean, elegantly broader along the shoulders and chest and enviably slim around the waist. 

You offered him no help. Instead, waited with a bated breath for his soul to escape him. But his snail’s pace had started to exasperate you. So you begrudgingly volunteered to bring him water as his dying wish.

“Here you go, gadjo. Seeing the way my brother beat you up, a sip or two of water won’t be of much help, anyway.” You sneered, holding the edge of the cupped leaf to his bruised lips.

As he drank, colour slowly returned to his ghost-white, bloodied face. “Kai,” he said in a voice that was husky and deep.

“What?”

“It’s my name. You’d do well to remember it.” His face lit up with a smile and his eyes found your thick golden anklet bejeweled with iridescent beads. He flicked the bead trinkets with his finger and squeezed his eyes shut as if in admiration of a great symphony.

Before you could even make sense of the situation...of him...he vanished again.

.

.

.

Kai, you mouthed, curled up in bed at midnight.

“Kai,” you said the gadjo’s name out loud, the tips of your fingers tracing the movement of your lips and despite yourself, blood began to warm your face. It had been a week since you met him in the forest but the man had capsized your mind. You inwardly admonished yourself for not killing him when you had the chance - it was the least you could’ve done for Vera - but you couldn’t bring yourself to hurt him.

You saw truth in his innocent yet compelling eyes.

A whirlpool of emotions rose in your chest as you tossed and turned in bed causing a bead of your anklet to tangle with a loose silk thread from your quilt. Groaning, you sat up to undo it, and heard a sudden, loud crack.

Kai had unexpectedly appeared, standing at the foot of your bed. Arms crossed over his chest and head tilted to the side, he smiled down at you.

Returning his smile, you said, “If I scream, there’ll be at least ten men here, in no time, with sharp objects pointed at your throat.”

Gaze intertwined with yours, Kai knelt before you as his deft fingers found the troublesome bead. Smirking, he slowly pushed the quilt out of the way, and you instinctively pulled your skirts down below your knees. His mouth found the loose thread and he bit on it to free you from the restraint as his warm breath fanned your ankle and his soft lips brushed ever so slightly against your skin. As delicate as the touch was, it felt like being imprinted with a blazing hot cast-iron.

“If you truly wanted me dead, you wouldn’t have saved my life. And I’m here to thank you for that,” he smiled, and took the bold step of sitting next to you, on your bed. He then clicked his tongue, fingers ghosting along the curve of your ankle, and piped cockily, “Besides, you know I’d vanish before your sluggish men even manage to get here.”

“You think you’re very brave, gadjo?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just a fool for walking into the lioness’ den.”

His expression suddenly turned solemn. Studying your face intently, he whispered, “I’m sorry about your friend. I didn’t -”

“You didn’t what?” Your heart thumped wildly in your chest in a rather desperate anticipation of his innocence. So you immediately placed your clammy hand upon his trembling, cold one.

His voice grew thick with anguish as he explained, “I didn’t know those men were going to storm your clan. I’d only met them that morning. They said they were traveling south and I - I really had nowhere to go so I joined them without giving it much thought. I was desperate for company.”

His words were very much in line with his thoughts and memories. Images of the dacoits just as you’d seen them that evening, their boisterous banter, their journey towards the settlement, the food and wine and spoils they shared along the way, all flashed before your eyes.

You knew a liar when you saw one - their features were drawn out a bit differently, you’d believed. Baekhyun was a liar. He’d lied when you had asked him if he loved you. But Kai on the other hand…

“At the time you didn’t realize that they were plunderers?” You asked delicately.

“All I understood was that they weren’t men of strong character. But I didn’t care for their morality. I knew I could protect myself if worse came to worst.”

“Why didn’t you simply run...vanish when they besieged my clan?” As hard as you tried, you failed to keep the edge off of your voice.

The pitch of Kai’s voice rose as he continued to explain, “I grew numb...my hands and legs and...mind...I’ve seen war and suffering and I didn’t expect to cross paths with tragedy again so soon. So I - nobody noticed this at the time because of the chaos - but I fought on your side. I tried to save as many as I could.”

You contemplated on his words for a moment without realizing that his fingers were now laced with yours.

“- when my brother found you, you just -”

“I thought I - ,” his voice dropped and lower lip quivered slightly, “ - deserved the punishment.”

Fighting back your tears, you asked, “Why didn’t you explain this to them?”

“Did you see the look on your brother’s face? And the dragon’s? He was breathing fire even in his human form. They were ready to bring me to justice for the crimes I didn’t commit.”

You gave Kai a quick once-over. His face still bore bruises from the beating but his clothes were impeccable. Rich, even. He was dressed in a blue cashmere smock, red velvet pants, and his fingernails were coated in a deep teal. He wore a beaded bracelet on his right wrist that sparkled in the dim lighting of your tent - as did the platinum ring laced with exquisite tiny diamonds on his right hand index finger.

Had the dacoits looted him, they would’ve comfortably lived on the gains from the ring alone for a good part of the year. What was the need for them to tread such a great distance to loot your clan, you wondered.

Yet again, you grew wary of the man before you.

“Why are you telling me all this?” You asked.

“Because I don’t want you to resent me for the death of your friend.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you asked defensively, “Why do you care what I think, gadjo?”

“Kai,” he corrected you and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead. Tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, he disappeared again.

.

.

.

The scattered morning light filtered through the thicket and descended in brilliant pearls in the unshackled stream of water amidst the medley of the trinkets on your anklet, the ballads of songbirds, and gushing water hitting rubbled mass as you tiptoed deeper into the forest.

A firm grasp balanced you by your arm as you hopped over rocks to cross the stream.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re tailing me, gadjo.” You teased him.

“Here,” he thrust some peeled almonds in your hand as soon as you got to the other side. Smiling, he said, “eat up. These extraordinary tiny things will help with your poor memory.”

He walked ahead of you, guiding, as you both slipped further into the capricious forest.

“You leave only to come crawling back so soon, Kai?” Although you uttered his name almost derisively, you felt heat rising up your cheeks as it fell from your lips.

“You see? The almonds help.” He stated matter-of-factly.

You merely scoffed in response.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” He asked, retaining a casual tone.

Letting out a deep sigh, you bombarded him with your well thought out mental list of questions in response. The questions that had plagued your mind since your very first encounter with him.

“Where are you from, gadjo? Don’t you have a home? A... girl waiting for you?” You deliberately held on to his arm on the pretext of steadying yourself ...and his mind drew a blank.

I can’t remember anything before you.

You were about to say something more but then stopped short, retreating until your back hit the trunk of a tree. He followed and halted only at a hair breadth’s distance from you, towering over, as sunlight danced on his skin.

He breathed, “You tell me. Do I?”

“Hmm?” Brows quirked, you stared right back into his eyes as his head continued to lower slowly and you, despite yourself, started going up on the tip of your toes, his hand around your waist holding you steady.

“Do I have a girl,” he whispered, his index finger lifting your chin up, his warm breath tickling your face and his lips ghosting over yours, “waiting for me?”

Your eyelids drooped almost instinctively as the back of his fingers gently caressed the side of your face.

“Kai -”

He chuckled, swiftly scooping you up in his arms. You felt your whole body squint and your ears popped rather painfully. It wasn’t long before Kai’s feet found firm ground in a meadow full of beautiful plume thistles while you stayed burying your face in the crook of his neck, eyes firmly squeezed shut.

He gently put you down but your legs gave out. Feeling squeamish, you berated him, “Warn me the next time, yes?”

He pulled you in a tight embrace, panic betraying his voice, he asked, “Are- are you okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize!”

“How do you survive this at all? It’s- it feels terrible! I feel horribly queasy and my spine is trying to claw its way out of my back!” You argued aimlessly.

“One gets used to it.” He said softly as you lay on your back and he lied down next to you.

“Where are we?”

“We’re very close to Cluj-Napoca. Prince Jongin’s would-have-been kingdom.” His vague and casual tone was starting to vex you a little.

“Prince Jongin?” You enquired rather haughtily.

He answered, “Yours truly,” and bent his neck down in a bow.

“You - you’re a prince?”

He turned to face you and you excitedly followed suit. Tracing your jawline with his finger he whispered, “Not anymore. I mean - forget it, it’s a long story.” He sighed and turned his face to the clear blue skies again.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you urged him to continue, “I have all the time in the world.”

He took a moment to contemplate on your words and then his own before indulging you with a wistful smile on his face, “I turned out to be someone..something nobody expected out of me. More capable than the rightful heir, more popular with the people, more popular within the court, and more popular with the King himself.”

“Hmm...I’ll need a little more than that.”

Kai chuckled, his eyes crinkling into half moons again. “Three months ago, Cluj-Napoca was attacked by the Kingdom of Bucharest. My father - the King - was recovering from an affliction of the nerves at the time. Although I am not much of a fighter myself...well, I wasn’t trained to be one but what I lack in strength, I make up for in agility.. I led the army into battle and we managed to protect our territorial integrity and independence.”

Kai had been continuously fidgeting with the lace on his black tunic while narrating the story of his bravado, leaving you utterly astonished at the duplexity of his personality.

“So what went wrong?” You asked, studying him closely.

“The thing is I am not the King’s legitimate son,” he laughed and continued the story in a slightly higher pitch as if imitating someone, “I was born out of love, says my mother. I’m the son of a concubine.”

“But, if after everything, the King was in your favour then why did you leave?”

“He was toying with the idea of making my half-brother renounce his title. So before matters could get any worse for her son, the Queen asked me to ‘disappear into the night’ as compensation for not driving me to the streets when I was a mere boy.”

Aghast, you enquired, “So you just left?”

He simply shrugged and replied, “I am not built for a life of frivolity and merely keeping up appearances.”

“But what of your mother?”

“She’s not built for a life otherwise than of frivolity and keeping up appearances. Besides, she’s been offered an elevated position within the court by the Queen after my disappearance and she intends on keeping it. And as for my father...well, he thinks I’m a traitor who abandoned his own people. That’s why on the day that your clan was raided...I couldn’t think straight. The war with Bucharest has clearly taken a heavy toll on me...suffering of others is far beyond the level of my tolerance.”

“But what about your subjects? Tell me, how are you so casual about this?”

“You’re the daughter of the richest man in the clan. Why do you want to leave?”

“It’s not the same. Also, how do you know what I want? And- and don’t answer a question with a question. It’s annoying.”

He huddled closer to you and bragged, “It’s all in your eyes.”

“Enough, gadjo, this is not about me.” Your face flamed and your stomach was in knots in anticipation of his answer.

He let out a heavy sigh and replied, “Life is an adventure that is best lived boldly. I can go wherever I want, whenever I like. Why should someone like me bear the stifling burden of a crown when I can be...free.”

.

.

.

True to his character, Kai yet again appeared out of nowhere, took the heavy jute tote out of your hand and asked, “Don’t you have a handmaiden for these things?”

He was dressed entirely in black - dress shirt tucked into fitted trousers - and his face was covered with a sequined veil mask, leaving only his alluring eyes exposed. To say that you were not used to his abrupt appearances would be a gross understatement.

“I’m picking up some specific things for Vera’s mother...also, we’re in the middle of a bazaar, gadjo! You’re growing bolder by the day.”

“Lys, did you forget to take your almonds this morning?”

You scorned, “Do you have a death wish? If my brother sees you here... or the dragon... or..”

“Your precious fiancé?” He teased. “The one who’s..what was it again? Yes, the one who’s busy canoodling with the Bladerunner by the pond?”

Suppressing a grin, you gave him the side-eye and asked, “So you’re different, then? Better than Baekhyun?”

“Vastly! Tremendously! Immensely! Extremely!”

Shaking your head, you shot him an offhanded remark, “I don’t believe you.”

He immediately grabbed you by your wrist and dragged you inside what seemed like a dingy storage room for grains and pulses. Setting the bag down on the floor, he looked you in the eyes and roughly placed your hand on his chest.

”Don’t you think I’m different? Don’t you believe that I’m better? Don’t you understand I can make you happy? Truly happy?” He asked, his heart pulsing against your fingertips.

The overwhelming words you want to say...talk to me comfortably...I’ll listen to you...loosen the boundaries...I’m like you, too.

Eyes glistening, he pleaded, “Fly away with me.”

“No.” You stated plainly while your head and heart hammered wildly at the words he so bravely uttered and the ones he didn’t.

Brows knit together, his face scrunched in comprehension of your answer. “Why not?”

“It makes me squeamish.” You shrugged.

“Stop being funny.”

“You’re being funny. Whatever happened to you wanting to be free?”

“I don’t understand.”

Arms defensively crossed over your chest, you looked away from him and muttered, “You know what I mean -”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I didn’t mean I wanted to be free from you!” Kai’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline as he continued to argue, “Please don’t tell me you’re in love with the idiot you’re engaged to.”

“Of course not! It was just an arrangement to keep his loyalties with the family.”

“Then what is it?” He asked in his softest voice.

“I can hear the words you don't say, gadjo.” You bellowed, nearly throwing him back.

He shushed you before asking in a whisper, “So?”

“Isn’t it terrifying?” You struggled to keep your voice low at his very tempting yet terrifying proposition.

“On the contrary, in fact. I’ve never been good at putting my feelings into words. I say the things I don’t mean and freeze when I’m expected to say something. I’m easily misunderstood, Lys.”

“But everyone has secrets that they’d like to keep...secret. And from where I stand, you’re a man of too many secrets, gadjo.”

“And you’re the woman capable of unveiling them all. Look, I have nothing to hide and I don’t even want to keep anything from you. The rest,” he gulped hard before continuing, “is up to you. Think about it, would you rather be trapped in a loveless marriage? You’re the bravest woman I know, Lys. Don’t try to run away from truth.”

Ever since you’d met Kai, he was all you could think of. With him you felt safe and happy - the two emotions that had eluded you for the longest time. You wouldn’t dare to admit this to yourself but as frightening as it was, you also felt loved. All these years caught in an airless vortex, you felt like you could finally breathe - finally someone wanted you for who you were and not what you pretended to be - but something was still holding you back.

***

Kai’s words kept you up all night.

Eloping with him was a solution to all of your problems but it meant bringing shame to your family. You knew for a fact that you’d never be happy at the cost of their happiness. Sleep and answers eluding you, you scraped your hair up in a bun and threw a shawl over your shoulders to go see your father.

The fragrance of sandalwood mixed with liquor pervaded the air as you knelt beside his sleeping form. Age had started to prominently line his skin yet he looked a lot youthful without a scowl painted across his features. You planted a soft kiss on his forehead and the back of his hand, perennially struggling with your feelings towards him. He was your father, after all, and you couldn’t say that he never loved you. You only wished that he tried to understand you better.

“Dado,” you whispered against his hand, “I love you.” and broke down, sobbing quietly.

Suddenly, his disturbing thoughts came unravelled to you, filling you with unbridled rage and fear.

Fear for Kai’s life.

“You ice-veined monster...” You whispered against his hand before storming out of the tent.

.

.

.

“We have to stop seeing each other, gadjo.” Avoiding Kai’s eyes, you broke it to him as coolly as you could, caging a maelstrom of emotions within you.

“Would you stop calling me that? It’s cold and impersonal.” He took your hand in his as you both continued to trod lightly into the forest.

“And you’d like me to be warm...and personal..with a gadjo.. Because?”

Hurt flashed in his eyes at your remark but at this point you wanted nothing more than to save his life. When you grew to be so protective of Kai, you couldn’t tell but you knew you would do anything to save him from your vicious father. And to be able to do that, you needed him gone for good.

“Because I’m not just anyone. I am...” Breathing heavily, he pinned you to a tree.

Yours, roared his conscience. Unambiguously.

A welcome warmth seeped into your veins but you maintained a stoic demeanour. If he could hear your thoughts he’d take you away...far, far away from this stockade you called home. Tears you’d been trying so hard to hold back, spilled from your eyes as he lowered his mouth to meet yours in a deep kiss.

“We can’t be together, Kai.” Breaking the kiss, you pushed him away and sank to the ground, weeping.

Despite your protests, he carried you in his arms. Smiling, he nodded to gain your attention and trust before yelling, “Three…,” You engaged your core at “Two” and at “One” you felt a familiar uncomfortable knot in the pit of your stomach.

“It’s dark here.” You remarked, while still in the protective comfort of his arms.

“It’s night time in this part of the world, dragă.” He explained putting you down on your feet.

“Oh..you just called me -”

“I’ve been learning your tongue, iubirea mea.”

You were grateful for the darkness as it concealed just how smitten you were. Swiftly changing the subject, you asked, “Where are we?”

“Somewhere far, far away,” said Kai and you heard the smile in his voice, “at the edge of a crater of a volcano. But not to worry, it’s an inactive one.”

“How boring!” You teased, as he carefully sat you down.

A blanket of stars glimmered above as you and Kai cuddled closer to each other, enveloped in a cool breeze.

“Lys,” Kai’s eyes shone brighter than the stars as he turned to face you, “whatever it is, you can tell me. We’ll work it out. My father once said that there is no problem so complex, nor crisis so grave that cannot be satisfactorily resolved within twenty minutes. And twenty minutes is all we have. Right?”

“I have to be back in time for -”

“For lunch, yes.”

“Let me tell you a story,” you said, and Kai lay down, resting his head in your lap.

“Go on,” he urged you, the tip of his index finger meeting your nose in a little pat.

With your hand on his forehead, you narrated, “There was once a couple who married for love, much against the wishes of the Elders of their village. Because of this, the newlyweds were driven out. They wandered for weeks without food and water, travelling far and wide, seeking shelter...and acceptance. One day they found,” you swallowed hard and Kai’s expression turned solemn. He gently caressed your face with his fingers, calming you down to help you continue, “they found us. Our clan, I mean and my father was Clan Leader at the time. The woman had grown fragile and sick and was in an urgent need of care but my father denied them shelter. ‘They’ve been expelled for a good reason,’ he maintained. He lacked the basic human decency to even offer them some food for sustenance. They camped outside the settlement, pleading with anyone and everyone who crossed paths with them...until...until the woman could take it no longer. She died in her sleep and the man vowed to annihilate all those who were responsible for her death - our clan included. The leader of the dacoits who brought you to the clan that day is the man in the story, Kai.”

Brows furrowed, Kai opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out.

“My father - he - he recognized the man the day they stormed our settlement. And after everything, when he found you, it was like he’d struck gold. He was all set to incriminate you because our clan won’t rest until someone’s been punished. But truly - it’s all his fault. Had he not denied them refuge, the man wouldn’t have harboured resentment against us. Now he knows about us. He knows that you come to see me...he’s been keeping a close eye on us to be able to capture you at the right time. It won’t be long before he succeeds, Kai. So you must- I mean, we can’t -,” you huffed,  “after all, I’m engaged to be married. Minseok and Yixing are going to pay Baekhyun a visit tomorrow to fix a date for the wedding.”

Biting on his lower lip, Kai contemplated on your words for a while before speaking again. “Seventeen minutes. I have a plan. Do you trust me?” He looked at you with mischief twinking in his deep, dark eyes and a smile teasing the edges of his lips. You replied with a hesitant nod.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” You said.

“Anything,” Kai said with a smile. He closed his eyes and placing your hand on his chest.

“You can be anywhere, everywhere and with anyone, yet-”

“Yet?”

“You know what I mean,” your voice trailed off.

“I can be anywhere and everywhere,” said Kai, cupping your face in his hands,  “but I want to be by your side. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Don’t you see why it makes me upset when you say that we can’t see each other anymore? Don’t you see the irony? You can’t tell me that I can ‘port anywhere, except where I actually want to be. I love you, Lys.”

Looking straight into his eyes you said softly, “Love is a strong word.”

Brows quirked, he enquired, “Does it scare you?”

Your eyes glistened with tears as you responded, “As selfish as it may sound, I don’t want to bring dishonour to my family.”

“You won’t. I promise.”

“But what if your plan fails?”

“It won’t. And if at all it does, I’ll make sure you’re safe and sound. As for me, it’d be an honour to die for love.”

He loosened your fist open and placed a small china jar in your palm. You opened to find almonds in it. He grinned wide, and said, “Fresh ones.. in case you’d run out.”

.

.

.

If you loved Baekhyun you would’ve, without a doubt, stabbed the woman with the same knife that she sat polishing.

For the longest time you’d tried to hate her for being the object of your fiancé’s affections, admire her for her bravery, admonish her for her recklessness for if anyone were to ever find out… but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything for or against her.

Pivoting your attention to Kai’s best laid plan, chin up and voice firm, you said to her, “Show me your best blade.”

“What do you need it for?” She asked nonchalantly, entirely focused on the task at hand. Sure you’d grown softer since you’d met Kai but for her to not acknowledge a former Clan Leader’s presence fueled your anger.

You walked over to her and rested your hands on her shoulders, squeezing a little too harshly than you’d intended to. You wished she were thinking about anything other than Baekhyun but you weren’t surprised to find that she wasn’t.

“Lys!” She exclaimed, almost falling out of the little worn out wooden stool. She met your eyes, albeit with great difficulty.

Deliberately curling your lips into your best feature - a sinister smile, you whispered in her ear, “One that is good enough for carving a man’s heart out of his chest,” before tossing a piece of silver in her direction and strutting out with a navaja, a fighting knife.

***

“Do you have it?”

Kai appeared in your tent as you sat leisurely, snacking on peeled almonds.

“Solve a mystery for me. How do you always find me because I’ve never seen you wander in through the entrance panels. You just pop up out of nowhere.”

“We have an important task at hand.” He said, sitting down next to you, bearing the mannerism of an army general.

“No, I need to know. Now.”

Kai groaned at your unpredictable temperament and slapped his thighs.

“Alright, if you must know,” he said in a seductively low voice, leering at you as his nimble fingers drew circles along your foot. He slowly drew your skirts up with his other hand and you immediately smacked it down in protest.

“Fine,” he chimed. Letting out a sigh, he tugged at your anklet, “The sound of this has been burned into my memory. It’s how I find you everytime.”

“How very romantic. What if I were to take it off?” You asked playfully.

He tilted his head to the side, a hint of annoyance on his face. Firmly, he said, “Please, don’t.”

“Alright, alright!” You exclaimed at the sudden shift in his mood. “So what’s next?” You asked.

He removed an unassuming little vial from the pocket of his buckskin waistcoat and said, “This.”

You recognized the design of the vial - the opaque green glass bottle and its mouth closed with a black cork, “A spell?”

“The dragon’s wife is too trusting!” He exclaimed cockily.

“You went to see Bulibasha’s wife -”

“Assuming a disguise, of course!”

“Are you insane?!”

“Does it come as a surprise?”

“What did you tell her?!”

“I told her that this spell is the only way I can be with the one I love. And I wasn’t lying.”

“You really have a death wish, gadjo!”

“Kai!”

It took you a little while to calculate the risks of his audacity. Gaping at him, you finally spoke again, “Tell me what’s next. I have the blade.”

“Excellent.” He held the bottle up to your eye level and explained, “I’m going to sprinkle this on the Bladerunner when she’s on her way back home in the evening and her worst fears will come alive and start gnawing at her. And what do you think is her worst fear?”

“Losing Baekhyun.” You answered in a haughty disdain.

Kai chuckled. “Perfect. You said your brother and the dragon are going to visit your pretty little fiancé tonight? This spell will get the better of the Bladerunner and against her best judgement, she’s bound to go to see Baekhyun around the same time. The two men already have their suspicions about her and to catch her visiting Baekhyun at an ungodly hour will only reinforce their worst fears and this time they’ll not be able to wriggle out of it. Baekhyun and the Bladerunner will definitely be called into the dragon’s spine-chilling, morbid private chamber after that and a decision will be made.”

“What does that mean for us?” You asked, adrenaline making your blood quicken.

“Leave that to me. All you have to do is be there before they pronounce a decision and request a private audience with the dragon and your brother. And remember to,” he grabbed the navaja from your nightstand, its cutting edge reflecting the glint in Kai’s eyes. The corners of his mouth curled up, he quipped innocently, “use this well.”

.

.

.

The day unfolded exactly the way Kai had predicted.

Baekhyun and the Bladerunner had been called into Yixing’s private chamber at dawn. It was too early for the clan to start it’s day so you waited outside the tent just as Kai had instructed, listening closely for the right time to make an entrance. A loud and intense argument ensued between Minseok, Yixing, and Baekhyun - the three men who might as well be sworn brothers.

If you’d never met Kai, you would’ve thought that Baekhyun was being dramatic - fighting tooth and nail to save himself from heartbreak. It was a little selfish, you thought. Hearts mend, your father said to you when you had begged him not to put down your pet goat when she’d injured herself.

“But not without leaving a deep scar,” you muttered to yourself before barging into Bulibasha’s private chamber.

Seeing your father’s arrogant portrait next to the dragon’s in Yixing’s private chamber bolstered your bitterness towards him. Without another thought, you struck the portrait in its right eye with the navaja. That wasn’t what the knife was intended for but it was akin to killing two birds with one stone. As it went flying towards the portrait, it nicked the Bladerunner’s ear since she heroically pushed her lover out of harm’s way.

“Lys! You’ve ruined Father’s portrait!” Your dutiful big brother lambasted you.

Having dressed for the occasion in a red, black, and gold robes, and lips painted in a delicious scarlet, you walked with a deliberate swing in your hips, your dark, waist length hair emulating the movement. You allowed your fingernails to brush the Bladerunner’s arm as you sauntered over for the navaja under eagle-eyed stares.

With the knife in your hand, you came and stood before the Bladerunner, placed a hand on her cheek and whispered, “You have beautiful skin, Bladerunner. I’d hate to ruin it,” as you ran the edge of the navaja along her neck, pressing it just enough to leave her with a superficial cut. You were sure Baekhyun was bound to overreact, and he did.

He pulled you out of the way, standing like a barrier between the woman he loved and the one he tolerated. His firm grasp around your wrist was starting to hurt you but you maintained an unwavering demeanour. Your eyes landed on Baekhyun’s exposed sternum. It had been a while since you saw him without the basil necklace. The necklace was a testament of the promise you made to love and cherish each other forever but it was obviously no more than an accessory to him.  

“Hand it over. It never looked good on you, anyway.” You whispered and extended your hand toward him. Without a word, he slapped the necklace into your palm. Your heart hammered widely against your ribs because things were going exactly the way they were supposed to but in your experience it was never a good sign.

You knew what Baekhyun was going to do next. The look in your eyes taunted and teased him until he finally snapped. Baekhyun grabbed the dagger from your hand amidst loud gasps from everyone present.

He’d done it.

One prevalent belief still held by the clan was that taking a knife straight from someone’s hand meant that the relationship between the giver and the recipient had been severed.

Baekhyun had finally severed his relationship with you. Despite the anxiety bubbling in your stomach, you smiled inwardly at Kai’s genius.

“Baekhyun! What have you done?” Yixing’s voice thundered, echoing loudly in everyone’s ears but the enormity of his action was clearly lost on the Baekhyun. He continued to plead, “If the Bladerunner is to be punished, Bulibasha, I deserve a harsher punishment. I don’t care what the Zakono says. You can’t go on acting like she was alone in this!”

Minseok seemed firmly rooted to his place as he shot daggers at Baekhyun, his cat-like eyes disapproving Baekhyun’s out-of-character rebelliousness.

Now’s the time, you thought to yourself before being the one to break the uncomfortable silence. “He seeks her when he’s upset. And even when he’s not.” You turned to bow before Yixing and appealed, “Bulibasha, I would like to request a private audience.”

***

An exhausted Yixing slumped to the floor with his back against his spectacular dragon portrait. Face buried in hands, he groaned, “You young people really know how to complicate matters.”

“I agree,” Minseok joined in the whining while pouring wine into three goblets.

“Yixing, you have to stop acting like we have decades between us. And Minseok, put that down! It’s too early in the day for wine! Tell me what you’d rather have me do. He’s been in love with the Bladerunner forever.” You tried reasoning with them but Minseok only shook his head indignantly at your words.

“Baekhyun can’t do this to us after everything our family’s done for him. We took him in, fed him, clothed him. This is not how he repays us!” Minseok exclaimed.

You couldn’t help but draw parallels between Kai and Baekhyun’s journey so far. While they didn’t have a lot in common, one thing was for sure. They’d forever been treated like outsiders in their own homes.

“Bulibasha -” You turned to plead with Yixing.

“This is a nice switch from Yixing for when you want to reprimand me to Bulibasha for when you need something from me.” Chastised Yixing, tilting his head to the side, expression blank.

Eyes downcast, you mumbled, “I don’t want to go ahead with the wedding.”

“The Lys I know would want revenge. The Lys I know would’ve asked for his head on a spike. And hers, too!” Yixing exclaimed.

“I’m just not the same Lys anymore. The both of you really need to stop trying to control everything and everyone around you. Minseok, you know we have better fighters now and we don’t really need Baekhyun anymore. And you can’t use me to keep him by your side forever. Besides,” you got up to fetch a goblet of wine for yourself, “forgive me but… i need some liquid courage before I -”

“Please don’t tell me you’re serious about the gadjo.” Minseok muttered nonchalantly, with blatant disregard for the surprise his statement had taken you with. 

Steadying yourself by tightly gripping the goblet, you asked, “You know about him?!”

“Of course, I do!” Minseok exclaimed, “I mean, we do, Yixing and I both. You thought you’d disappear randomly and nobody would ever find out? The gadjo even procured a spell from the Clan Leader’s wife! It was foolish, if you ask me.”

You offered no further explanation and said instead, “Kai. It’s his name. You’d do well to remember.”

Fuming, Yixing bellowed, “Have you no shame, Lys? His people stormed our clan. We lost no fewer than eight lives that day! You lost Vera! Have you forgotten already?”

With no care in the world, you started to defend Kai, “I haven’t forgotten and I never will. But the monsters who raided us weren’t his people. He was just as surprised by it as we were. Whatever happened is Dado’s fault.”

It was Minseok’s turn to rebuke you, “Lys, I know you love to blame him for everything but this is a serious matter. You’re taking things too far.”

“No, Minseok, it honestly is!”

Minseok and Yixing listened carefully as you revealed to them the secrets your father had been harbouring and how it was his ruse to pin the blame of the raid on Kai. Neither of them spoke for quite some time, trying to assimilate the information you’d just shared with them.

“Lys,” said Yixing calmly, as Minseok sat with his hand over his head, “even if what you say is true, you know the Zakono does not permit you to marry a gadjo.”

“Bulibasha, say that I was snatched...taken...it’s better than saying that I ran away. I can’t bear to be here any longer.” You walked over to where your brother sat, shaken and furious. You took his hands in yours, looked into his eyes and cried, “Minseok, someone like me is not meant to be confined… I want to be out in the world, moving constantly, exploring, unearthing its marvels and wonders, its deepest ...the most well kept secrets, just- just  living. I am begging you to let me live!”

“Lys, that’s enough!” Interrupted a new voice, bringing you a sudden surge of relief. 

You turned around to find Kai in light-toned pink fitted trousers and a broad cummerbund around his slim waist that accentuated the elegant lines of his body. A relaxed chiffon and lace tunic in the same pale pink shade with flared sleeves that closed around his wrists was tucked into the cummerbund and his ebony hair fell in silken locks over his forehead.

He took confident strides towards Yixing, and stated with a sense of surety in his eyes, “If we wanted, we could’ve disappeared without a trace.”

“Get out, gadjo,” said Minseok in a dangerously low voice, “nobody needs you here.”

“The woman I love does,” answered Kai coldly, “so I will stay until she asks me to leave.”

Anger igniting his momentum, Minseok lunged forward and punched Kai in the chest with all the strength he could muster causing Kai to stumble several feet back.

“Look at him!” Spat Minseok as you rushed to Kai’s aid while he struggled to gain his bearings. “What a weakling! I cannot trust him to protect my little sister.”

Regaining your composure, you said to your brother in a threateningly calm voice, “Minseok...don’t make me say it.”

Minseok turned to you, face scarlet and eyes bloodshot. He demanded, “What is left to be said, Lys?”

Brows furrowed you looked him in the eyes as your heart threatened to leap out of your chest. “Father doesn’t have a lot of years left and... you know how bad it’ll be if word got out we were raided because of his misdeeds...the wrong decisions he made as Clan Leader.”

Minseok laughed darkly and shot you a disgusted look. “You’re right, Lys. You’re clearly not a child anymore. But what would you rather have me do, huh? Disrespect the Zakono? Give you away to a man who abandoned his own people? One who doesn’t have a place to call home?”

“Minseok, that’s enough,” commanded Yixing, causing Minseok to stop at once. Hands on hips, he continued, “Everyone has the right to choose their own destiny. And I’m sure you understand this better than I do, you can’t expect our headstrong Lys to change her mind easily especially when it’s set on something. We’ll let you have your way, Lys. But -” Yixing’s scrutinizing gaze met Kai’s kind eyes.

Yixing reached for the leather coffer which sat in an inconspicuous corner of the tent. You’d been to the private chamber multiple times for various reasons before but you’d never noticed the coffer. He crouched over it, rummaging for something specific. It was a few minutes before he rose to his full height again, a talisman in his hand, his face saying nothing in particular.

He split the talisman in two, fastened one half of it to a black thread and quietly tied it around your neck and gave the other piece to Minseok. The talisman was similar to the one he wore around his wrist. It was very much like a jade stone, flickering in various shades of green as if alive and breathing.

“The talisman will tell us where you are - at all times. It’ll turn red to signal us when you’re in mortal danger. If that is to ever happen, no matter where you are, you know I’ll find to you in no time. And when the light goes out - ” before the mood could turn somber, Yixing continued with a voice heavily laced with pride, “Don’t ever think about taking the talisman off. Well, the truth is, you couldn’t even if you tried. This thread has been strengthened by a number of powerful charms and spells..fashioned by my own wife.”

You responded only with an understanding nod, the realization that you were finally going to have it your way had not sunk in yet. Yixing and Kai shared a look before Kai walked over to him with a grave expression on his face. Yixing drew a dagger out the bandoleer strapped around his thigh and Kai placed his hand on the teakwood desk in the room.

“Make it quick, Bulibasha,” said Kai.

“What’s going on?” You whispered into Minseok’s ear.

Minseok sighed before responding in a clipped tone, “Proof that we fought for you when the gadjo was taking you away as revenge for the death of his dacoit friends. But the gadjo just.. vanished with you and all we managed to get was -”

Your conversation was interrupted by Kai’s muffled cry of pain as he collapsed at Yixing’s feet.

“- a little finger.”

In a state of blind panic, you rushed to be by Kai’s side, struggling to form words. You were aware that Yixing wouldn’t let you go without proof of Kai’s commitment towards you but you never imagined it would come to this.

“Take this,” Yixing held the mouth of a vial to Kai’s lips as he grappled with consciousness. Kai hurriedly gulped down the milk of the poppy which knocked him out almost immediately. While he was asleep, Yixing called for his woman to clean and bandage him.

***

You spent that time sitting next to a sulking Minseok.

Setting aside his pride, Minseok finally asked, “Will you atleast come visit?”

You rested your head on your brother’s shoulder and he instinctively huddled closer to pat it affectionately. “Every full moon, I promise,” you replied softly as a silent tear rolled down your cheek.

He pulled out a heavy drawstring pouch from the inside pocket of his coat and handed it to you saying, “Keep this.”

You shook the purse in your hand until the coins jingled and then reprimanded Minseok, “Kai’s father is King for god’s sake! He can take care of me.”

“But I still want you to have it. I had so many dreams.. the wedding I’d planned for you..” said Minseok as tears sparkled like diamonds in his eyes, “please...keep it.”

You pulled your brother into a tight hug and sobbed, “Take care of yourself, always.”

“You’re a fine one to talk...eloping with a gadjo. Can’t say that I didn’t see this coming. Unconventional to the end, Lys.” He twisted your ear playfully while crying and laughing simultaneously.

“Let those idiots get married, Minseok, and set the fool who broke my heart free.”

“Lys -”

Pouting, you asked, “Won’t you do it for your darling sister?”

“Fine!” Minseok agreed begrudgingly, “Anything else, your highness?”

“Take care of Vera’s mother.”

“You know I already do,” said Minseok, flicking your forehead. “Promise me you’ll come visit? And you’ll always, always take care of yourself?”

You took Minseok’s hand in yours and pressed your lips to his knuckles, as his heart continued to weep.

***

It was nearly noon when Kai finally awoke.

You stood up as he walked over to you with a marked confidence in his demeanour like his little finger wasn’t carved out of his body just a few hours ago.  He wrapped his arms around your waist, while Yixing and Minseok watched uncomfortably, and rested his forehead against yours.

With your hand on his chest you asked Kai, “Are you alright?”

“Never been better. You look like a bride, iubirea mea,” he said, holding you closer, tighter as his hands travelled the length of your back.

“Shall we?” He asked, lowering his head to press his lips against yours. He deepened the kiss and you responded with equal fervour as he lifted you off your feet, twirling  you in his arms until you felt a familiar, intense drop in your stomach, one you’d soon have to get used to.

‘Cause I’m too wicked I want to take all of your heart Don’t you worry So soon, you have my world

You make me feel so Mm-mhm..

**********************

hello @diveinthebluewithyou​ this one’s for you...welcome to Romaniverse!! hope you enjoy <3

[havetheavengersdoneanythingwrong]

Prelude - Awaiting

The Masters witness the rising of a seemingly unbreakable wall. Surely, with this -- they find themselves prepared for what lay just beyond.

A Saber watches from beyond -- knowing a rebellion is close.

The crown does not so easily fall.

...The cave's lights slowly faded. Within the fires that spread across the ground, the Wicker Man fell -- and the blue Caster smiled. "...Nice work. That's your Noble Phantasm." "...My..?" The Shielder's eyes widened, lowering her shield as the Caster waved in the rest of our group. Kagekiyo proved to be the first there, followed shortly after by Olga Marie -- then, our other Caster, who ran in as best he could. "What was its name?! Mash, did you remember?" Olga naturally wasted not a moment before peppering Mash with questions, the latter taking a step back to get a bit of breathing room so she could even think of a response. "I-I don't know! I don't really have any idea what my Noble Phantasm's name is, but..." "--Then why not give it a name?" The blue Caster cut in, tapping Olga lightly on the head with his staff. Plonk. "If it means the same to you, it'll probably work," he continued, "though probably not as well as it could be." "A name..." The young girl glanced to one side, furrowing her brow in thought. Olga opened her mouth, but was interrupted just as quickly with another plonk. "...Why not... Lord Chaldeas? If I'm going to be protecting Chaldea, then..." "Lord Chaldeas it is." The blue Caster pulled his staff back with a smile, the bottom making impact with the ground beneath. "With what I just saw, we might just stand a chance. If we keep down this tunnel, we should be free to get to Saber. She's been standing there for some time, now -- my bet's that she's still there." Ritsuka gritted their teeth, but only nodded to the Caster. "Mash -- let's go. Stay on guard, too. We don't know what's going to happen." "Right, Senpai." Taking the initiative, Mash moved just in front of Ritsuka -- the latter taking my arm and pulling me beside them, with Kagekiyo following suit. "Cadence, stay behind Mash." "I was already planning on it, rest assured." My answer seemed to be enough to placate the Master, their shoulders relaxing. "...So, we just keep going through this tunnel?" "Yeah. We're too far away for Saber to notice us, so we got lucky with this safe ground. Just keep a gentle step, and we'll be fine." ...After that, a period of silence overwhelmed us, as we followed the blue Caster's lead. One foot in front of the other -- on a path down to this 'Saber.' A being so strong that everyone around her would fear her -- a being that made even someone like Ritsuka doubt themselves in an instant. I'd have wondered, 'what kind of person is this Saber?' -- --but the beam fired down the cave, tearing the Caster to shreds before our eyes, answered the question in a moment. -- 'They're approaching.' A new ally. Allies, to the Caster. 'I thought they'd have died in the mess of Shadow Servants.' Allies do that to you. They keep you alive. The blade in my hands ground itself into the dust-covered dirt beneath me. I spin it carefully with my hand -- to relieve the stress. 'They're smarter than I took them for. No wonder they're a Caster.' And no doubt they'd be looking for me. For the one who helps hold this world together. But when would they arrive -- would they ever arrive?' [Yes.] The voice. The voice resounding in my head. It reads to me of stories I had never yet heard of. It reads to me a kingdom I have never yet heard of. A perfect world, that comes only with the incineration of humanity. Of black stars that hang in the heavens, where the shadows of men's thoughts lengthen in the afternoon. [Eleven o'clock. You will strike true, the most important of them all.] Their voice, like a horrible ringing in my head, yet every word was clear and succinct. 'I understand.' A better kingdom awaited, if I fired this blow. My blade, risen to the stars, and my voice, spilling from my throat. 'Iron hammer of the hollow king. Turnover/Reverse/Overturn/Change the aurora.' A black light, the opposite, sucked it all in. My eyes settled upon the tunnel. 'Swallow the light -- Promised blade of victory, Excalibur Morgan!' -- Could anything have remained from a strike like that?

A shimmering blue wall was arisen, blocking off the remnants of the dark, all-consuming beam that had just previous threatened to devour us all. But the blue Caster -- ... ...Within the fires, the orange-red lights around us, even the remaining bloodstain couldn't be seen at all. All that remained, the wooden staff the man used, was broken -- ashed, charred, turned a sharp black and shattered into four separate pieces. As the blue light faded, I took care to collect these pieces -- ...Rather, my body. Even trying to pull myself back, respecting what remained, my body moved on its own, and picked up the leftover top of the staff. As it were, I were choking. The smoke, the smell of charred corpse and boiling blood as golden light enveloped and dispersed what remained, had me only moments away from falling to my knees and suffocating. There was no romantics to it -- hardly even a last word. The Caster was simply gone -- evaporated. Erased from this tunnel as though he were never there to begin with. I found myself only stopped by a hand upon my shoulder -- turning around, I found the eyes of another Master staring back at me. Panicked footsteps could be heard about me, but not something I could understand, or listen to. Mildly widened eyes, their body shaking -- but the soft smile remaining. "...It'll be okay, Cadence. He's a Servant -- he's not dead." ... ...They pushed me forwards past it. Past the Caster -- what remained. "...Just don't think about it. Keep moving. If we stop for too long, we're going to be dead, too."

'Keep moving.' I found my mind repeating those words -- latching onto them. The blood on the ground-- 'Keep moving.' --The piece of his staff, rattling in my pocket-- 'Keep moving.' ...That was all I could do. Claws wrapped around my throat, and every second I spent not walking was a second they could wrap fully around my throat -- and cause my legs to crumple, and my eyes to shut. 'Keep moving.' Surely, my cheeks were growing damp again. My eyes felt as though they were burning in the heat -- my teeth gritting. "Keep moving." Encouragement, whispered in my ear -- and, suddenly, another hand on my shoulder. ... Even not looking over to see who was there, the grip on my shoulder was firm -- stronger than Ritsuka's previous. Kagekiyo, surely, was there -- even if they would hardly care of my struggle, being a Genji-killer, they still remained. ...One step, in front of the other. One step, in front of the other, until the environment cleared. Before us -- a blonde woman, in a stark black dress. Red streaks laced the blade she held in one hand, and the mask covering her face, her eyes. She spoke not a word, only stepping forward. Raising her blade, yelling something loud yet inconceivable -- but suddenly, slamming her blade down, and being blocked by -- "Genji. Your orders, Master." The woman's blade struggled, caught between the blades of the Avenger -- forcibly pushing upwards, to catch the knight off balance, only to have their next strike blocked by the woman. The chaos, the flurry, was sudden and immediate -- and yet again, I found myself knowing that any order to retreat would be promptly and succinctly ignored. And yet, could we retreat? We had nowhere to return to, not until this woman -- and whatever lay after -- were defeated. We had nowhere to hide, for that beam she fired would reduce us to ashes, like the Caster before us. Behind us was nothing but death. In front of us lay death, with a light of hope behind it. ...The Caster wanted her gone. "...Master." The words of the Avenger broke my train of thought. "Do you want to get revenge on the Genji, Master?" '...And what other choice would I have?' 'What other choice would I have but to fight?' There was something, running through my veins. Placing it was impossible -- it was more, further, than fear. The beast clasped its claws around my neck, pulled down as hard as it could, but there was no longer anywhere to fall. It was either I lay down and die -- or make the Caster's work worth it, short though it was, and fight. ...My ring, settled on my finger, shimmered at once -- draining something of me. The blade the Saber blocked so eloquently, now made them begin to shake -- made their defences begin to fail. "...If this is the Genji, then they won't live through this. Avenger -- fight! Ritsuka, provide backup by any means necessary!" My eyes moved to the Master beside me, who widened their eyes as they looked into mine -- before grinning, and stepping forward, Mash running forward in tow. Behind her, the Caster we had remaining shook off some droplets from his head, and stepped forward -- raising his hands, clapping them together. "Master! I... I can provide backup support, but I'm going to need a moment! Please protect me!" The young boy called out to Ritsuka, who gasped slightly -- but, their gaze toughening, they nodded and glanced to me. "You heard the kid." "Right!" At the scene of the fight, the Saber's defence broke -- the woman jumping backwards to avoid the frantic, crazed slices of Kagekiyo before her. "--Entering combat!" But one wrong step to the right led the Saber directly into the path of Mash, whose shield proved a small bit more difficult to block thanks to its blunt force. The Shielder, giving all of her strength, leapt forward and swiped leftwards with the broad end of her shield, sending the Saber flying backwards; landing on her feet only by miracle, steadying herself with a hand.

Kagekiyo, in turn, leapt to the left, then directly forwards -- with a slash forwards, only blocked barely by the Saber's blade, she used the other to strike at the Saber's good arm. "--?!" Yet, swordplay only proved so useful when the Saber was willing to punch you directly in the face. Sending the Avenger back some distance, Mash ran in only just in time to shield them from a forward slash courtesy of the Saber. Yet, each noticed they were now listening to a chant. "There once was a couple whose child's name meant 'limitless life--'" The Avenger's blade faltered, a moment, but Mash's defence gave her enough time to recover. "Lasting twenty billion years, blessed by the sea, the fish--" "A chant. So this is your plan." The Saber changed courses -- setting eyes on the child, running towards them. Yet, the Avenger blocked their advance with another onslaught, their face stained with a wide and crazed grin. "If we can't beat you fairly, Genji, we will have to improvise. Given your attack on the man before, that's only fair." "And in the waters, or the clouds, or in the wind--" "You may try, fool." Blades clashed, came together, came apart -- one blackened blade, deflecting and clashing against two thin curved blades, the snarls of Avenger and Saber alike clouding the air about as the Shielder positioned herself in front of the Caster. "--with a home where there is food and a place to sleep--" The three clashing blades came apart, the Avenger now beginning to laugh, as the Saber gritted her teeth. The Avenger before her knew full well what would occur if the Saber had any breathing room -- that beam would destroy them all. And yet-- "Iron hammer of the hollow king. Overturn the aurora." ...She would try, anyways. But wasn't that what Kagekiyo could fight best? For Kagekiyo would never die. "...The everyday, now, is simply a dream." "--and the energy of the Yabukouji, with longetivity like King Shuuringan of Paipo--" The temperature spiked -- a buzzing, eternally hearable in my head. As though something were being supplanted for something else -- a backdoor opening in my mind. Yet, too, the light itself began to shake, as Saber rose her blade. "...Yes -- everything in this world, all the Genji reaches, must burn!" "--and longetivity like his wife, Guurindai, and their children Ponpokopii and Ponpokonaa's--" The temperature rises. There's a screaming in my head. There's two suns -- two suns setting behind the lakes-- "After all this time, I finally have my shot!" "SWALLOW THE LIGHT!" "--Long lived fortune!" ...

...Everyone could hear the buzzing in their minds. I knew it from the looks in their eyes -- their halted breaths. All around us froze -- the temperature, threatening to boil us alive, the light itself flickering, being consumed. But the boy remained. "...Do you want to know my name?" ...There's a screaming in my mind -- their minds. 'Listen.' 'Listen.'

'Listen.'

'Listen.'

"So be it." The young boy approached the Saber, calmly -- past the fire, the sure temperatures of Kagekiyo's blade, and past the shield of Mash that kept us all safe. "...My name is Jugemu. To be specific..." "Jugemu-Jugemu Goko-no-Surikire Kaijarisuigyo-no Suigyomatsu Unraimatsu Furaimatsu Kuunerutokoro-ni Sumutokoro Yaburakoji-no Burakoji Paipopaipo Paipo-no Shuuringan Shuuringan-no Guurindai Guurindai-no Ponpokopii-no Ponpokonaa-no Chokyuumei-no Chosuke." 'Listen.' 'Listen.' 'Speak.' "Jugemu-Jugemu Goko-no-Surikire Kaijarisuigyo-no Suigyomatsu Unraimatsu Furaimatsu Kuunerutokoro-ni Sumutokoro Yaburakoji-no Burakoji Paipopaipo Paipo-no Shuuringan Shuuringan-no Guurindai Guurindai-no Ponpokopii-no Ponpokonaa-no Chokyuumei-no Chosuke..?!" The words fell out of Saber's mouth before she could think -- the light suddenly shaking, and faltering, and coming to an end. 'Listen.' My very muscles halted. I could barely even will myself to breathe beyond a quiet, quiet breath. 'His name..? J--' 'Speak.' His name-- Suddenly, I found this urge. This urge deep within me. A spike drilling a hole into my head. I could hear it, burrowing deep into my mind. Like a drill, like a syringe, to extract my brain itself.

'Speak.'

With each repetition of the screaming voice's command, it grew harder to ignore. And the words came tumbling out. "Jugemu-Jugemu Goko-no-Surikire Kaijarisuigyo-no Suigyomatsu Unraimatsu Furaimatsu Kuunerutokoro-ni Sumutokoro Yaburakoji-no Burakoji Paipopaipo Paipo-no Shuuringan Shuuringan-no Guurindai Guurindai-no Ponpokopii-no Ponpokonaa-no Chokyuumei-no Chosuke..?! That's your true name..?!" I screamed it without meaning to. I covered my mouth -- I tried to -- but my body no longer responded. "That's who we summoned..?! We summoned Jugemu-Jugemu Goko-no-Surikire Kaijarisuigyo-no Suigyomatsu Unraimatsu Furaimatsu Kuunerutokoro-ni Sumutokoro Yaburakoji-no Burakoji Paipopaipo Paipo-no Shuuringan Shuuringan-no Guurindai Guurindai-no Ponpokopii-no Ponpokonaa-no Chokyuumei-no Chosuke..?!" Ritsuka fell, faltered, their words sputtering out as though it were a chant. Their eyes shuddered where they stood, their mouth twitching as though withholding some horrible scream.

'Listen.' The Saber, however, became the first to scream. She fell to her knees - she tried to -- but it was hardly enough. "This... This... This Jugemu-Jugemu Goko-no-Surikire Kaijarisuigyo-no Suigyomatsu Unraimatsu Furaimatsu Kuunerutokoro-ni Sumutokoro Yaburakoji-no Burakoji Paipopaipo Paipo-no Shuuringan Shuuringan-no Guurindai Guurindai-no Ponpokopii-no Ponpokonaa-no Chokyuumei-no Chosuke..?! You..! I know you, you..!" The child grinned -- his eyes widening, gaze sharpening, before he broke into laughter. A mist formed around his feet, as he placed a hand to the face of the Avenger. "You..! Avenger, who knows my tale. Finish off this maddened woman." 'Listen.' The Avenger only responded with a grin -- stepping forward, as though their muscles now returned to normal in a moment. "...Yes... After all this time, as I was saying -- I finally have my shot." Their mask cracked, and shattered -- and the 'Kagekiyo' separated. Thousands of them, surrounding the Saber. Perhaps the Saber had already broken, her mind already endlessly repeating the name of the Caster. Perhaps there was a tiny, tiny bit of sanity that remained in the dead eyes, the kneeling physique, of the Saber whose body broke -- and whose mind seemed destroyed. But, unable to speak -- all she could now do was listen.

"Shogyomujo -- Joshahissui!"

And in that moment-- --a technique most indescribable, a Servant whose powers were impossible to understand-- --nothing could have prepared the Saber to survive the strike that followed the madness.

[221bsunsettowers]

TK/Carlos Royalty AU: The Kingdom Lights Shine Just for Me and You: Chapter 1: Never Thought I’d Meet You Here

TK Strand is a Prince who has given up on true love after having his heart broken.

Carlos Reyes is a Knight who longs for true love but must put his family's needs first.

Carlos just won a jousting tournament hosted by TK's father.

The prize?

An arranged marriage with one Prince TK.

This can also be read on Ao3 here. The entire story is already outlined as it began as a response to a headcanon request for Prince TK and Knight Carlos, and I’m feeling really inspired, so chapters should be added pretty regularly! Thank you so much to everyone who have already been so excited and encouraging!

There will be soft boys with emotional baggage! Strangers to lovers! Hurt/comfort! Angst with a happy ending! Near death experiences but everybody lives and no one dies! Minor appearances by other Lone Star characters! 

CW for medieval violence, mentions of overdrinking to the point of potential harm

Chapter 1: Never Thought I’d Meet You Here

There were a lot of words Prince TK Strand would have liked to use right then, but apparently they weren't befitting of royalty. So he just stayed silent, biting his tongue, watching a group of men compete for his hand in marriage.

Because clearly, TK thought to himself, adding in a mental roll of his eyes for good measure, that was going to fix every part of him that had been broken by Prince Alex. TK had thought that Alex was the one, even though his parents had strongly disagreed. They had pointed to the reports of Alex's reputation that already permeated the nearby lands, stories of multiple broken engagements layered upon tales of overworked servants and underfed subjects. But TK had been won over by Alex's sporadic assurances that TK was special, how well they would rule together, swayed so strongly that he was ready to propose marriage until Alex bluntly told him that he had been seeing Prince Mitchell for months and Mitchell's land was worth far more gold than TK's.

TK had drunk a lot of wine that night, so much he remembered nothing of what happened after Alex had left. Everything he knew from there was hearsay, what his mother and father had been able to get out at his bedside through their tears when he finally awoke. TK had lost months of his life to Alex's lies, two days of his life to Alex's cruelty, and he was determined not to lose any more time. He hadn't had a drop of wine since that night.

It was especially hard to fight the urge to numb the pain when he was subjected to this abundance of embarassment. His mother and father, the King and Queen of Austenia, having to hold a jousting tournament because their son the Prince couldn't make a match on his own. King Owen and Queen Gwyneth insisted that wasn't the case, that all that they wanted was their beloved son to be happy (happier than they found themselves was the unspoken message, as it was a poorly kept secret around the palace that Owen and Gwyneth retired to separate bedchambers every night). But all TK could hear resounding in his own head was that the only way someone would want to be with him was an arranged marriage that would at least bring them wealth and privilege.

Sir Carlos Reyes had always believed in true love. He grew up at the feet of his elder sisters, listening in awe to the fairytale stories they read aloud to him, knights going on dangerous quests to rescue a prince from a dragon, princesses finding their way through thorny curses to rescue their true loves, and he had believed that one day he would be in his own fairytale. He would rescue a handsome and kind prince, and they would live happily ever after.

No part of that tale had involved him in a jousting tournament, fighting for the right to an arranged marriage with a Prince he had never even met. All Carlos knew was his name-Prince TK Strand of Austenia-and the wideflung stories about Prince Alex's dastardly treatment of a now-heartbroken TK. Clearly the arranged marriage was not TK's idea, he was still hurting over Alex, perhaps even still in love with the man.

  But clearly, as much as Carlos dreamed so strongly of a love match, he needed to win this tournament. His family had a decent holding, a small but well run estate, but his eldest sister was in love with a man of higher stature, a man who also loved her dearly, but whose parents were insistent on him marrying a woman they considered of equal stature. If Carlos could win this tournament, secure his position of Prince, no parents could deny his sister's dream.

So here he was, at the invitation of King Owen himself. Carlos had assumed that everyone had been personally invited, but in speaking to a few other men, he had quickly learned this was not the case. Each man had boasted of defeating every other eligible man in their area to be allowed to enter the tournament. Carlos had quickly decided that, despite being a very honest man, the personal invitation would be information he would keep close to his chest. Something told him that sharing even a hint of something he himself did not even understand would place a very large target upon his back.

However, Carlos was determined not to hide anything else, particularly not his fighting skills. He might not be from as large an estate or as wealthy a family as the other men at the tournament, but his father had trained him to be a protector and defender, just like him. Carlos had put in his time as a squire, been dubbed a knight, and continued to hone his skills. By the time he mounted his horse and faced down his final opponent, Carlos could see the fear in the other man's eyes before they lowered their visors and charged.

It was over before it truly began. The other man flinched, leaned back slightly, but enough that Carlos' lance swept his aside easily, landing a hit hard enough to tumble the other man off his horse and to the ground on the first pass. Carlos reined his horse in, leaping gracefully off and hurrying to his opponent's side.

"Are you hurt?" Carlos asked in concern. The other man stared at him in confusion, but shook his head, taking the hand Carlos proffered to assist him back to his feet. "You fought valiantly," Carlos assured him, before turning to face the royal party, bowing low as he removed his helmet.

  Raising his head, Sir Carlos finally met the eyes of Prince TK.

Oh. Carlos felt all other thoughts fly from his head as he held TK's gaze.

Oh. TK's mind could do nothing else but unknowingly echo the very thought ringing through his now-bethrothed's mind.

Oh.

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[fatedtime]

hello i wrote this at 2am in a feral haze. the premise: confessing to Servants who would be Difficult About It until their master starts breaking down in the Lostbelts. 

I'd like to do more but for now here's Bedivere and the Phantom of the Opera.

Bedivere

Oh, he breathes, and his face reddens from the effort of restraining tears because he is so, so very unworthy.

He knows it is neither dream nor trick, because the air is too sweet for a nightmare and you are far too sincere for those sorts of childish pranks. He cannot fathom what must have possessed you to say something like that to him - I love you, Bedivere in a voice that drowns in honey - and he plays dumb because Bedivere is such a very well-practiced liar.

How wretched that he wants you, he numbly thinks as you stutter and stammer before him. How horrible it is that he is such a greedy man.

(As if he is worth even kissing his Master's feet. He is a steward. A servant. A knight. How dare he let such desires bloom within him? How dare he feel as such for his lord?)

It is art, the way he avoids your confession. It's such a fine line to balance - he must not refuse you, because to do so would break your heart, but he must not accept you, for to do so would invoke upon you only shame. He hides in the shadows of plausible deniability, of being the dense, airheaded, gentle and pure Bedivere whose humbleness blinds him to the feelings of others.

He feels no pride when he brushes the topic away with an offer of tea and chocolates and ever more servitude, and you let the subject drop.

When had it happened, he wonders? What had he done? Bedivere is not an audacious enough man to think that he had seduced you, but he knew what a burden you held on your shoulders, and he knew that sometimes feelings of reliance and gratitude could be mistaken for... other things, feelings with a similar palatable sweetness.

That had to be it, he was certain. A mistaken, misallocation of emotion. Because if not, because if otherwise -- 

(His most important and sacred duty was keeping you safe and how could he do that if he shattered you to pieces? And of course he would, how could a man like him not end up doing so, it was his failure that had turned the King of Knights into the Lion King, his selfishness, and if you let him into your heart like that he knew he would do the same to you, he knew it he knew it and that could not be he would never let it be.)

These boundaries were necessary. He was supposed to protect you, among all other things. If you loved him, he could not protect you with everything he had, because the wounds sustained during that protection would wound you as well. 

...He may not even be able to give up what was necessary, at the end, just like with the king he never wished to die, because the idea of a future with you would be too tantalizing to ignore.

And that is why he would lie to you, and suffocate this wretched flower blooming in his heart. Thorns pierced him as he smiled and bowed his head before you. You had lead him to a victory he had sought for over a thousand years, and in his cowardice, he would wield his sword for you forevermore.

***

You were breaking down, and he was watching it happen.

He wondered if this meant that he had learned from his prior failures with King Arthur, that he had even noticed it, or if you simply were too honest of a person to conceal your grief. Neither thought comforted him.

He did what he could to ease your burdens as you tore reality after reality between your fingers, condemning them while fighting for your own version of history. For all of his flaws, he was an astoundingly loyal man, and his trust in you never wavered once.

But still, he kept his distance. Though those words you'd said that day haunted him daily (and sometimes, nightly as well) he always asked himself this: what use was that sort of love under the weight of all your sorrows? You had far more important matters on your mind than pining after a ridiculous fool like him, he was sure and he told himself that his rejection had meant nothing.

Changed nothing.

Even though there were ever so many things he wanted to do, so many moments when he had to practice such restraint. He did not take your hand when the two of you walked side by side, even though - unoccupied - your nails drew blood from your palms. When you stood in the snow-fields of the Kingdom of Beasts, he waited behind you, watching as the wind stung your cheeks and never broaching that gap. How would a hug from him then change anything?

Would it have kept the warmth in you from slipping away?

One day, you looked up at the sky, and began to muse about the relationship between gods and men.

That back then, it had felt so easy to be defiantly human, but more and more you wondered about the righteousness of your cause. Did it even matter? Did this suffering, this agony even matter, or was it something that you long ago should have thrown away? You felt so far removed from other people now, so distant, and you wondered if this is what gods were like - deciding who would live and who would die.

"What separates me from the Lion King?" You cried, slamming your fist against the wall with your teeth bared into a pained snarl. "Preserving my desired humanity at the detriment of everything else in the world? Perhaps, back then, I was nothing but a hypocritical fool."

It was at that moment that Bedivere snapped.

Everything you were saying - he rejected it down to his very core. You were nothing like the Lion King, you could never be anything like the Lion King because you were so wonderfully, beautifully, terribly infuriatingly human and the things you fought for were flawed, broken, illogical, and human just the same. He wanted to scream at you that because you worried about these things proved you were nothing about that imperial woman, that your feelings mattered simply because they existed - that even if feeling was shitty it was also right - but he found that things got a little twisted when it came from the 'putting thoughts out of the mouth' department and, instead, got a little more direct.

More specifically, his mouth on yours.

When his brain finally caught up to his body, he had his teeth on your neck and his hands in some very unknightly places. He would have shoved himself away, apologized, gotten on his knees and begged that you behead him for his impropriety, but the parched soil of your spirit greedily drank in any affection he had to offer and, at this point, you could hardly let him go.

The partitions of distance had worn you away, left you chilled and frozen, and so fervently did you seek touch, warmth, honesty, especially from your trusted ally and the foolish man you happened to love. After tasting it, there was no turning back for you, and quite honestly, none for him either. Barriers had been torn, and in his arms, you cried for how vehemently you felt human once more.

Your mutual search for 'something perfect that will cause no pain' was a doomed one from the start, and wiping frozen tears away, he murmured, "Once more, I fear that I have kept you waiting."

Still, at the end, he faced his own cowardice, and it was enough to hold together a fractured heart for just a little longer.

Oh, there is joy, yes. There is such impossible warm joy, a radiant magma spilling through the ugly, malformed rot of his insides. It's the sort of rabid delight that drives a man to madness, and he sings to choke it down, sings of your beauty and your purity and your praises to the sun and moon and stars alike. It is how he disguises the disgusting urge within him to take you into the dark so he may envelope himself utterly in your light.

Phantom of the Opera

I'd say that you're going to destroy this entire man's career, but the truth of it is this: you are this man's entire career, and that is why the melodious lilt of those words devastates him so utterly.

...It’s not that he mistakes you for her -- Christine, that is, the songstress that he did such terrible things in his desire to claim. He knows you are the Master of Chaldea, and that the entirety of human history is the stage for your song of salvation. The power of your voice - your existence, and your ability to enforce your will upon the world - shall transcend time and space to stand against the Incineration of Humanity. 

It’s more accurate to say that you are his Christine, the thing that defines his existence, because what would the Phantom of the Opera be without a Christine to love?

Oh, he knows his love is a terrible thing. Oh, he knows he is ugly because of it, and so wretchedly he wishes that he could be unrepentant like Kiyohime, could be unabashed like Serenity, could be fanatical in his desires like Minamoto no Raiko. But he knows what will happen if he does that, doesn’t he? He knows what will happen at the climax of this performance if he does not stretch the first and second acts into eternity.

You confess to him, this man that wishes he was truly a monster and not a monster of a man, and he wants to weep from the agony of it, of how much he wants to TAKE.

But he cannot do that. This is why he sings. For if the performance is still ongoing, he can stave off its terrible end, for he does not want to do harm to you, his light, his love, his foolish, glorious master. In the wake of your confession, he takes your hands with hands not meant for it, balancing your fingers on those delicate blades, and responds to it with an aria of how much he adores you in turn.

He may not be able to accept your love, because to do so would lead to him drowning you in the depths of his monstrosity, but the Phantom of the Opera will pour his soul into ensuring that you know that he loves you, he loves you, always and forever it is you, it is you, it is you --

(Even if that mental corruption twists it, and all he can say is Christine, Christine, Christine -- )

And so, he keeps the mask of monstrosity on. This is the part he has been summoned to play.

***

The distance torments him, the dance destroys him, and he recreates the illusions of his existence in a thousand new phantoms as he simply tries to survive as ‘another performance’ in your glory.

He loves you but will not be with you, this man who must admire you from afar. He has his role and you have yours, and the two of you are not lovers, even though the love you each bear for each other is aching in its desperation. Distance defines him, like the negative space in a photograph, and he cannot broach that barrier without the ruination of everything he so rigidly clings to.

This is how things are until the Lostbelts.

What is the difference between singing and screaming, he wonders, as he watches you condemning another world to its fate? What separates those distinctly raw vocalizations of agony? Because it still sounds like music to him, your wretched sobs as he watches you cry, and he can already see the ending to this tragedy, so crisp and clear like a stanza written in blood.

“Why do I have to be so human?” You had asked him, fingers tightening in his cloak. “It seems all I am destined for is the folly of human mistakes.”

It almost breaks him again, when you grab hold of him and nearly beg him to take you away, because he must be wrong, he has to be wrong, for you are not angelic or glorious or a light that will rise boldly forth to protect the world. If he still wants a thing as wretched as you, then he should lock you up so you can incinerate no more worlds underneath the force of your conviction.

“It might even make you a hero,” you breathe into his neck and - no, it does not almost break him, it does break him, but not in a way he ever could have hoped to expect.

The Phantom of the Opera knows that to keep you would be one of the greatest joys he could ever know. He would find some way to do it, and in that prison, he is certain he could return you to a state of glory untainted by the monstrous guilt weighing on your own heart.

But that is the one thing that he must not do.

Taking his mask off, he removes with it his false monstrosity. He is human as he kisses you. He is a human who kisses you to know and be known, to love and be loved, and in the tide of his want, he will let you drown all of your sorrows within him.

You are not Christine, because Christine does not actually exist. But because you are lovely and righteous and kind, he will give his everything to you, for you are the thing he shall love till the end of every world and then his own.

“Know me now, both in body and in soul,” he asks of you in turn, for if the actor who plays the Phantom of the Opera wants any other sort of role, this is the price he must pay. He can no longer maintain his perfect devotion, that perfect idealized love held at an appropriate length, because only a human - a human born with the gift of possibility - could ever change his role as he wishes to do, change his story and with it, your own.

“I will recast myself in a role that can be by your side,” he whispers into the darkness, and he closes the curtain around you with a blanket that blocks out the light. "For you, I shall be a pillar in your grief."

{Your saga will not end in tragedy; this, to you, he swears.}

[themurphyzone]

PatB/BatB AU: If I Can’t Love Him Ch 1

Summary: Sequel to Imprisoned and part of the PatB BatB AU.

The Beast knows he’s too far gone, in too deep to ever have hope of regaining what he lost. But one action leads to another, and through a series of mistakes, discovers he may have been wrong about so many things.

Pinky is running for his life. He knows he made a promise, and he finds the servants charming, but he can’t stay. The castle was not and will never be his home. But things aren’t always as they appear.

AN: OK ok technically the disastrous dinner request does happen first (as of posting this first chapter, the dinner request scene has not been written yet but I do hope to get around to it), but I just wanna write the West Wing and its aftermath ok lemme have my angst.

This will be a 4 chapter story, each chapter named for a lyric from If I Can’t Love Her from the BatB Broadway musical. It’s a really heartwrenching song and every time I hear it I just wanna hug poor Beast.

AO3 Link

Ch 1: Careless and Unthinking

The Beast heard music drifting from the large dining room, traveling along the wind until it reached his usual haunt on the castle roof just above the West Wing.

Though he was too far to properly hear the lyrics, he recognized that irritatingly catchy melody to Be a Pest, a song the Warner siblings performed on a semi-regular basis ever since the curse upended their lives.

He should’ve known the Warners wouldn’t leave the prisoner alone in his room to starve.

The Beast huffed, a misty cloud forming in the frigid air.

He wasn’t sure why he said that when he didn’t actually want the prisoner to starve. It was counterproductive to breaking the curse.

And that mouse was far too foolish to suit his purposes. Arguing every order, determined to defy him at every turn, uncaring of self-preservation when he skipped into the castle and announced his presence without the slightest attempt at stealth.

Not that anyone else bothered to heed his orders, despite his higher station, but it was especially irritating from someone who was supposed to be a prisoner.

Surely all his hopes of regaining his rightful position weren’t dependent on an idiot whose head was permanently up in the clouds!

Rage mounted in the depths of his deformed body, and though he tried to hold back, he couldn’t stop the primal roar that worked its way past his throat.

It echoed off the trees, a flock of faraway birds taking to the air to get away from a perceived predator.

He struck the roof with one clawed, oversized hand. Several loose tiles spiraled into the abyss below.

The rush of adrenaline was overwhelming. It felt good to be so powerful. His old body was woefully lacking in strength and height.

He’d never been able to climb onto the roof before. A mouse was far too small and fragile to ever attempt something so death-defying.

Nor was he able to tear furniture apart so easily. But now he could.

Give in, a voice whispered, sweet and tempting and malicious all at once. Why resist your anger? Give in now, and you won’t be hurt ever again. I promise.

Anger was the only emotion worth feeling. It was blissful to not experience anything other than splintered wood and torn cloth under his claws. No worries, doubts, or fears to hold him back. When his thoughts became nothing but a simplistic chant of destroy, destroy, destroy.

Then all coherent thought would cease, and only instincts were left.

But anger was a fickle companion. It would encourage him, drive him forward, yet it would suddenly flee. It didn’t stay with him in the wake of his destruction.

And the guilt came.

His shortsightedness robbed everyone of a comfortable life. Nobody was spared. Not the innocent toddler, not the orphans or stray animals seeking a safe haven, nor the regular household staff.

On that first long, horrible night, he’d promised to break the curse. They’d be back to normal before they knew it, and they’d only remember it as one odd, terrifying nightmare.

But his plan didn’t work. And he made that promise again. Then his next plan failed before he set it into motion.

Tomorrow night. I’ll break it tomorrow night for sure.

For the past five years, he made that same promise every night.

But the curse wasn’t broken. The nightmare wasn’t complete.

Every plan failed. He tried everything.

That is, he tried everything except for the condition laid out from the very beginning.

The beautiful witch’s voice haunted him, mocking him through every waking hour and dream, taunting him with fate-sealing roses and mirrors that reflected the monster he was.

“If you can find somebody to love, and earn their love in return, my enchantment upon your castle shall be lifted. Fail in your quest, and you shall remain a beast for all time.”

The condition was an open secret in the castle, though only the Warners dared to bring up the topic within his vicinity.

He laughed, but it was a harsh, guttural laugh, completely devoid of joy.

Love? How could he possibly love anyone?

Love only brought pain.

As a foolish child, he loved his parents.

Then they abandoned him in favor of the lavish court. His existence was a scandal unto itself, and he was secreted away to a province with little royal oversight.

He let out an ugly snarl, cruel fangs digging into his upper lip.

The harsh, unnatural sound only served as a reminder that nobody would ever love him back. His mind, which once held ideas on how to reclaim his throne and improve life in this neglected province, was now dull and dimming further by the day.

He couldn’t read or invent anymore. His hands were too large for the delicate machinery, his claws ripping apart everything he touched. He barely remembered how to stand on two legs, and the few times he tried, he quickly lost his balance and had no choice but to stalk the hallways on all fours, stripped of all dignity.

Intelligence was all he had. And even that would be gone soon.

Nobody wanted a dumb, slavering, mud-colored beast for a lover.

A chilly wind blew snow into his fur, startling him out of his ponderings. The night had quickly grown dark and cold, the land below shrouded in an early winter. The moon and stars were hidden by thick, low clouds.

He didn’t hear any music. The prisoner had likely eaten his fill by now.

The silence unnerved him.

It was quiet on the rooftop, but without the background noise of the servants working or screaming from the unfortunate souls who were assigned Warner or Mindy duty, it was far too quiet for comfort.

When it was silent, the most unwelcome thoughts nagged at his deteriorating mind.

He sighed, regretting his decision to ponder on the roof this long. But then, it seemed his entire life was just one bad decision after another, so he was hardly bothered.  

Stretching his sore limbs, he carefully gripped the slippery tiles as he descended down to the West Wing balcony. The wind whipped at his cape, and his exposed fur stood on end to keep his body warm.

This body was more resistant to the cold, able to endure conditions any weak, normal mouse would hide themselves from.

He was powerful.

But that thought quickly came to an end.

He lost his grip on a handhold, sliding several inches on the slippery stone.

The brief scare made whatever remained of his shriveled heart leap in fear, and he was reminded that regardless of physical prowess, he was still mortal.

On some nights, being mortal was a good thing.

He took hold of a thick, tangled growth of ivy that crept up the stone walls over the years, so thick that even his sharp claws couldn’t cut through it. The servants had valiantly battled the plants over the years, but there was only so much they could do.

The castle would crumble once the curse took hold permanently and become nothing more than a relic lost to time.

He crept down the ivy to the West Wing balcony, allowing the mysterious, cruel light of the enchanted rose to guide him to safety in the darkness.

Brooding over a rose and making doomed plans in the vain hope of breaking this curse.

That’s all he was good for these days.

Just as he set foot on the balcony, his ears perked at the sound of footsteps within his chambers. He growled quietly to himself.

He wasn’t in the mood to deal with the Warners’ antics tonight. Not when their advice proved little use against the prisoner’s stubborn refusal to have dinner with him.

But the footsteps sounded…different. Lighter.

Not brassy like Yakko’s, wooden like Wakko’s, or clinking like Dot’s.

The Beast inhaled sharply.

No.

It couldn’t be.

His prisoner was an idiot, but surely he wouldn’t break the only rule he’d been given. He should’ve been thanking the Beast for his leniency with the guidelines to follow for his stay within the castle property.

Don’t go into the West Wing.

But the mouse was right before his eyes, still on the far side of the room, twirling around in awe at the torn draperies, splintered wood, and haphazard bedding.

“Narf. This room could use a good sweep. I’ve seen pigsties cleaner than this!” the mouse tsked, shaking his head at the sorry state of the West Wing.

Really? The Beast wanted to scream. That’s your main concern right now?

Never mind that the West Wing was a grim testament to just how far he’d fallen, the shadowed lair of a beast, the broken décor scattered and abused throughout the years because it felt so good to lash out at something without guilt, and his prisoner commented on the mess of all things?

His claws brushed against a shard from a broken vase, and he sullenly flicked it aside. The ceramic remains skittered across the balcony.

Alright, so maybe the West Wing was a little messy…

An odd sense of embarrassment washed over him.

He crouched behind a thick tangle of ivy, feeling very much like a predator lying in wait for unsuspecting prey. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to do anything, and the mouse would just leave on his own.

The mouse picked his way through the West Wing, stopping to gawk at a shredded mattress and pile of ragged blankets that served as the Beast’s bed. He plucked at a strip of fabric that had fallen on the floor, and the Beast growled lowly. His sleeping area wasn’t a spectacle.

It was simply where he woke up from a nightmare, only to find that he never truly left.  

The mouse gasped, his ears twitching. For a fleeting moment, the Beast believed he’d successfully chased him out of the West Wing. But the mouse turned to a portrait in a golden frame, one that had been painted so long ago, in a faraway life.

He’d dragged his claws across that painting many times, when he could no longer take the image of himself as a prince, mocking him with his dead-eyed stare and prestige.

Reminding him of what he used to be.

Though he wanted nothing more than to be rid of it permanently, some part of him couldn’t bear to throw it away. He didn’t know why.

He was tempted to spring out of his hiding place and tell the mouse to get out right now, but the gentle, almost reverent way the mouse pulled the hanging scraps of the portrait up to what remained in the frame made him hesitate.

In the entryway of the balcony, the rose sparked within the bell jar, its ethereal glow blinding for just a moment before it settled once again.

His hesitation cost him.

Slowly, the mouse approached the enchanted rose. The glow was always mesmerizing, always the only beautiful thing in an otherwise dark and ugly room.

Sometimes he fantasized about shredding the rose to pieces and scattering the petals to the wind, so that he wouldn’t ever have to look at it anymore.

But he wasn’t the only one affected by the curse, though he was the one who bore the brunt of it. Too often, he’d come close to forgetting that.

The rose floated just above a small, elevated platform. Five petals had fallen so far, lifeless and dead. More would join them soon enough. The pink glow illuminated the mouse’s unusual blue eyes, which were already lit up in idiotic wonder and curiosity.

With a surprising amount of strength for a mouse so slim, the prisoner carefully lifted the bell jar and set it aside.

The sheer stupidity of that action stunned the Beast.

Then the mouse reached out, fingers outstretched, just a few inches away from-

THAT FOOL WAS GOING TO DAMN THEM ALL!

All-consuming fear and fury seized hold of the Beast’s mind, his vision filled with red haze as he sprung out from behind the ivy thicket.

Protect the rose. Protect the rose at any cost.  

The Beast snarled, ignoring his prisoner’s startled gasp. The mouse tripped over his own feet as the Beast snatched up the bell jar and slammed it over the rose.

For a moment, he feared he was too rough with the precious items. Though no petals fell, he wouldn’t allow himself any relief.

Not until the intruder was dealt with.

He gripped the bell jar tightly, slowly turning to face the mouse who thought he could just barge into the West Wing without any consequences whatsoever.

“What are you doing here?” the Beast growled, blocking the rose from the mouse’s view.

The mouse held his hands in front of his face. “I…I’m sorry!” he stammered.

Did he truly believe a simple placation would work? That he broke the one rule, a rather generous rule, just to satisfy his own curiosity?

“I warned you NEVER to come here!” he snarled, caring nothing for the apology.

The mouse stumbled over the corner of a ceramic vase which had oddly survived the carnage the Beast had wrought over the years. His eyes were wide, his ears limp. He squeaked something in protest, pitifully trying to justify his poor reasoning.

“DO YOU REALIZE WHAT YOU COULD’VE DONE?”

A roar tore out of his throat. He was dimly aware of a terrified scream, his large paws smashing a vase into jagged shards, and all he knew was the pleasure of unleashing his wrath upon anything that couldn’t fight back.

He only saw red.  

“GET OUT!”

A pile of broken wood flew past the mouse’s head. He let out a ragged cry and fled the West Wing. His piercing scream echoed in the Beast’s ears, banishing the red, vengeful haze that overtook his mind.

Broken furniture surrounded him.  

Downstairs, the servants pleaded in vain for the mouse to stay. A cold wind blew through the castle, icy enough to pierce through his defenses.

The Beast turned to the rose, just in time for the sixth petal to fall.

It had a wicked sense of humor.

The enchanted mirror reflected cruel, sharp fangs as he panted for breath. The portrait’s gaze bore into him, dead-eyed and mocking and judgmental.  

And the twisted black horns which adorned his head were heavier than before.  

AN: I’m sorry mice, I love you, I swear…

No I did not start the BatB AU as an excuse to torture Brain as much as I already do. It’s kinda sad that many character traits of Disney’s Beast and Brain overlap. Short temper, arrogant, a goal they want very very badly but their own vices prevent them from ever obtaining it, brooding, someone they love so much they’ll do anything for, even give up their own desires, but they don’t believe they can be loved back…yeah. 

I tried to do the West Wing justice cause it’s such a great scene in the movie, but I don’t think it translates well to a text based medium. Oh well, you can just listen to the soundtrack, but I think I did well enough with it.

[savagesbonergarage]

Nightsister OC pics and backstory ❤️

So I kinda got my Nightsister oc worked out today!

Meet Eilantha!

No makeup and with makeup since I like both. :) I know her outfit is Rey’s, but it turned out to be the one I liked best after going through all of them. This was so much fun to do! I’m on mobile rn so I don’t have a link, but search ‘rinmaru star wars avatar creator’ and it should be the first result.

The nightbrother is also an oc called Sever. He’s more bulky in my head and his tattoos are different and more brown than black, but whatevs. Also he looks more like a teenager here, which is NOT the vibe, lads. Mans is in his late 20's-early 30's. 👍

I know I’m sorta biased and all since she’s mine, but I’m in love with her? I’m not a huge fan of the Nightsisters and their misandry and general terrible-ness, but this girl is the exception. 💕 Learn more about her under the cut if you’d like. :)

She was born in 46BBY, making her around 27 in the final year of the clone wars. From the time she was a youngling it was clear that she had a natural affinity for magicks and spellcasting, which allowed her to participate in more advanced rituals and rites from an early age. This inevitably caused some contention among the sisters in her age group that felt this privilege was wasted on her, and therefore she had few friends during her time within the coven. She didn’t really mind, as she preferred to spend her days on her own anyway, learning as much as she could about whatever she fancied (usually spells that piqued her interest whose texts she discreetly snuck from within the cavern).

When she wasn’t studying, she loved music - writing, playing, and singing. It wasn’t anything like the typical malicious sounds of tribal chanting and drums you’d hear from within the grotto; not that she didn’t appreciate that also as she practiced it well, but her heart leaned toward a softer, more soothing genre of arias and melodies, bordering on lullabies based on her wanderlust, and, though she’d never admit it, her loneliness.

As she reached adulthood, she underwent the trials for her dark baptism as all Sisters did, which consisted of returning from a challenging hunt to add a token from her kill to the Water Of Life, and receiving her ichor tattoos that signified her coming-of-age before being ritualistically bathed in the ominous liquid which sanctioned her as an active member of the Nightsisters.

After this, I have two different routes (or however many, depending on who I’m shipping her with at the moment 😅 bc I ship her with everyone, no lie) that I like to take with her story. The first is expanded upon in the fic by @fallenrepublick here (still my favorite thing!) where she starts sneaking away into the nightbrother village and befriends Savage and Feral before they go through Asajj’s selection trails. This is the nicer, less-traumatic arc.

This next one gets really, really dark. I'm not going to post it all here bc honestly this post doesn't need all that angst, so I'll save that for later. Essentially, I like to think that Eilantha did at one time have a nightbrother of her own (Sever) that she actually loved, rather than treated as a slave. As you can imagine it doesn't end well, but we're not gonna get into that. We'll talk about how they meet. :)

Instead of sneaking away to the village, Eilantha is pressured into conducting her own selection trails by Mother Talzin. She doesn’t inherently have any reason to object, after all, she was taught that this is was simply the way of things. Part of her even looked forward to obtaining a manservant, whose loyalty would belong to her and her alone.

Perhaps he’d be a useful asset when it came to sneaking spelltomes to and from the vaults, and maybe he’d even be the only one staying by her side while she practiced her songs. What if he’d even appreciate them? Not that he’d have much of a choice, but the thought was comforting nonetheless.

From the moment she stepped foot in the village, all she could focus on was the feeling of the uneasy and fearful gazes of the men who undoubtedly knew more of what was to come than she did. She chose her roster at random, unsure of what she should have really been looking for or what she actually wanted from a servant. Even before the fighting, she knew deep down that she didn’t want to inflict any unnecessary harm on them…but why? From what she’d overheard at home, the violence was half the fun.

It wasn’t.

She evaded and blocked every blow with ease, yet avoided retaliating and taking the offensive in any manner that would prove fatal, causing the battle to go on far longer than anticipated to the point where Brother Viscus insisted that she take the next opening for the kill. With reluctance, the blade of her weapon collided with the ribs of the next brother to reveal himself a target. She watched in horror as the light faded from his hateful, reflective eyes, and she was nearly sick. She didn’t want to do it, but it had been done, and it couldn’t be undone. His body thudded against the ground and she screamed.

“Enough!”

The battlefield went silent, and as she came to her senses she attempted to save face.

“I’ll have none of them!”

Before Brother Viscus could interject with any alternative propositions, she was gone. She ran, fleeing as far away across the rocky terrain as she could. She didn’t cry; at least not until she was certain she was alone. She felt so pathetic - Nightbrothers were meant to be disposable, yet she couldn’t handle killing one. Her shame shifted into heartbreak, and she crouched low and wept for the death of the brother she’d just caused, as well as for all those who came before him. All the needless, thankless, mindless deaths of these men whose lives may not have mattered to the Sisters, but they mattered to someone.

As night fell, she trudged along the jagged landscape and thought of what explaination she’d give to Mother Talzin upon returning home. She had run in the opposite direction of where her speeder was stationed at the base of the village, so she had plenty of time to consider on the long journey back. She casually hummed a tune to herself in some meager attempt to self-soothe, which served to distract the shadow that had been trailing her for some time. The sound of a twig snapping in the rocks behind her alerted her to the presence and she confronted him.

"Are you lost?" she asked in a derogatory tone after he revealed himself.

"I'm not."

Of course not, this was his home, after all. She couldn't say the same for herself, however, she pressed him further.

"Then why are you following me? I never asked for an escort."

The amber-skinned nightbrother looked as though he were choosing his words carefully, though if his aim was self-preservation he'd done a terrible job of it.

"I saw you crying."

Eilantha was hit with a pang of embarrassment, though she feigned otherwise as her eyes met the ground.

"Well, you can forget what you saw. Now leave me alone."

She turned away, but the brother remained there in quiet contemplation before he spoke again.

"I've never seen a Sister cry. I've never seen a Sister feel."

Something about those words struck her directly in her heart. The confirmation that she was inherently considered to be a heartless monster in the view of these villagers hurt a little more than anticipated, though she had no right to refute it. No amount of apologies would ever remedy the divide that separated the Nightsisters from the Nightbrothers, regardless of how she felt. She clenched her fist as she turned to face him again.

“I said, leave me alone. Don’t make me-”

She actually choked on her words, unable to say the rest.

Don’t make me put you in your place.

Despite her partial warning, the nightbrother stepped closer. He grabbed the edge of his already tattered tunic and tore a piece of it off, inspecting it for cleanliness before holding it out to her. Eilantha froze, uncertain of what to make of this interaction.

“You aren’t done,” he explained.

She hadn’t realized that her hot tears continued pouring down her cheeks during her retort. She accepted the cloth with some reluctance, her dainty fingers lightly brushing against his as she took it and dabbed it against her wet face. He promptly turned and started walking away, as instructed. This strange...kindness, or rather, strange act of servitude via obligation perturbed the young witch, whose thoughts were now fixated solely on the zabrak male.

“Wait, Brother,” she implored.

He paused, resuming his attention to her after hearing the endearing use of “brother” from a Sister’s lips for the first time. She continued, an unusual softness in her tone.

“What is your name?”

“It’s Sever,” he revealed, “May I ask yours, Sister?”

She repeated his name in her mind, determined never to lose it.

“Eilantha.”

He did the same, only out loud. Gods, it was an enticing sound.

"Will you be returning?"

This was a question she wasn't prepared to receive, and one that she herself didn't fully know the answer to. Her reply was engineered from a concerned sigh.

"I'm not sure. It might be problematic returning to the coven empty-handed. I may come back, I may not. I don't know what the future holds."

Sever pursed his lips slightly.

"If you do find yourself here again, will you..."

He coughed into his fist and centered himself before continuing.

"Will you consider me?"

Her eyes shot up to meet his hopeful gaze, a golden yellow in the night. She had a hunch as to what he was alluding to, but a little clarification was needed.

"Consider you...?"

He swallowed, his countenance displaying concern that perhaps he was stepping too far out-of-bounds this time, but he wanted to know all the same.

"As your mate."

Eilantha clutched the piece of fabric in her hand. This man was offering himself to her. The images of all the nightbrothers staring her down when she first arrived with fear in their faces raced through her mind, revealing the dread the men felt when they were met with her kind, and yet this one was volunteering. She wasn't sure if she should be flattered or angry, as any other Sister likely would be at a savage that dared to seek special permissions. Of course, she wasn't like that.

Imagining him as her mate, however, was certainly...something. She thought of how she would discover just how much of him was tattooed and he would learn the same of her. She could claim him right then and there if she wanted, and he would be obliged to obey. It would solve her worries about returning home if she decided on a servant after all, although, her soul was unsteady. Though she was entitled to any male she desired, she couldn't allow herself to do it. Even though this man was offering, it would weigh on her conscience knowing that even a part of him would only be with her out of fear and obligation, rather than his own free will. This nightbrother wasn't free. None of them were.

"I'll consider it," she replied genuinely.

This news seemed to please him to some extent, a tiny smirk curling at the corner of his lip.

"I'll look forward to the possibility of serving you, Sister Eilantha."

She watched as he turned a final time and disappeared further into the darkness, leaving her alone with her busied mind.

The course was set for the Nightsister temple once she finally got to her speeder, servant-less. She looked over her shoulder to see multiple pairs of glowing golden eyes quizzically prying at her in the darkness, and she smiled before taking off.

It was a long journey home, and the entire trip her mind was occupied with thoughts of the intriguing zabrak male who saw her for what she truly was. She pulled out the tattered cloth from her pocket and pressed it against her chest as the wind rushed all around her before bringing it to her lips and kissing it.

It became her greatest treasure.

That is, until she finally had the real deal in her arms months later when the separation became too much to bear, and they arranged to meet in secret during their first rendezvous of many.

Sever, my treasure.

[an-annyeoing-writer]

god!Chen x Reader: indulgence.

word count: ~2,5k

genre: fantasy

warnings: mentions of death, brief descriptions of violence

宝藏

He sits at the lake’s edge, on a thick, curvy branch that extends from the forest surrounding it. His feet dangle right above the water’s calm surface, his eyes fixated on something far away, his hands holding onto other branches around him to keep balance. And he’s doing it perfectly: despite his feet swaying mindlessly, he’s nowhere close to slipping off the branch, and he doesn’t seem even half as focused as any human would be in this life threatening position. Although maybe the lake isn’t really that deep – but he still doesn’t seem to fear of falling into it.

His white, fox ears perk up at a sound and you hold your breath; you can’t be heard. You stay still and grasp onto the small brooch on your chest, stopping the little bells attached to it from echoing around – why are you still wearing it? it’s so annoying – praying so that you make no more noise than you already, apparently, have.

Yet, his peace has been disturbed and the man stands up; standing on the branch and turning in your direction, maybe not seeing you just yet, but acutely aware of your presence. He doesn’t hold onto anything anymore, but it doesn’t stop him from tiptoeing up the branch, from where he sat seconds ago to the main trunk and then off, onto the forest’s floor covered with pieces of wood, dead leaves and grass.

He walks to the side. His hands bury in the opposite sleeves of his coat: it doesn’t look like the type of clothing you’re familiar with, it’s traditional, but not like the Korean hanbok you know, or Japanese yukata, although it seems to have something from both of these, and even more. Gods and demons don’t care for human clusters. Which one of these species is this man – you can only hope to guess it right.

You hold onto the small glass bottle in your hand as he steps closer to where you’re crouching. He’s not looking at you, but you’re positive he knows you’re there. Will you manage to capture him? Or will he suddenly disappear, or even try to attack you first?

He suddenly jumps to the side, so strangely (why did he do that?!) that it startles you; the bottle almost slips from your hand and you only barely clutch it again before the adrenaline takes over and you throw it at him, so chaotically that you don’t even know if you threw it in the right direction, but it’s done, you can’t take it back now.

The bottle lands in the man’s extended hand; it wouldn’t have hit him, but he catches it, as if knowing exactly what to expect and where would it come from. Nothing else happens. The bottle stays in his hand as he glances at you. The thick bushes surrounding you and the tree trunk that you hid behind – he sees through all these things with his mesmerizing eyes, boring into yours.

He doesn’t speak, although the command is obvious – come out, there’s no use hiding anyway. Come out before I make you. Instead of speaking, he glances at the bottle and the small paper wrapped around its neck. Reading it makes him smirk.

You finally gather your courage; face the consequences, you pitiful hunter. You scramble to your feet and straighten your clothes; your hand brushes the brooch on your chest, making you flinch as the rough metal scratches your hand – not deep enough to draw blood, but the light pain is there – and you sigh, realizing its sound must be exactly what gave you away. What a useless item.

Soon, you emerge from the bushes, finally standing face to face with the man, whose lips are lifted in a small smile, a polite, yet careless one; his head tilts to the side in curiosity.

“Someone fooled you. You won’t catch a demon with this, even if I was one.”

“You’re not?!” Your eyes widen.

He shakes his head, eyes squinting. His head is tilted backwards which only highlights the way he looks down at you, as if taking apart all the elements you consist of, judging them, or even their potential use. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“Why do you want to catch a demon, though?” he asks. The bottle is thoughtlessly tossed away and lands in the grass, and he pays it no more attention. Instead, he steps closer to you, slowly, as if approaching a wild animal – although you felt as if he was closer to being one, the tables turn; you’re surrounded and he’s not scared, merely curious, and he’s the real threat to you right now. If he’s a god, the last thing you want is to upset him.

“I-I need it” you answer evasively.

“For?” he pries.

You hesitate, but you know there’s no use in trying to hide anything. Don’t upset him, you repeat to yourself.

“The King wants one.”

“You’re the King’s servant?”

“No. But he will release my brother if I give him a gift.”

“Why is he keeping your brother?”

“He’s… He’s in the prison. He stole money from a tax collector. He was imprisoned for stealing the King’s money.” You say the words in shame. You know, though – your brother isn’t a bad person, it’s just that, sometimes, the temptation is too big, the chance of getting money easier than through endless labor – too enticing. “He’s sentenced to death. I have to help him.”

“So you want to sacrifice an innocent being to save a criminal?”

There’s no use in arguing. The god smirks.

“What a noble deed to make. Well, I can help you. I’ll catch a demon with you and you’ll give me something in return. How does that sound?”

You know not to be too trustful.

“What is that, you want from me?”

His eyes go over your silhouette and he tilts his head.

“Something physical, something small, nothing you should worry about. It’s for your brother, so it’s worth it, right?”

That doesn’t sound right. Yet, it seems to be your only chance. Whatever it is that you’ll need to do in return, he’s right, you’re saving your brother’s life, so what’s there to lose? Nothing that you should be mindful of, certainly, even if it was to be your own life.

“I agree. Please, help me” you finally state.

The god smiles widely, but you can’t say that you like this smile.

成交

The night is deep, and the sky is the clearest black, but sprinkled with stars that brighten up the world underneath. There’s no single cloud and the sight takes your breath away while you pass through the wild fields, the sky surrounding you from each side, far till the horizon, with nothing to cover it, all exposed for you to admire.

It’s chilly, the lost wind tugging at your clothes and hair – you wrap the coat tighter around yourself as you walk forward, your eyes fixated on the sight above you, because you can barely see where you’re going anyway.

You reach a small clearing, a circle with no grass even, and a few stones forming an irregular pile in the middle. The small, tear-shaped bowl you’ve been keeping by your side all this time, careful as to not shatter the porcelain it’s made of, is being placed on top of the stone and you kneel in front of it, taking two small bottles from one of your pockets and pouring the oil from one of them inside. What’s in the other – you drink up with only a moment of hesitation. It has no taste.

The oil’s scent is pleasant, but its intensity overwhelms you so you move away as soon as it’s lightened up. The wind picks up again and you fear that it’ll fade, but the fire stays strong, the flame dancing in the wind that’s pushing it around.

You stare at the lantern only a few moments more before choosing to look around you. The sky view is long-forgotten, there are other things you ought to worry about now. You try to see through the darkness, but the lantern, so small and placed so low above the ground, doesn’t make it much easier. What’s to come – you can only guess.

The wind picks up further. It puts the fire out and you move to light it up once again.

But before you reach the lantern, a wave of cold wind pushes you backwards and onto the ground, and does the same to the lantern – the oil spills, the bowl hits the lower stones and shatters like the thinnest glass. You feel your fear arise, but don’t find it in yourself to move from your spot, until there’s a silhouette appearing on the other side of the pile, and you feel as if it was there for quite a while already, but only allowed you to see it now, and you’re just a mere human that can’t possibly see a demon until the demon himself allows her to...

“What are you trying to do, human?” he scorns.

He walks around the pile and reaches the shattered lantern; he brushes its surface with his finger and then puts it under his nose, the oil’s aroma clearly satisfying to his senses as he glances at you once again.

“Well?” He approaches you and crouches down, his hand reaching and touching your forehead, leaving the oil on your skin as if to mark you with its scent. You’re frozen in spot. “Are you going to answer me?”

You don’t say a word. Your forehead tingles where the oil was put.

“Well then, if you can’t speak, seems like there’s only one use left for you.”

He grabs your shoulder and pulls you forward, the free hand catching the front of your clothing and tearing it off your body. And in no time, he bites you, sharp teeth burying in your chest and ripping the flash away. You scream in pain.

But so does he.

You’re being thrown away and he stumbles backwards, clutching onto his mouth and trying to get the flesh out of his mouth with his fingers. But it’s too late, your blood – poisoned with what you drank moments ago – runs down his throat, burning, hurting. He falls to the ground.

You know what you should do now – he’s powerless and that’s your only chance. But the blood seeping from your chest is too much, the world is spinning, you’re struggling to even find your balance. You pull another bottle out of your pocket, praying so that it didn’t break upon your fall. But you can’t move anymore, everything hurts, everything becomes blurry, the night’s darkness seeping into your very soul.

And when you think it’s over, suddenly, the bottle is gently taken from your hand. A small smile appears in the range of your sight, and it’s all that you’re seeing right now, until it disappears, when the man walks past you and approaches the demon’s silhouette – moaning and writhing on the ground, suffering.

The bottle is thrown at him carelessly and he lets out the last scream, before being pulled inside, his body turning into shining dust, matching the stars above, but brighter, filling the glass with its sparkling essence, lightening up way more than any mediocre oil lantern could ever hope to do.

The light soon fades, and so do you.

庥

Something tickles your neck and you start to wake up. It takes a few moments of blissful rest, before you finally pry your eyes open, sighing quietly at the loss of peace, although it’s not fully gone – the world you welcome is peaceful as well.

The first sight is that of the lake extending in front of you. You’re laid on its edge, inches from the water’s surface, the sun peeking through the foliage above and warming you up despite the chilly breeze arising from the lake.

You think it’s the grass stalks that tickle your face, but as you start analyzing your place further, it turns out to be a white tail that dangles nearby, lazily swaying from side to side and brushing your cheek in the process.

The god sits next to you, staring into the space in front of him, just like the first time you saw him. At the sound of you moving, he glances down at you and smiles slightly.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey.”

“Huh?”

You’re confused with the weird rhyme, but soon realize it’s the last of the things you should be concerned about. Pain ghosts in your chest and you put your hand there, but there’s no source of concern – no real pain, and, as you notice slipping fingers under the clothes, no bruise left even.

“Did you…?”

It wouldn’t be too haste to assume healing a wound like such is not out of god’s powers, would it?

But the god doesn’t respond; in fact, he doesn’t spare you a second glance, until he suddenly looks as if he recalled something very important, and, out of the robes covering his body, pulls out a glass bottle with grayish, sparkling essence churning inside like a small storm, although more mesmerizing than terrifying, looking, in fact, harmless.

You take the glass carefully, scared of damaging it in any way, and observe it for a few moments before gently putting it in your own pocket. Then, you glance up at the god, whose eyes follow yours curiously.

“Thank you” you utter.

“Well, you’re welcome.”

“So…” You hesitate; it’s the time to pay. You only hope so that whatever is that you’re to give away, won’t stop you from getting the trapped demon safely to the King.

“This.”

He points at your chest without further explanation and your heart drops for a moment, scared to ask what he means, exactly.

Seeing your uneasiness though, and the way your face contorts in fear, he laughs, his eyes squinting in pure amusement.

“What are you thinking, human? This is what I’m talking about.” He raises his hand and pulls at your brooch, and you quickly take the hint and unpin it, patting your clothing down to hide the small holes from the needle. The bells ring as the god takes the brooch in his fingers and admires it for a few moments, letting its elements sparkle in the sun as he extends his hand beyond the shadow’s range. “I heard it when we first met.” He hesitates for a moment, before smirking, glancing at you mischievously. “Do you think I’d bother talking to a human if I didn’t find something worth my time? Isn’t it a beautiful sound?”

It doesn’t really sound so beautiful to you; the bells are old, they sound harsh and unpleasant, although quiet enough not to bother you too much. You only kept it because of the appearance – you don’t like the bells at all.

But the god seems mesmerized, completely infatuated with the little, shiny object and its plain noise.

“Go and save your criminal brother” he tells you, not bothering to look at you anymore, as if his new property is all he cares about at this point.

And you don’t bothered to argue, to make him act nicer.

Not like there’s any chance he will agree with you, anyway.

理

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[anentirepandabear]

R o m e o a n d J u l i e t

ACT IPROLOGUETwo households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whose misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife. The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, And the continuance of their parents' rage, Which, but their children's end, nought could remove, Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; The which if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. SCENE I. Verona. A public place.

Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, of the house of Capulet, armed with swords and bucklersSAMPSONGregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals. GREGORYNo, for then we should be colliers. SAMPSONI mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw. GREGORYAy, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar. SAMPSONI strike quickly, being moved. GREGORYBut thou art not quickly moved to strike. SAMPSONA dog of the house of Montague moves me. GREGORYTo move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away. SAMPSONA dog of that house shall move me to stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's. GREGORYThat shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the wall. SAMPSONTrue; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall. GREGORYThe quarrel is between our masters and us their men. SAMPSON'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids, and cut off their heads. GREGORYThe heads of the maids? SAMPSONAy, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt. GREGORYThey must take it in sense that feel it. SAMPSONMe they shall feel while I am able to stand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh. GREGORY'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool! here comes two of the house of the Montagues. SAMPSONMy naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee. GREGORYHow! turn thy back and run? SAMPSONFear me not. GREGORYNo, marry; I fear thee! SAMPSONLet us take the law of our sides; let them begin. GREGORYI will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list. SAMPSONNay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.

Enter ABRAHAM and BALTHASAR

ABRAHAMDo you bite your thumb at us, sir? SAMPSONI do bite my thumb, sir. ABRAHAMDo you bite your thumb at us, sir? SAMPSON[Aside to GREGORY] Is the law of our side, if I say ay? GREGORYNo. SAMPSONNo, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir. GREGORYDo you quarrel, sir? ABRAHAMQuarrel sir! no, sir. SAMPSONIf you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as good a man as you. ABRAHAMNo better. SAMPSONWell, sir. GREGORYSay 'better:' here comes one of my master's kinsmen. SAMPSONYes, better, sir. ABRAHAMYou lie. SAMPSONDraw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy swashing blow.

They fight

Enter BENVOLIO

BENVOLIOPart, fools! Put up your swords; you know not what you do.

Beats down their swords

Enter TYBALT

TYBALTWhat, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. BENVOLIOI do but keep the peace: put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. TYBALTWhat, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: Have at thee, coward!

They fight

Enter, several of both houses, who join the fray; then enter Citizens, with clubs

First CitizenClubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down! Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues!

Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY CAPULET

CAPULETWhat noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho! LADY CAPULETA crutch, a crutch! why call you for a sword? CAPULETMy sword, I say! Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me.

Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE

MONTAGUEThou villain Capulet,--Hold me not, let me go. LADY MONTAGUEThou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.

Enter PRINCE, with Attendants

PRINCERebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,-- Will they 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 mistemper'd weapons to the ground, And hear the sentence of your moved prince. Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets, And made Verona's ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, To wield old partisans, in hands as old, Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate: 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 know our further pleasure in this case, To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

Exeunt all but MONTAGUE, LADY MONTAGUE, and BENVOLIO

MONTAGUEWho set this ancient quarrel new abroach? Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? BENVOLIOHere were the servants of your adversary, And yours, close fighting ere I did approach: I drew to part them: in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepared, Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears, He swung about his head and cut the winds, Who nothing hurt withal hiss'd him in scorn: While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, Came more and more and fought on part and part, Till the prince came, who parted either part. LADY MONTAGUEO, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day? Right glad I am he was not at this fray. BENVOLIOMadam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; Where, underneath the grove of sycamore That westward rooteth from the city's side, So early walking did I see your son: Towards him I made, but he was ware 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, Pursued my humour not pursuing his, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. MONTAGUEMany a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting 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 The shady curtains from Aurora's bed, Away from the light steals home my heavy son, And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his windows, locks far daylight out And makes himself an artificial night: Black and portentous must this humour prove, Unless good counsel may the cause remove. BENVOLIOMy noble uncle, do you know the cause? MONTAGUEI neither know it nor can learn of him. BENVOLIOHave you importuned him by any means? MONTAGUEBoth by myself and many other friends: But he, his own affections' counsellor, Is to himself--I will not say how true-- But to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm, 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 ROMEO

BENVOLIOSee, where he comes: so please you, step aside; I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. MONTAGUEI would thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away.

Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE

BENVOLIOGood-morrow, cousin. ROMEOIs the day so young? BENVOLIOBut new struck nine. ROMEOAy me! sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast? BENVOLIOIt was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? ROMEONot having that, which, having, makes them short. BENVOLIOIn love? ROMEOOut-- BENVOLIOOf love? ROMEOOut of her favour, where I am in love. BENVOLIOAlas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! ROMEOAlas, 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 any thing, 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? BENVOLIONo, coz, I rather weep. ROMEOGood heart, at what? BENVOLIOAt thy good heart's oppression. ROMEOWhy, such is love's transgression. Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs; Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes; Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: What is it else? a madness most discreet, A choking gall and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz. BENVOLIOSoft! I will go along; An if you leave me so, you do me wrong. ROMEOTut, I have lost myself; I am not here; This is not Romeo, he's some other where. BENVOLIOTell me in sadness, who is that you love. ROMEOWhat, shall I groan and tell thee? BENVOLIOGroan! why, no. But sadly tell me who. ROMEOBid a sick man in sadness make his will: Ah, word ill urged to one that is so ill! In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. BENVOLIOI aim'd so near, when I supposed you loved. ROMEOA right good mark-man! And she's fair I love. BENVOLIOA right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. ROMEOWell, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit; And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. She will not stay the siege of loving terms, Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: O, she is rich in beauty, only poor, That when she dies with beauty dies her store. BENVOLIOThen she hath sworn that she will still live chaste? ROMEOShe hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste, For beauty starved with her severity Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, To merit bliss by making me despair: She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow Do I live dead that live to tell it now. BENVOLIOBe ruled by me, forget to think of her. ROMEOO, teach me how I should forget to think. BENVOLIOBy giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties. ROMEO'Tis the way To call hers exquisite, in question more: These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows Being black put us in mind they hide the fair; He that is strucken blind cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost: Show me a mistress that is passing fair, What doth her beauty serve, but as a note Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair? Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget. BENVOLIOI'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.

Exeunt

SCENE II. A street.

Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and ServantCAPULETBut Montague is bound as well as I, In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, For men so old as we to keep the peace. PARISOf honourable reckoning are you both; And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long. But now, my lord, what say you to my suit? CAPULETBut saying o'er what I have said before: My child is yet a stranger in the world; She hath not seen the change of fourteen years, Let two more summers wither in their pride, Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. PARISYounger than she are happy mothers made. CAPULETAnd too soon marr'd are those so early made. The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she, She is the hopeful lady of my earth: But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, My will to her consent is but a part; An she agree, within her scope of choice Lies my consent and fair according voice. This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, Whereto I have invited many a guest, Such as I love; and you, among the store, 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 well-apparell'd April on the heel Of limping winter treads, even such delight Among fresh female buds shall you this night Inherit at my house; hear all, all see, And like her most whose merit most shall be: Which on more view, of many mine being one May stand in number, though in reckoning none, Come, go with me.

To Servant, giving a paper

Go, sirrah, 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.

Exeunt CAPULET and PARIS

ServantFind them out whose names are written here! It is written, that the shoemaker should meddle with his yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with his pencil, and the painter with his nets; but I am sent to find those persons whose names are here writ, and can never find what names the writing person hath here writ. I must to the learned.--In good time.

Enter BENVOLIO and ROMEO

BENVOLIOTut, man, one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's languish: Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die. ROMEOYour plaintain-leaf is excellent for that. BENVOLIOFor what, I pray thee? ROMEOFor your broken shin. BENVOLIOWhy, Romeo, art thou mad? ROMEONot mad, but bound more than a mad-man is; Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipp'd and tormented and--God-den, good fellow. ServantGod gi' god-den. I pray, sir, can you read? ROMEOAy, mine own fortune in my misery. ServantPerhaps you have learned it without book: but, I pray, can you read any thing you see? ROMEOAy, if I know the letters and the language. ServantYe say honestly: rest you merry! ROMEOStay, fellow; I can read.

Reads

'Signior Martino and his wife and daughters; County Anselme and his beauteous sisters; the lady widow of Vitravio; Signior Placentio and his lovely nieces; Mercutio and his brother Valentine; mine uncle Capulet, his wife and daughters; my fair niece Rosaline; Livia; Signior Valentio and his cousin Tybalt, Lucio and the lively Helena.' A fair assembly: whither should they come? ServantUp. ROMEOWhither? ServantTo supper; to our house. ROMEOWhose house? ServantMy master's. ROMEOIndeed, I should have ask'd you that before. ServantNow 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

BENVOLIOAt this same ancient feast of Capulet's Sups the fair Rosaline whom thou so lovest, With all the admired beauties of Verona: Go thither; and, with unattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy swan a crow. ROMEOWhen the devout religion of mine eye Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires; And these, who often drown'd could never die, Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars! One fairer than my love! the all-seeing sun Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun. BENVOLIOTut, you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself poised with herself in either eye: But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd 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. ROMEOI'll go along, no such sight to be shown, But to rejoice in splendor of mine own.

Exeunt

SCENE III. A room in Capulet's house.

Enter LADY CAPULET and NurseLADY CAPULETNurse, where's my daughter? call her forth to me. NurseNow, by my maidenhead, at twelve year old, I bade her come. What, lamb! what, ladybird! God forbid! Where's this girl? What, Juliet!

Enter JULIET

JULIETHow now! who calls? NurseYour mother. JULIETMadam, I am here. What is your will? LADY CAPULETThis is the matter:--Nurse, give leave awhile, We must talk in secret:--nurse, come back again; I have remember'd me, thou's hear our counsel. Thou know'st my daughter's of a pretty age. NurseFaith, I can tell her age unto an hour. LADY CAPULETShe's not fourteen. NurseI'll lay fourteen of my teeth,-- And yet, to my teeth be it spoken, I have but four-- She is not fourteen. How long is it now To Lammas-tide? LADY CAPULETA fortnight and odd days. NurseEven or odd, of all days in the year, Come Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen. Susan and she--God rest all Christian souls!-- Were of an age: well, Susan is with God; She was too good for me: but, as I said, On Lammas-eve at night shall she be fourteen; That shall she, marry; I remember it well. 'Tis since the earthquake now eleven years; And she was wean'd,--I never shall forget it,-- Of all the days of the year, upon that day: For I had then laid wormwood to my dug, Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall; My lord and you were then at Mantua:-- Nay, I do bear a brain:--but, as I said, When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple Of my dug and felt it bitter, pretty fool, To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug! Shake quoth the dove-house: 'twas no need, I trow, To bid me trudge: And since that time it is eleven years; For then she could stand alone; nay, by the rood, She could have run and waddled all about; For even the day before, she broke her brow: And then my husband--God be with his soul! A' was a merry man--took up the child: 'Yea,' quoth he, 'dost thou fall upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit; Wilt thou not, Jule?' and, by my holidame, The pretty wretch left crying and said 'Ay.' To see, now, how a jest shall come about! I warrant, an I should live a thousand years, I never should forget it: 'Wilt thou not, Jule?' quoth he; And, pretty fool, it stinted and said 'Ay.' LADY CAPULETEnough of this; I pray thee, hold thy peace. NurseYes, madam: yet I cannot choose but laugh, To think it should leave crying and say 'Ay.' And yet, I warrant, it had upon its brow A bump as big as a young cockerel's stone; A parlous knock; and it cried bitterly: 'Yea,' quoth my husband,'fall'st upon thy face? Thou wilt fall backward when thou comest to age; Wilt thou not, Jule?' it stinted and said 'Ay.' JULIETAnd stint thou too, I pray thee, nurse, say I. NursePeace, I have done. God mark thee to his grace! Thou wast the prettiest babe that e'er I nursed: An I might live to see thee married once, I have my wish. LADY CAPULETMarry, that 'marry' is the very theme I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be married? JULIETIt is an honour that I dream not of. NurseAn honour! were not I thine only nurse, I would say thou hadst suck'd wisdom from thy teat. LADY CAPULETWell, think of marriage now; younger than you, Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, Are made already mothers: by my count, I was your mother much upon these years That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief: The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. NurseA man, young lady! lady, such a man As all the world--why, he's a man of wax. LADY CAPULETVerona's summer hath not such a flower. NurseNay, he's a flower; in faith, a very flower. LADY CAPULETWhat say you? can you love the gentleman? This night you shall behold him at our feast; Read o'er the volume of young Paris' face, And find delight writ there with beauty's pen; Examine every married lineament, And see how one another lends content And what obscured in this fair volume lies Find written in the margent of his eyes. This precious book of love, this unbound lover, To beautify him, 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 that he doth possess, By having him, making yourself no less. NurseNo less! nay, bigger; women grow by

men. LADY CAPULETSpeak briefly, can you like of Paris' love? JULIETI'll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.

Enter a Servant

ServantMadam, the guests are come, supper served up, you called, my young lady asked for, the nurse cursed in the pantry, and every thing in extremity. I must hence to wait; I beseech you, follow straight. LADY CAPULETWe follow thee.

Exit Servant

Juliet, the county stays. NurseGo, girl, seek happy nights to happy days.

Exeunt

SCENE IV. A street.

Enter ROMEO, MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, with five or six Maskers, Torch-bearers, and othersROMEOWhat, shall this speech be spoke for our excuse? Or shall we on without a apology? BENVOLIOThe date is out of such prolixity: We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke After the prompter, for our entrance: But let them measure us by what they will; We'll measure them a measure, and be gone. ROMEOGive me a torch: I am not for this ambling; Being but heavy, I will bear the light. MERCUTIONay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance. ROMEONot I, believe me: you have dancing shoes With nimble soles: I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move. MERCUTIOYou are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound. ROMEOI am too sore enpierced with his shaft To soar with his light feathers, and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Under love's heavy burden do I sink. MERCUTIOAnd, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing. ROMEOIs love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn. MERCUTIOIf love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in: A visor for a visor! what care I What curious eye doth quote deformities? Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me. BENVOLIOCome, knock and enter; and no sooner in, But every man betake him to his legs. ROMEOA torch for me: let wantons light of heart Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels, For I am proverb'd with a grandsire phrase; I'll be a candle-holder, and look on. The game was ne'er so fair, and I am done. MERCUTIOTut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word: If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho! ROMEONay, that's not so. MERCUTIOI mean, sir, in delay We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits Five times in that ere once in our five wits. ROMEOAnd we mean well in going to this mask; But 'tis no wit to go. MERCUTIOWhy, may one ask? ROMEOI dream'd a dream to-night. MERCUTIOAnd so did I. ROMEOWell, what was yours? MERCUTIOThat dreamers often lie. ROMEOIn bed asleep, while they do dream things true. MERCUTIOO, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies' midwife, and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the fore-finger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep; Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders' legs, The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, The traces of the smallest spider's web, The collars of the moonshine's watery beams, Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film, Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat, Not so big as a round little worm Prick'd from the lazy finger of a maid; Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; O'er courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight, O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight dream on fees, O'er ladies ' lips, who straight on kisses dream, Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are: Sometime she gallops o'er a courtier's nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail Tickling a parson's nose as a' lies asleep, Then dreams, he of another benefice: Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, And being thus frighted swears a prayer or two And sleeps again. This is that very Mab That plats the manes of horses in the night, And bakes the elflocks in foul

sluttish hairs, Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes: This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, That presses them and learns them first to bear, Making them women of good carriage: This is she-- ROMEOPeace, peace, Mercutio, peace! Thou talk'st of nothing. MERCUTIOTrue, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy, Which is as thin of substance as the air And more inconstant than the wind, who wooes Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being anger'd, puffs away from thence, Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. BENVOLIOThis wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves; Supper is done, and we shall come too late. ROMEOI fear, too early: for my mind 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! On, lusty gentlemen. BENVOLIOStrike, drum.

Exeunt

SCENE V. A hall in Capulet's house.

Musicians waiting. Enter Servingmen with napkinsFirst ServantWhere's Potpan, that he helps not to take away? He shift a trencher? he scrape a trencher! Second ServantWhen good manners shall lie all in one or two men's hands and they unwashed too, 'tis a foul thing. First ServantAway with the joint-stools, remove the court-cupboard, look to the plate. Good thou, save me a piece of marchpane; and, as thou lovest me, let the porter let in Susan Grindstone and Nell. Antony, and Potpan! Second ServantAy, boy, ready. First ServantYou are looked for and called for, asked for and sought for, in the great chamber. Second ServantWe cannot be here and there too. Cheerly, boys; be brisk awhile, and the longer liver take all.

Enter CAPULET, with JULIET and others of his house, meeting the Guests and Maskers

CAPULETWelcome, gentlemen! ladies that have their toes Unplagued with corns will have a bout with you. Ah ha, my mistresses! which of you all Will now deny to dance? she that makes dainty, She, I'll swear, hath corns; am I come near ye now? Welcome, gentlemen! I have seen the day That I have worn a visor and could tell A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear, Such as would please: 'tis gone, 'tis gone, 'tis gone: You are welcome, gentlemen! come, musicians, play. A hall, a hall! give room! and foot it, girls.

Music plays, and they dance

More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up, And quench the fire, the room is grown too hot. Ah, sirrah, this unlook'd-for sport comes well. Nay, sit, nay, sit, good cousin Capulet; For you and I are past our dancing days: How long is't now since last yourself and I Were in a mask? Second CapuletBy'r lady, thirty years. CAPULETWhat, man! 'tis not so much, 'tis not so much: 'Tis since the nuptials of Lucentio, Come pentecost as quickly as it will, Some five and twenty years; and then we mask'd. Second Capulet'Tis more, 'tis more, his son is elder, sir; His son is thirty. CAPULETWill you tell me that? His son was but a ward two years ago. ROMEO[To a Servingman] What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight? ServantI know not, sir. ROMEOO, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night. TYBALTThis, by his voice, should be a Montague. Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave Come hither, cover'd with an antic face, To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now, by the stock and honour of my kin, To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin. CAPULETWhy, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so? TYBALTUncle, this is a Montague, our foe, A villain that is hither come in spite, To scorn at our solemnity this night. CAPULETYoung Romeo is it? TYBALT'Tis he, that villain Romeo. CAPULETContent thee, gentle coz, let him alone; He bears him like a portly gentleman; And, to say truth, Verona brags of him To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth: I would not for the wealth of all the town Here in my house do him disparagement: Therefore be patient, take no note of him: It is my will, the which if thou respect, Show a fair presence and put off these frowns, And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast. TYBALTIt fits, when such a villain is a guest: I'll not endure him. CAPULETHe shall be endured: What, goodman boy! I say, he shall: go to; Am I the master here, or you? go to. You'll not endure him! God shall mend my soul! You'll make a mutiny among my guests! You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man! TYBALTWhy, uncle, 'tis a shame. CAPULETGo to, go to; You are a saucy boy: is't so, indeed? This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what: You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time. Well said, my hearts! You are a princox; go: Be quiet, or--More light, more light! For shame! I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts! TYBALTPatience perforce with wilful choler meeting Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting. I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall.

Exit

ROMEO[To JULIET] If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. JULIETGood pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss. ROMEOHave not saints lips, and holy palmers too? JULIETAy, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer. ROMEOO, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. JULIETSaints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake. ROMEOThen move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged. JULIETThen have my lips the sin that they have took. ROMEOSin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again. JULIETYou kiss by the book. NurseMadam, your mother craves a word with you. ROMEOWhat is her mother? NurseMarry, bachelor, Her mother is the lady of the house, And a good lady, and a wise and virtuous I nursed her daughter, that you talk'd withal; I tell you, he that can lay hold of her Shall have the chinks. ROMEOIs she a Capulet? O dear account! my life is my foe's debt. BENVOLIOAway, begone; the sport is at the best. ROMEOAy, so I fear; the more is my unrest. CAPULETNay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. Is it e'en so? why, then, I thank you all I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night. More torches here! Come on then, let's to bed. Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late: I'll to my rest.

Exeunt all but JULIET and Nurse

JULIETCome hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman? NurseThe son and heir of old Tiberio. JULIETWhat's he that now is going out of door? NurseMarry, that, I think, be young Petrucio. JULIETWhat's he that follows there, that would not dance? NurseI know not. JULIETGo ask his name: if he be married. My grave is like to be my wedding bed. NurseHis name is Romeo, and a Montague; The only son of your great enemy. JULIETMy only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy. NurseWhat's this? what's this? JULIETA rhyme I learn'd even now Of one I danced withal.

One calls within 'Juliet.'

NurseAnon, anon! Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone.

Exeunt

ACT IIPROLOGUE

Enter ChorusChorusNow old desire doth in his death-bed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir; That fair for which love groan'd for and would die, With tender Juliet match'd, is now not fair. Now Romeo is beloved and loves again, Alike betwitched by the charm of looks, But to his foe supposed he must complain, And she steal love's sweet bait from fearful hooks: Being held a foe, he may not have access To breathe such vows as lovers use to swear; And she as much in love, her means much less To meet her new-beloved any where: But passion lends them power, time means, to meet Tempering extremities with extreme sweet.

Exit

SCENE I. A lane by the wall of Capulet's orchard.

Enter ROMEOROMEOCan I go forward when my heart is here? Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out.

He climbs the wall, and leaps down within it

Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO

BENVOLIORomeo! my cousin Romeo! MERCUTIOHe is wise; And, on my lie, hath stol'n him home to bed. BENVOLIOHe ran this way, and leap'd this orchard wall: Call, good Mercutio. MERCUTIONay, I'll conjure too. Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover! Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh: Speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied; Cry but 'Ay me!' pronounce but 'love' and 'dove;' Speak to my gossip Venus one fair word, One nick-name for her purblind son and heir, Young Adam Cupid, he that shot so trim, When King Cophetua loved the beggar-maid! He heareth not, he stirreth not, he moveth not; The ape is dead, and I must conjure him. I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes, By her high forehead and her scarlet lip, By her fine foot, straight leg and quivering thigh And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, That in thy likeness thou appear to us! BENVOLIOAnd if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him. MERCUTIOThis cannot anger him: 'twould anger him To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle Of some strange nature, letting it there stand Till she had laid it and conjured it down; That were some spite: my invocation Is fair and honest, and in his mistres s' name I conjure only but to raise up him. BENVOLIOCome, he hath hid himself among these trees, To be consorted with the humorous night: Blind is his love and best befits the dark. MERCUTIOIf love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar tree, And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit As maids call medlars, when they laugh alone. Romeo, that she were, O, that she were An open et caetera, thou a poperin pear! Romeo, good night: I'll to my truckle-bed; This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep: Come, shall we go? BENVOLIOGo, then; for 'tis in vain To seek him here that means not to be found.

Exeunt

SCENE II. Capulet's orchard.

Enter ROMEOROMEOHe jests at scars that never felt a wound.

JULIET appears above at a window

But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she: Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were! She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that? Her eye discourses; I will answer it. I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek! JULIETAy me! ROMEOShe speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air. JULIETO Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet. ROMEO[Aside] Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? JULIET'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for that name which is no part of thee Take all myself. ROMEOI take thee at thy word: Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; Henceforth I never will be Romeo. JULIETWhat man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night So stumblest on my counsel? ROMEOBy a name I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, Because it is an enemy to thee; Had I it written, I would tear the word. JULIETMy ears have not yet drunk a hundred words Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound: Art thou not Romeo and a Montague? ROMEONeither, fair saint, if either thee dislike. JULIETHow camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, And the place death, considering who thou art, If any of my kinsmen find thee here. ROMEOWith love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls; For stony limits cannot hold love out, And what love can do that dares love attempt; Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me. JULIETIf they do see thee, they will murder thee. ROMEOAlack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet, And I am proof against their enmity. JULIETI would not for the world they saw thee here. ROMEOI have night's cloak to hide me from their sight; And but thou love me, let them find me here: My life were better ended by their hate, Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. JULIETBy whose direction found'st thou out this place? ROMEOBy love, who first did prompt me to inquire; He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise. JULIETThou know'st the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny What I have spoke: but farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,' And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st, Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: Or if

thou think'st I am too quickly won, I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay, So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond, And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light: But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more strange, I must confess, But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware, My true love's passion: therefore pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered. ROMEOLady, by yonder blessed moon I swear That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops-- JULIETO, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, That monthly changes in her circled orb, Lest that thy love prove likewise variable. ROMEOWhat shall I swear by? JULIETDo not swear at all; Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry, And I'll believe thee. ROMEOIf my heart's dear love-- JULIETWell, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night! This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest Come to thy heart as that within my breast! ROMEOO, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied? JULIETWhat satisfaction canst thou have to-night? ROMEOThe exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine. JULIETI gave thee mine before thou didst request it: And yet I would it were to give again. ROMEOWouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love? JULIETBut to be frank, and give it thee again. And yet I wish but for the thing I have: My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.

Nurse calls within

I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu! Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true. Stay but a little, I will come again.

Exit, above

ROMEOO blessed, blessed night! I am afeard. Being in night, all this is but a dream, Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.

Re-enter JULIET, above

JULIETThree words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed. If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, By one that I'll procure to come to thee, Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite; And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay And follow thee my lord throughout the world. Nurse[Within] Madam! JULIETI come, anon.--But if thou mean'st not well, I do beseech thee-- Nurse[Within] Madam! JULIETBy and by, I come:-- To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief: To-morrow will I send. ROMEOSo thrive my soul-- JULIETA thousand times good night!

Exit, above

ROMEOA thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books, But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.

Retiring

Re-enter JULIET, above

JULIETHist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's voice, To lure this tassel-gentle back again! Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud; Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies, And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine, With repetition of my Romeo's name. ROMEOIt is my soul that calls upon my name: How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears! JULIETRomeo! ROMEOMy dear? JULIETAt what o'clock to-morrow Shall I send to thee? ROMEOAt the hour of nine. JULIETI will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then. I have forgot why I did call thee back. ROMEOLet me stand here till thou remember it. JULIETI shall forget, to have thee still stand there, Remembering how I love thy company. ROMEOAnd I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, Forgetting any other home but this. JULIET'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone: And yet no further than a wanton's bird; Who lets it hop a little from her hand, Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, And with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his liberty. ROMEOI would I were thy bird. JULIETSweet, so would I: Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

Exit above

ROMEOSleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast! Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest! Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell, His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.

Exit

SCENE III. Friar Laurence's cell.

Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a basketFRIAR LAURENCEThe grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light, And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels: Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry, I must up-fill this osier cage of ours With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers. The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb; What is her burying grave that is her womb, And from her womb children of divers kind We sucking on her natural bosom find, Many for many virtues excellent, None but for some and yet all different. O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities: For nought so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give, Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse: Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied; And vice sometimes by action dignified. Within the infant rind of this small flower Poison hath residence and medicine power: For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed kings encamp them still In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will; And where the worser is predominant, Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.

Enter ROMEO

ROMEOGood morrow, father. FRIAR LAURENCEBenedicite! What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper'd head So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed: Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges, sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign: Therefore thy earliness doth me assure Thou art up-roused by some distemperature; Or if not so, then here I hit it right, Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. ROMEOThat last is true; the sweeter rest was mine. FRIAR LAURENCEGod pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline? ROMEOWith Rosaline, my ghostly father? no; I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. FRIAR LAURENCEThat's my good son: but where hast thou been, then? ROMEOI'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. I have been feasting with mine enemy, Where on a sudden one hath wounded me, That's by me wounded: both our remedies Within thy help and holy physic lies: I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo, My intercession likewise steads my foe. FRIAR LAURENCEBe plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift. ROMEOThen plainly know my heart's dear love is set On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; And all combined, save what thou must combine By holy marriage: when and where and how We met, we woo'd and made exchange of vow, I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray, That thou consent to marry us to-day. FRIAR LAURENCEHoly Saint Francis, what a change is here! Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear, So soon forsaken? young men's love then lies Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline! How much salt water thrown away in waste, To season love, that of it doth not taste! The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears; Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet: If e'er thou wast thyself and these woes thine, Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline: And art thou changed? pronounce this sentence then, Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. ROMEOThou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline. FRIAR LAURENCEFor doting, not for loving, pupil mine. ROMEOAnd bad'st me bury love. FRIAR LAURENCENot in a grave, To lay one in, another out to have. ROMEOI pray thee, chide not; she whom I love now Doth grace for grace and love for love allow; The other did not so. FRIAR LAURENCEO, she knew well Thy love did read by rote and could not spell. But come, young waverer, come, go with me, In one respect I'll thy assistant be; For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your households' rancour to pure love. ROMEOO, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste. FRIAR LAURENCEWisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.

Exeunt

SCENE IV. A street.

Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIOMERCUTIOWhere the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home to-night? BENVOLIONot to his father's; I spoke with his man. MERCUTIOAh, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline. Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. BENVOLIOTybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, Hath sent a letter to his father's house. MERCUTIOA challenge, on my life. BENVOLIORomeo will answer it. MERCUTIOAny man that can write may answer a letter. BENVOLIONay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dared. MERCUTIOAlas poor Romeo! he is already dead; stabbed with a white wench's black eye; shot through the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft: and is he a man to encounter Tybalt? BENVOLIOWhy, what is Tybalt? MERCUTIOMore than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and second cause: ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the hai! BENVOLIOThe what? MERCUTIOThe pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents! 'By Jesu, a very good blade! a very tall man! a very good whore!' Why, is not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these perdona-mi's, who stand so much on the new form, that they cannot at ease on the old bench? O, their bones, their bones!

Enter ROMEO

BENVOLIOHere comes Romeo, here comes Romeo. MERCUTIOWithout his roe, like a dried herring: flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified! Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her; Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gipsy; Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night. ROMEOGood morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you? MERCUTIOThe ship, sir, the slip; can you not conceive? ROMEOPardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy. MERCUTIOThat's as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams. ROMEOMeaning, to court'sy. MERCUTIOThou hast most kindly hit it. ROMEOA most courteous exposition. MERCUTIONay, I am the very pink of courtesy. ROMEOPink for flower. MERCUTIORight. ROMEOWhy, then is my pump well flowered. MERCUTIOWell said: follow me this jest now till thou hast worn out thy pump, that when the single sole of it is worn, the jest may remain after the wearing sole singular. ROMEOO single-soled jest, solely singular for the singleness. MERCUTIOCome between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint. ROMEOSwitch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match. MERCUTIONay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done, for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five: was I with you there for the goose? ROMEOThou wast never with me for any thing when thou wast not there for the goose. MERCUTIOI will bite thee by the ear for that jest. ROMEONay, good goose, bite not. MERCUTIOThy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce. ROMEOAnd is it not well served in to a sweet goose? MERCUTIOO here's a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad! ROMEOI stretch it out for that word 'broad;' which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide a broad goose. MERCUTIOWhy, is not this better now than groaning for love? now art thou sociable, now art thou Romeo; now art thou what thou art, by art as well as by nature: for this drivelling love is like a great natural, that runs lolling up and down to hide his bauble in a hole. BENVOLIOStop there, stop there. MERCUTIOThou desirest me to stop in my tale against the hair. BENVOLIOThou wouldst else have made thy tale large. MERCUTIOO, thou art deceived; I would have made it short: for I was come to the whole depth of my tale; and meant, indeed, to occupy the argument no longer. ROMEOHere's goodly gear!

Enter Nurse and PETER

MERCUTIOA sail, a sail! BENVOLIOTwo, two; a shirt and a smock. NursePeter! PETERAnon! NurseMy fan, Peter. MERCUTIOGood Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer face. NurseGod ye good morrow, gentlemen. MERCUTIOGod ye good den, fair gentlewoman. NurseIs it good den? MERCUTIO'Tis no less, I tell you, for the bawdy hand of the dial is now upon the prick of noon. NurseOut upon you! what a man are you! ROMEOOne, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar. NurseBy my troth, it is well said; 'for himself to mar,' quoth a'? Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young Romeo? ROMEOI can tell you; but young Romeo will be older when you have found him than he was when you sought him: I am the youngest of that name, for fault of a worse. NurseYou say well. MERCUTIOYea, is the worst well? very well took, i' faith; wisely, wisely. Nurseif you be he, sir, I desire some confidence with you. BENVOLIOShe will indite him to some supper. MERCUTIOA bawd, a bawd, a bawd! so ho! ROMEOWhat hast thou found? MERCUTIONo hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent.

Sings

An old hare hoar, And an old hare hoar, Is very good meat in lent But a hare that is hoar Is too much for a score, When it hoars ere it be spent. Romeo, will you come to your father's? we'll to dinner, thither. ROMEOI will follow you. MERCUTIOFarewell, ancient lady; farewell,

Singing

'lady, lady, lady.'

Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO

NurseMarry, farewell! I pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this, that was so full of his ropery? ROMEOA gentleman, nurse, that loves to hear himself talk, and will speak more in a minute than he will stand to in a month. NurseAn a' speak any thing against me, I'll take him down, an a' were lustier than he is, and twenty such Jacks; and if I cannot, I'll find those that shall. Scurvy knave! I am none of his flirt-gills; I am none of his skains-mates. And thou must stand by too, and suffer every knave to use me at his pleasure? PETERI saw no man use you a pleasure; if I had, my weapon should quickly have been out, I warrant you: I dare draw as soon as another man, if I see occasion in a good quarrel, and the law on my side. NurseNow, afore God, I am so vexed, that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave! Pray you, sir, a word: and as I told you, my young lady bade me inquire you out; what she bade me say, I will keep to myself: but first let me tell ye, if ye should lead her into a fool's paradise, as they say, it were a very gross kind of behavior, as they say: for the gentlewoman is young; and, therefore, if you should deal double with her, truly it were an ill thing to be offered to any gentlewoman, and very weak dealing. ROMEONurse, commend me to thy lady and mistress. I protest unto thee-- NurseGood heart, and, i' faith, I will tell her as much: Lord, Lord, she will be a joyful woman. ROMEOWhat wilt thou tell her, nurse? thou dost not mark me. NurseI will tell her, sir, that you do protest; which, as I take it, is a gentlemanlike offer. ROMEOBid her devise Some means to come to shrift this afternoon; And there she shall at Friar Laurence' cell Be shrived and married. Here is for thy pains. NurseNo truly sir; not a penny. ROMEOGo to; I say you shall. NurseThis afternoon, sir? well, she shall be there. ROMEOAnd stay, good nurse, behind the abbey wall: Within this hour my man shall be with thee And bring thee cords made like a tackled stair; Which to the high top-gallant of my joy Must be my convoy in the secret night. Farewell; be trusty, and I'll quit thy pains: Farewell; commend me to thy mistress. NurseNow God in heaven bless thee! Hark you, sir. ROMEOWhat say'st thou, my dear nurse? NurseIs your man secret? Did you ne'er hear say, Two may keep counsel, putting one away? ROMEOI warrant thee, my man's as true as steel. NURSEWell, sir; my mistress is the sweetest lady--Lord, Lord! when 'twas a little prating thing:--O, there is a nobleman in town, one Paris, that would fain lay knife aboard; but she, good soul, had as lief see a toad, a very toad, as see him. I anger her sometimes and tell her that Paris is the properer man; but, I'll warrant you, when I say so, she looks as pale as any clout in the versal world. Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter? ROMEOAy, nurse; what of that? both with an R. NurseAh. mocker! that's the dog's name; R is for the--No; I know it begins with some other letter:--and she hath the prettiest sententious of it, of you and rosemary, that it would do you good to hear it. ROMEOCommend me to thy lady. NurseAy, a thousand times.

Exit Romeo

Peter! PETERAnon! NursePeter, take my fan, and go before and apace.

Exeunt

SCENE V. Capulet's orchard.

Enter JULIETJULIETThe clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; In half an hour she promised to return. Perchance she cannot meet him: that's not so. O, she is lame! love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the sun's beams, Driving back shadows over louring hills: Therefore do nimble-pinion'd doves draw love, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. Now is the sun upon the highmost hill Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve Is three long hours, yet she is not come. Had she affections and warm youthful blood, She would be as swift in motion as a ball; My words would bandy her to my sweet love, And his to me: But old folks, many feign as they were dead; Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead. O God, she comes!

Enter Nurse and PETER

O honey nurse, what news? Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. NursePeter, stay at the gate.

Exit PETER

JULIETNow, good sweet nurse,--O Lord, why look'st thou sad? Though news be sad, yet tell them merrily; If good, thou shamest the music of sweet news By playing it to me with so sour a face. NurseI am a-weary, give me leave awhile: Fie, how my bones ache! what a jaunt have I had! JULIETI would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news: Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak. NurseJesu, what haste? can you not stay awhile? Do you not see that I am out of breath? JULIETHow art thou out of breath, when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath? The excuse that thou dost make in this delay Is longer than the tale thou dost excuse. Is thy news good, or bad? answer to that; Say either, and I'll stay the circumstance: Let me be satisfied, is't good or bad? NurseWell, you have made a simple choice; you know not how to choose a man: Romeo! no, not he; though his face be better than any man's, yet his leg excels all men's; and for a hand, and a foot, and a body, though they be not to be talked on, yet they are past compare: he is not the flower of courtesy, but, I'll warrant him, as gentle as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench; serve God. What, have you dined at home? JULIETNo, no: but all this did I know before. What says he of our marriage? what of that? NurseLord, how my head aches! what a head have I! It beats as it would fall in twenty pieces. My back o' t' other side,--O, my back, my back! Beshrew your heart for sending me about, To catch my death with jaunting up and down! JULIETI' faith, I am sorry that thou art not well. Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse, tell me, what says my love? NurseYour love says, like an honest gentleman, and a courteous, and a kind, and a handsome, and, I warrant, a virtuous,--Where is your mother? JULIETWhere is my mother! why, she is within; Where should she be? How oddly thou repliest! 'Your love says, like an honest gentleman, Where is your mother?' NurseO God's lady dear! Are you so hot? marry, come up, I trow; Is this the poultice for my aching bones? Henceforward do your messages yourself. JULIETHere's such a coil! come, what says Romeo? NurseHave you got leave to go to shrift to-day? JULIETI have. NurseThen hie you hence to Friar Laurence' cell; There stays a husband to make you a wife: Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks, They'll be in scarlet straight at any news. Hie you to church; I must another way, To fetch a ladder, by the which your love Must climb a bird's nest soon when it is dark: I am the drudge and toil in your delight, But you shall bear the burden soon at night. Go; I'll to dinner: hie you to the cell. JULIETHie to high fortune! Honest nurse, farewell.

Exeunt

SCENE VI. Friar Laurence's cell.

Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and ROMEOFRIAR LAURENCESo smile the heavens upon this holy act, That after hours with sorrow chide us not! ROMEOAmen, amen! but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare; It is enough I may but call her mine. FRIAR LAURENCEThese violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, Which as they kiss consume: the sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness And in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

Enter JULIET

Here comes the lady: O, so light a foot Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint: A lover may bestride the gossamer That idles in the wanton summer air, And yet not fall; so light is vanity. JULIETGood even to my ghostly confessor. FRIAR LAURENCERomeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both. JULIETAs much to him, else is his thanks too much. ROMEOAh, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue Unfold the imagined happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter. JULIETConceit, more rich in matter than in words, Brags of his substance, not of ornament: They are but beggars that can count their worth; But my true love is grown to such excess I cannot sum up sum of half my wealth. FRIAR LAURENCECome, come with me, and we will make short work; For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone Till holy church incorporate two in one.

Exeunt

ACT IIISCENE I. A public place.

Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and ServantsBENVOLIOI pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire: The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl; For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring. MERCUTIOThou art like one of those fellows that when he enters the confines of a tavern claps me his sword upon the table and says 'God send me no need of thee!' and by the operation of the second cup draws it on the drawer, when indeed there is no need. BENVOLIOAm I like such a fellow? MERCUTIOCome, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved. BENVOLIOAnd what to? MERCUTIONay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast: thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes: what eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as fun of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling: thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun: didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new shoes with old riband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling! BENVOLIOAn I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter. MERCUTIOThe fee-simple! O simple! BENVOLIOBy my head, here come the Capulets. MERCUTIOBy my heel, I care not.

Enter TYBALT and others

TYBALTFollow me close, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you. MERCUTIOAnd but one word with one of us? couple it with something; make it a word and a blow. TYBALTYou shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you will give me occasion. MERCUTIOCould you not take some occasion without giving? TYBALTMercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo,-- MERCUTIOConsort! what, dost thou make us minstrels? an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. 'Zounds, consort! BENVOLIOWe talk here in the public haunt of men: Either withdraw unto some private place, And reason coldly of your grievances, Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us. MERCUTIOMen's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze; I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.

Enter ROMEO

TYBALTWell, peace be with you, sir: here comes my man. MERCUTIOBut I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery: Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower; Your worship in that sense may call him 'man.' TYBALTRomeo, the hate I bear thee can afford No better term than this,--thou art a villain. ROMEOTybalt, the reason that I have to love thee Doth much excuse the appertaining rage To such a greeting: villain am I none; Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not. TYBALTBoy, this shall not excuse the injuries That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw. ROMEOI do protest, I never injured thee, But love thee better than thou canst devise, Till thou shalt know the reason of my love: And so, good Capulet,--which name I tender As dearly as my own,--be satisfied. MERCUTIOO calm, dishonourable, vile submission! Alla stoccata carries it away.

Draws

Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? TYBALTWhat wouldst thou have with me? MERCUTIOGood king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you shall use me hereafter, drybeat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out. TYBALTI am for you.

Drawing

ROMEOGentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. MERCUTIOCome, sir, your passado.

They fight

ROMEODraw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons. Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage! Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath Forbidden bandying in Verona streets: Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio!

TYBALT under ROMEO's arm stabs MERCUTIO, and flies with his followers

MERCUTIOI am hurt. A plague o' both your houses! I am sped. Is he gone, and hath nothing? BENVOLIOWhat, art thou hurt? MERCUTIOAy, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough. Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon.

Exit Page

ROMEOCourage, man; the hurt cannot be much. MERCUTIONo, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church-door; but 'tis enough,'twill serve: ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o' both your houses! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic! Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm. ROMEOI thought all for the best. MERCUTIOHelp me into some house, Benvolio, Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses! They have made worms' meat of me: I have it, And soundly too: your houses!

Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO

ROMEOThis gentleman, the prince's near ally, My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt In my behalf; my reputation stain'd With Tybalt's slander,--Tybalt, that an hour Hath been my kinsman! O sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate And in my temper soften'd valour's steel!

Re-enter BENVOLIO

BENVOLIOO Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead! That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. ROMEOThis day's black fate on more days doth depend; This but begins the woe, others must end. BENVOLIOHere comes the furious Tybalt back again. ROMEOAlive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain! Away to heaven, respective lenity, And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now!

Re-enter TYBALT

Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again, That late thou gavest me; for Mercutio's soul Is but a little way above our heads, Staying for thine to keep him company: Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him. TYBALTThou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here, Shalt with him hence. ROMEOThis shall determine that.

They fight; TYBALT falls

BENVOLIORomeo, away, be gone! The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain. Stand not amazed: the prince will doom thee death, If thou art taken: hence, be gone, away! ROMEOO, I am fortune's fool! BENVOLIOWhy dost thou stay?

Exit ROMEO

Enter Citizens, & c

First CitizenWhich way ran he that kill'd Mercutio? Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he? BENVOLIOThere lies that Tybalt. First CitizenUp, sir, go with me; I charge thee in the princes name, obey.

Enter Prince, attended; MONTAGUE, CAPULET, their Wives, and others

PRINCEWhere are the vile beginners of this fray? BENVOLIOO noble prince, I can discover all The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl: There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio. LADY CAPULETTybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child! O prince! O cousin! husband! O, the blood is spilt O my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true, For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague. O cousin, cousin! PRINCEBenvolio, who began this bloody fray? BENVOLIOTybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay; Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal Your high displeasure: all this uttered With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd, Could not take truce with the unruly spleen Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast, Who all as hot, turns deadly point to point, And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats Cold death aside, and with the other sends It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity, Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud, 'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and, swifter than his tongue, His agile arm beats down their fatal points, And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled; But by and by comes back to Romeo, Who had but newly entertain'd revenge, And to 't they go like lightning, for, ere I Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain. And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly. This is the truth, or let Benvolio die. LADY CAPULETHe is a kinsman to the Montague; Affection makes him false; he speaks not true: Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, And all those twenty could but kill one life. I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give; Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live. PRINCERomeo slew him, he slew Mercutio; Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe? MONTAGUENot Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend; His fault concludes but what the law should end, The life of Tybalt. PRINCEAnd for that offence Immediately we do exile him hence: I have an interest in your hate's proceeding, My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding; But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine That you shall all repent the loss of mine: I will be deaf to pleading and excuses; Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses: Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste, Else, when he's found, that hour is his last. Bear hence this body and attend our will: Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.

Exeunt

SCENE II. Capulet's orchard.

Enter JULIETJULIETGallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus' lodging: such a wagoner As Phaethon would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, That runaway's eyes may wink and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen. Lovers can see to do their amorous rites By their own beauties; or, if love be blind, It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, And learn me how to lose a winning match, Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods: Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks, With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold, Think true love acted simple modesty. Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night; For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night, Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun. O, I have bought the mansion of a love, But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold, Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day As is the night before some festival To an impatient child that hath new robes And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse, And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence.

Enter Nurse, with cords

Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords That Romeo bid thee fetch? NurseAy, ay, the cords.

Throws them down

JULIETAy me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands? NurseAh, well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone! Alack the day! he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead! JULIETCan heaven be so envious? NurseRomeo can, Though heaven cannot: O Romeo, Romeo! Who ever would have thought it? Romeo! JULIETWhat devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell. Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but 'I,' And that bare vowel 'I' shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice: I am not I, if there be such an I; Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer 'I.' If he be slain, say 'I'; or if not, no: Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe. NurseI saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,-- God save the mark!--here on his manly breast: A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse; Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood, All in gore-blood; I swounded at the sight. JULIETO, break, my heart! poor bankrupt, break at once! To prison, eyes, ne'er look on liberty! Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here; And thou and Romeo press one heavy bier! NurseO Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had! O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman! That ever I should live to see thee dead! JULIETWhat storm is this that blows so contrary? Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead? My dear-loved cousin, and my dearer lord? Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! For who is living, if those two are gone? NurseTybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished. JULIETO God! did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood? NurseIt did, it did; alas the day, it did! JULIETO serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st, A damned saint, an honourable villain! O nature, what hadst thou to do in hell, When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend In moral paradise of such sweet flesh? Was ever book containing such vile matter So fairly bound? O that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace! NurseThere's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitae: These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. Shame come to Romeo! JULIETBlister'd be thy tongue For such a wish! he was not born to shame: Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit; For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd Sole monarch of the universal earth. O, what a beast was I to chide at him! NurseWill you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin? JULIETShall I speak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it? But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband: Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy. My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband: All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, That murder'd me: I would forget it fain; But, O, it presses to my memory, Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds: 'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo--banished;' That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,' Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death Was woe enough, if it had ended there: Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship And needly will be rank'd with other griefs, Why follow'd not, when she said 'Tybalt's dead,' Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, Which modern lamentations might have moved? But with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death, 'Romeo is banished,' to speak that word, Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, All slain, all dead. 'Romeo is banished!' There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, In that word's death; no words can that woe sound. Where is my father, and my mother, nurse? NurseWeeping and wailing

over Tybalt's corse: Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. JULIETWash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent, When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. Take up those cords: poor ropes, you are beguiled, Both you and I; for Romeo is exiled: He made you for a highway to my bed; But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. Come, cords, come, nurse; I'll to my wedding-bed; And death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead! NurseHie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo To comfort you: I wot well where he is. Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night: I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell. JULIETO, find him! give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell.

Exeunt

SCENE III. Friar Laurence's cell.

Enter FRIAR LAURENCEFRIAR LAURENCERomeo, come forth; come forth, thou fearful man: Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity.

Enter ROMEO

ROMEOFather, what news? what is the prince's doom? What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand, That I yet know not? FRIAR LAURENCEToo familiar Is my dear son with such sour company: I bring thee tidings of the prince's doom. ROMEOWhat less than dooms-day is the prince's doom? FRIAR LAURENCEA gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment. ROMEOHa, banishment! be merciful, say 'death;' For exile hath more terror in his look, Much more than death: do not say 'banishment.' FRIAR LAURENCEHence from Verona art thou banished: Be patient, for the world is broad and wide. ROMEOThere is no world without Verona walls, But purgatory, torture, hell itself. Hence-banished is banish'd from the world, And world's exile is death: then banished, Is death mis-term'd: calling death banishment, Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe, And smilest upon the stroke that murders me. FRIAR LAURENCEO deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness! Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince, Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, And turn'd that black word death to banishment: This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not. ROMEO'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here, Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog And little mouse, every unworthy thing, Live here in heaven and may look on her; But Romeo may not: more validity, More honourable state, more courtship lives In carrion-flies than Romeo: they my seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand And steal immortal blessing from her lips, Who even in pure and vestal modesty, Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin; But Romeo may not; he is banished: Flies may do this, but I from this must fly: They are free men, but I am banished. And say'st thou yet that exile is not death? Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife, No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, But 'banished' to kill me?--'banished'? O friar, the damned use that word in hell; Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart, Being a divine, a ghostly confessor, A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd, To mangle me with that word 'banished'? FRIAR LAURENCEThou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word. ROMEOO, thou wilt speak again of banishment. FRIAR LAURENCEI'll give thee armour to keep off that word: Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, To comfort thee, though thou art banished. ROMEOYet 'banished'? Hang up philosophy! Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom, It helps not, it prevails not: talk no more. FRIAR LAURENCEO, then I see that madmen have no ears. ROMEOHow should they, when that wise men have no eyes? FRIAR LAURENCELet me dispute with thee of thy estate. ROMEOThou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel: Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, Doting like me and like me banished, Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair, And fall upon the ground, as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave.

Knocking within

FRIAR LAURENCEArise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide thyself. ROMEONot I; unless the breath of heartsick groans, Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes.

Knocking

FRIAR LAURENCEHark, how they knock! Who's there? Romeo, arise; Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile! Stand up;

Knocking

Run to my study. By and by! God's will, What simpleness is this! I come, I come!

Knocking

Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will? Nurse[Within] Let me come in, and you shall know my errand; I come from Lady Juliet. FRIAR LAURENCEWelcome, then.

Enter Nurse

NurseO holy friar, O, tell me, holy friar, Where is my lady's lord, where's Romeo? FRIAR LAURENCEThere on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. NurseO, he is even in my mistress' case, Just in her case! O woful sympathy! Piteous predicament! Even so lies she, Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering. Stand up, stand up; stand, and you be a man: For Juliet's sake, for her sake, rise and stand; Why should you fall into so deep an O? ROMEONurse! NurseAh sir! ah sir! Well, death's the end of all. ROMEOSpakest thou of Juliet? how is it with her? Doth she not think me an old murderer, Now I have stain'd the childhood of our joy With blood removed but little from her own? Where is she? and how doth she? and what says My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love? NurseO, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps; And now falls on her bed; and then starts up, And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries, And then down falls again. ROMEOAs if that name, Shot from the deadly level of a gun, Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand Murder'd her kinsman. O, tell me, friar, tell me, In what vile part of this anatomy Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack The hateful mansion.

Drawing his sword

FRIAR LAURENCEHold thy desperate hand: Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art: Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote The unreasonable fury of a beast: Unseemly woman in a seeming man! Or ill-beseeming beast in seeming both! Thou hast amazed me: by my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temper'd. Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself? And stay thy lady too that lives in thee, By doing damned hate upon thyself? Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth? Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose. Fie, fie, thou shamest thy shape, thy love, thy wit; Which, like a usurer, abound'st in all, And usest none in that true use indeed Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit: Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, Digressing from the valour of a man; Thy dear love sworn but hollow perjury, Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish; Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, Misshapen in the conduct of them both, Like powder in a skitless soldier's flask, Is set afire by thine own ignorance, And thou dismember'd with thine own defence. What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive, For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead; There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee, But thou slew'st Tybalt; there are thou happy too: The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend And turns it to exile; there art thou happy: A pack of blessings lights up upon thy back; Happiness courts thee in her best array; But, like a misbehaved and sullen wench, Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love: Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable. Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed, Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her: But look thou stay not till the watch be set, For then thou canst not pass to Mantua; Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back With twenty hundred thousand times more joy Than thou went'st forth in lamentation. Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady; And bid her hasten all the house to bed, Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto: Romeo is coming. NurseO Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night To hear good counsel: O, what learning is! My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come. ROMEODo so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. NurseHere, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir: Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.

Exit

ROMEOHow well my comfort is revived by this! FRIAR LAURENCEGo hence; good night; and here stands all your state: Either be gone before the watch be set, Or by the break of day disguised from hence: Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man, And he shall signify from time to time Every good hap to you that chances here: Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewell; good night. ROMEOBut that a joy past joy calls out on me, It were a grief, so brief to part with thee: Farewell.

Exeunt

SCENE IV. A room in Capulet's house.

Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and PARISCAPULETThings have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily, That we have had no time to move our daughter: Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly, And so did I:--Well, we were born to die. 'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night: I promise you, but for your company, I would have been a-bed an hour ago. PARISThese times of woe afford no time to woo. Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter. LADY CAPULETI will, and know her mind early to-morrow; To-night she is mew'd up to her heaviness. CAPULETSir Paris, I will make a desperate tender Of my child's love: I think she will be ruled In all respects by me; nay, more, I doubt it not. Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed; Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love; And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next-- But, soft! what day is this? PARISMonday, my lord, CAPULETMonday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon, O' Thursday let it be: o' Thursday, tell her, She shall be married to this noble earl. Will you be ready? do you like this haste? We'll keep no great ado,--a friend or two; For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, It may be thought we held him carelessly, Being our kinsman, if we revel much: Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, And there an end. But what say you to Thursday? PARISMy lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow. CAPULETWell get you gone: o' Thursday be it, then. Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day. Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho! Afore me! it is so very very late, That we may call it early by and by. Good night.

Exeunt

SCENE V. Capulet's orchard.

Enter ROMEO and JULIET above, at the windowJULIETWilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. ROMEOIt was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die. JULIETYon light is not day-light, I know it, I: It is some meteor that the sun exhales, To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, And light thee on thy way to Mantua: Therefore stay yet; thou need'st not to be gone. ROMEOLet me be ta'en, let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care to stay than will to go: Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so. How is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day. JULIETIt is, it is: hie hence, be gone, away! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. Some say the lark makes sweet division; This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes, O, now I would they had changed voices too! Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day, O, now be gone; more light and light it grows. ROMEOMore light and light; more dark and dark our woes!

Enter Nurse, to the chamber

NurseMadam! JULIETNurse? NurseYour lady mother is coming to your chamber: The day is broke; be wary, look about.

Exit

JULIETThen, window, let day in, and let life out. ROMEOFarewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend.

He goeth down

JULIETArt thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, friend! I must hear from thee every day in the hour, For in a minute there are many days: O, by this count I shall be much in years Ere I again behold my Romeo! ROMEOFarewell! I will omit no opportunity That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. JULIETO think'st thou we shall ever meet again? ROMEOI doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come. JULIETO God, I have an ill-divining soul! Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, As one dead in the bottom of a tomb: Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. ROMEOAnd trust me, love, in my eye so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!

Exit

JULIETO fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle: If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him. That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune; For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, But send him back. LADY CAPULET[Within] Ho, daughter! are you up? JULIETWho is't that calls? is it my lady mother? Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither?

Enter LADY CAPULET

LADY CAPULETWhy, how now, Juliet! JULIETMadam, I am not well. LADY CAPULETEvermore weeping for your cousin's death? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live; Therefore, have done: some grief shows much of love; But much of grief shows still some want of wit. JULIETYet let me weep for such a feeling loss. LADY CAPULETSo shall you feel the loss, but not the friend Which you weep for. JULIETFeeling so the loss, Cannot choose but ever weep the friend. LADY CAPULETWell, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death, As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. JULIETWhat villain madam? LADY CAPULETThat same villain, Romeo. JULIET[Aside] Villain and he be many miles asunder.-- God Pardon him! I do, with all my heart; And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart. LADY CAPULETThat is, because the traitor murderer lives. JULIETAy, madam, from the reach of these my hands: Would none but I might venge my cousin's death! LADY CAPULETWe will have vengeance for it, fear thou not: Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua, Where that same banish'd runagate doth live, Shall give him such an unaccustom'd dram, That he shall soon keep Tybalt company: And then, I hope, thou wilt be satisfied. JULIETIndeed, I never shall be satisfied With Romeo, till I behold him--dead-- Is my poor heart for a kinsman vex'd. Madam, if you could find out but a man To bear a poison, I would temper it; That Romeo should, upon receipt thereof, Soon sleep in quiet. O, how my heart abhors To hear him named, and cannot come to him. To wreak the love I bore my cousin Upon his body that slaughter'd him! LADY CAPULETFind thou the means, and I'll find such a man. But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl. JULIETAnd joy comes well in such a needy time: What are they, I beseech your ladyship? LADY CAPULETWell, well, thou hast a careful father, child; One who, to put thee from thy heaviness, Hath sorted out a sudden day of joy, That thou expect'st not nor I look'd not for. JULIETMadam, in happy time, what day is that? LADY CAPULETMarry, my child, early next Thursday morn, The gallant, young and noble gentleman, The County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church, Shall happily make thee there a joyful bride. JULIETNow, by Saint Peter's Church and Peter too, He shall not make me there a joyful bride. I wonder at this haste; that I must wed Ere he, that should be husband, comes to woo. I pray you, tell my lord and father, madam, I will not marry yet; and, when I do, I swear, It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, Rather than Paris. These are news indeed! LADY CAPULETHere comes your father; tell him so yourself, And see how he will take it at your hands.

Enter CAPULET and Nurse

CAPULETWhen the sun sets, the air doth drizzle dew; But for the sunset of my brother's son It rains downright. How now! a conduit, girl? what, still in tears? Evermore showering? In one little body Thou counterfeit'st a bark, a sea, a wind; For still thy eyes, which I may call the sea, Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is, Sailing in this salt flood; the winds, thy sighs; Who, raging with thy tears, and they with them, Without a sudden calm, will overset Thy tempest-tossed body. How now, wife! Have you deliver'd to her our decree? LADY CAPULETAy, sir; but she will none, she gives you thanks. I would the fool were married to her grave! CAPULETSoft! take me with you, take me with you, wife. How! will she none? doth she not give us thanks? Is she not proud? doth she not count her blest, Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom? JULIETNot proud, you have; but thankful, that you have: Proud can I never be of what I hate; But thankful even for hate, that is meant love. CAPULETHow now, how now, chop-logic! What is this? 'Proud,' and 'I thank you,' and 'I thank you not;' And yet 'not proud,' mistress minion, you, Thank me no thankings, nor, proud me no prouds, But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church, Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage! You tallow-face! LADY CAPULETFie, fie! what, are you mad? JULIETGood father, I beseech you on my knees, Hear me with patience but to speak a word. CAPULETHang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch! I tell thee what: get thee to church o' Thursday, Or never after look me in the face: Speak not, reply not, do not answer me; My fingers itch. Wife, we scarce thought us blest That God had lent us but this only child; But now I see this one is one too much, And that we have a curse in having her: Out on her, hilding! NurseGod in heaven bless her! You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so. CAPULETAnd why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue, Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go. NurseI speak no treason. CAPULETO, God ye god-den. NurseMay not one speak? CAPULETPeace, you mumbling fool! Utter your gravity o'er a gossip's bowl; For here we need it not. LADY CAPULETYou are too hot. CAPULETGod's bread! it makes me mad: Day, night, hour, tide, time, work, play, Alone, in company, still my care hath been To have her match'd: and having now provided A gentleman of noble parentage, Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly train'd, Stuff'd, as they say, with honourable parts, Proportion'd as one's thought would wish a man; And then to have a wretched puling fool, A whining mammet, in her fortune's tender, To answer 'I'll not wed; I cannot love, I am too young; I pray you, pardon me.' But, as you will not wed, I'll pardon you: Graze where you will you shall not house with me: Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest. Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise: An you be mine, I'll give you to my friend; And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets, For, by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee, Nor what is mine shall never do thee good: Trust to't, bethink you; I'll not be forsworn.

Exit

JULIETIs there no pity sitting in the clouds, That sees into the bottom of my grief? O, sweet my mother, cast me not away! Delay this marriage for a month, a week; Or, if you do not, make the bridal bed In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. LADY CAPULETTalk not to me, for I'll not speak a word: Do as thou wilt, for I have done with thee.

Exit

JULIETO God!--O nurse, how shall this be prevented? My husband is on earth, my faith in heaven; How shall that faith return again to earth, Unless that husband send it me from heaven By leaving earth? comfort me, counsel me. Alack, alack, that heaven should practise stratagems Upon so soft a subject as myself! What say'st thou? hast thou not a word of joy? Some comfort, nurse. NurseFaith, here it is. Romeo is banish'd; and all the world to nothing, That he dares ne'er come back to challenge you; Or, if he do, it needs must be by stealth. Then, since the case so stands as now it doth, I think it best you married with the county. O, he's a lovely gentleman! Romeo's a dishclout to him: an eagle, madam, Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye As Paris hath. Beshrew my very heart, I think you are happy in this second match, For it excels your first: or if it did not, Your first is dead; or 'twere as good he were, As living here and you no use of him. JULIETSpeakest thou from thy heart? NurseAnd from my soul too; Or else beshrew them both. JULIETAmen! NurseWhat? JULIETWell, thou hast comforted me marvellous much. Go in: and tell my lady I am gone, Having displeased my father, to Laurence' cell, To make confession and to be absolved. NurseMarry, I will; and this is wisely done.

Exit

JULIETAncient damnation! O most wicked fiend! Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn, Or to dispraise my lord with that same tongue Which she hath praised him with above compare So many thousand times? Go, counsellor; Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain. I'll to the friar, to know his remedy: If all else fail, myself have power to die.

Exit

ACT IVSCENE I. Friar Laurence's cell.

Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARISFRIAR LAURENCEOn Thursday, sir? the time is very short. PARISMy father Capulet will have it so; And I am nothing slow to slack his haste. FRIAR LAURENCEYou say you do not know the lady's mind: Uneven is the course, I like it not. PARISImmoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, And therefore have I little talk'd of love; For Venus smiles not in a house of tears. Now, sir, her father counts it dangerous That she doth give her sorrow so much sway, And in his wisdom hastes our marriage, To stop the inundation of her tears; Which, too much minded by herself alone, May be put from her by society: Now do you know the reason of this haste. FRIAR LAURENCE[Aside] I would I knew not why it should be slow'd. Look, sir, here comes the lady towards my cell.

Enter JULIET

PARISHappily met, my lady and my wife! JULIETThat may be, sir, when I may be a wife. PARISThat may be must be, love, on Thursday next. JULIETWhat must be shall be. FRIAR LAURENCEThat's a certain text. PARISCome you to make confession to this father? JULIETTo answer that, I should confess to you. PARISDo not deny to him that you love me. JULIETI will confess to you that I love him. PARISSo will ye, I am sure, that you love me. JULIETIf I do so, it will be of more price, Being spoke behind your back, than to your face. PARISPoor soul, thy face is much abused with tears. JULIETThe tears have got small victory by that; For it was bad enough before their spite. PARISThou wrong'st it, more than tears, with that report. JULIETThat is no slander, sir, which is a truth; And what I spake, I spake it to my face. PARISThy face is mine, and thou hast slander'd it. JULIETIt may be so, for it is not mine own. Are you at leisure, holy father, now; Or shall I come to you at evening mass? FRIAR LAURENCEMy leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now. My lord, we must entreat the time alone. PARISGod shield I should disturb devotion! Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye: Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss.

Exit

JULIETO shut the door! and when thou hast done so, Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help! FRIAR LAURENCEAh, Juliet, I already know thy grief; It strains me past the compass of my wits: I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, On Thursday next be married to this county. JULIETTell me not, friar, that thou hear'st of this, Unless thou tell me how I may prevent it: If, in thy wisdom, thou canst give no help, Do thou but call my resolution wise, And with this knife I'll help it presently. God join'd my heart and Romeo's, thou our hands; And ere this hand, by thee to Romeo seal'd, Shall be the label to another deed, Or my true heart with treacherous revolt Turn to another, this shall slay them both: Therefore, out of thy long-experienced time, Give me some present counsel, or, behold, 'Twixt my extremes and me this bloody knife Shall play the umpire, arbitrating that Which the commission of thy years and art Could to no issue of true honour bring. Be not so long to speak; I long to die, If what thou speak'st speak not of remedy. FRIAR LAURENCEHold, daughter: I do spy a kind of hope, Which craves as desperate an execution. As that is desperate which we would prevent. If, rather than to marry County Paris, Thou hast the strength of will to slay thyself, Then is it likely thou wilt undertake A thing like death to chide away this shame, That copest with death himself to scape from it: And, if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy. JULIETO, bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, From off the battlements of yonder tower; Or walk in thievish ways; or bid me lurk Where serpents are; chain me with roaring bears; Or shut me nightly in a charnel-house, O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, With reeky shanks and yellow chapless skulls; Or bid me go into a new-made grave And hide me with a dead man in his shroud; Things that, to hear them told, have made me tremble; And I will do it without fear or doubt, To live an unstain'd wife to my sweet love. FRIAR LAURENCEHold, then; go home, be merry, give consent To marry Paris: Wednesday is to-morrow: To-morrow night look that thou lie alone; Let not thy nurse lie with thee in thy chamber: Take thou this vial, being then in bed, And this distilled liquor drink thou off; When presently through all thy veins shall run A cold and drowsy humour, for no pulse Shall keep his native progress, but surcease: No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest; The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade To paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall, Like death, when he shuts up the day of life; Each part, deprived of supple government, Shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death: And in this borrow'd likeness of shrunk death Thou shalt continue two and forty hours, And then awake as from a pleasant sleep. Now, when the bridegroom in the morning comes To rouse thee from thy bed, there art thou dead: Then, as the manner of our country is, In thy best robes uncover'd on the bier Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, Shall Romeo by my letters know our drift, And hither shall he come: and he and I Will watch thy waking, and that very night Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Mantua. And this shall free thee from this present shame; If no inconstant toy, nor womanish fear, Abate thy valour in the acting it. JULIETGive me, give me! O, tell not me of fear! FRIAR LAURENCEHold; get you gone, be strong and prosperous In this resolve: I'll send a friar with speed To Mantua, with my letters to thy lord. JULIETLove give me strength! and strength shall help afford. Farewell, dear father!

Exeunt

SCENE II. Hall in Capulet's house.

Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, Nurse, and two ServingmenCAPULETSo many guests invite as here are writ.

Exit First Servant

Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks. Second ServantYou shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can lick their fingers. CAPULETHow canst thou try them so? Second ServantMarry, sir, 'tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers: therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me. CAPULETGo, be gone.

Exit Second Servant

We shall be much unfurnished for this time. What, is my daughter gone to Friar Laurence? NurseAy, forsooth. CAPULETWell, he may chance to do some good on her: A peevish self-will'd harlotry it is. NurseSee where she comes from shrift with merry look.

Enter JULIET

CAPULETHow now, my headstrong! where have you been gadding? JULIETWhere I have learn'd me to repent the sin Of disobedient opposition To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd By holy Laurence to fall prostrate here, And beg your pardon: pardon, I beseech you! Henceforward I am ever ruled by you. CAPULETSend for the county; go tell him of this: I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning. JULIETI met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell; And gave him what becomed love I might, Not step o'er the bounds of modesty. CAPULETWhy, I am glad on't; this is well: stand up: This is as't should be. Let me see the county; Ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. Now, afore God! this reverend holy friar, Our whole city is much bound to him. JULIETNurse, will you go with me into my closet, To help me sort such needful ornaments As you think fit to furnish me to-morrow? LADY CAPULETNo, not till Thursday; there is time enough. CAPULETGo, nurse, go with her: we'll to church to-morrow.

Exeunt JULIET and Nurse

LADY CAPULETWe shall be short in our provision: 'Tis now near night. CAPULETTush, I will stir about, And all things shall be well, I warrant thee, wife: Go thou to Juliet, help to deck up her; I'll not to bed to-night; let me alone; I'll play the housewife for this once. What, ho! They are all forth. Well, I will walk myself To County Paris, to prepare him up Against to-morrow: my heart is wondrous light, Since this same wayward girl is so reclaim'd.

Exeunt

SCENE III. Juliet's chamber.

Enter JULIET and NurseJULIETAy, those attires are best: but, gentle nurse, I pray thee, leave me to my self to-night, For I have need of many orisons To move the heavens to smile upon my state, Which, well thou know'st, is cross, and full of sin.

Enter LADY CAPULET

LADY CAPULETWhat, are you busy, ho? need you my help? JULIETNo, madam; we have cull'd such necessaries As are behoveful for our state to-morrow: So please you, let me now be left alone, And let the nurse this night sit up with you; For, I am sure, you have your hands full all, In this so sudden business. LADY CAPULETGood night: Get thee to bed, and rest; for thou hast need.

Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse

JULIETFarewell! God knows when we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life: I'll call them back again to comfort me: Nurse! What should she do here? My dismal scene I needs must act alone. Come, vial. What if this mixture do not work at all? Shall I be married then to-morrow morning? No, no: this shall forbid it: lie thou there.

Laying down her dagger

What if it be a poison, which the friar Subtly hath minister'd to have me dead, Lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd, Because he married me before to Romeo? I fear it is: and yet, methinks, it should not, For he hath still been tried a holy man. How if, when I am laid into the tomb, I wake before the time that Romeo Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point! Shall I not, then, be stifled in the vault, To whose foul mouth no healthsome air breathes in, And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? Or, if I live, is it not very like, The horrible conceit of death and night, Together with the terror of the place,-- As in a vault, an ancient receptacle, Where, for these many hundred years, the bones Of all my buried ancestors are packed: Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, Lies festering in his shroud; where, as they say, At some hours in the night spirits resort;-- Alack, alack, is it not like that I, So early waking, what with loathsome smells, And shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth, That living mortals, hearing them, run mad:-- O, if I wake, shall I not be distraught, Environed with all these hideous fears? And madly play with my forefather's joints? And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his shroud? And, in this rage, with some great kinsman's bone, As with a club, dash out my desperate brains? O, look! methinks I see my cousin's ghost Seeking out Romeo, that did spit his body Upon a rapier's point: stay, Tybalt, stay! Romeo, I come! this do I drink to thee.

She falls upon her bed, within the curtains

SCENE IV. Hall in Capulet's house.

Enter LADY CAPULET and NurseLADY CAPULETHold, take these keys, and fetch more spices, nurse. NurseThey call for dates and quinces in the pastry.

Enter CAPULET

CAPULETCome, stir, stir, stir! the second cock hath crow'd, The curfew-bell hath rung, 'tis three o'clock: Look to the baked meats, good Angelica: Spare not for the cost. NurseGo, you cot-quean, go, Get you to bed; faith, You'll be sick to-morrow For this night's watching. CAPULETNo, not a whit: what! I have watch'd ere now All night for lesser cause, and ne'er been sick. LADY CAPULETAy, you have been a mouse-hunt in your time; But I will watch you from such watching now.

Exeunt LADY CAPULET and Nurse

CAPULETA jealous hood, a jealous hood!

Enter three or four Servingmen, with spits, logs, and baskets

Now, fellow, What's there? First ServantThings for the cook, sir; but I know not what. CAPULETMake haste, make haste.

Exit First Servant

Sirrah, fetch drier logs: Call Peter, he will show thee where they are. Second ServantI have a head, sir, that will find out logs, And never trouble Peter for the matter.

Exit

CAPULETMass, and well said; a merry whoreson, ha! Thou shalt be logger-head. Good faith, 'tis day: The county will be here with music straight, For so he said he would: I hear him near.

Music within

Nurse! Wife! What, ho! What, nurse, I say!

Re-enter Nurse

Go waken Juliet, go and trim her up; I'll go and chat with Paris: hie, make haste, Make haste; the bridegroom he is come already: Make haste, I say.

Exeunt

SCENE V. Juliet's chamber.

Enter NurseNurseMistress! what, mistress! Juliet! fast, I warrant her, she: Why, lamb! why, lady! fie, you slug-a-bed! Why, love, I say! madam! sweet-heart! why, bride! What, not a word? you take your pennyworths now; Sleep for a week; for the next night, I warrant, The County Paris hath set up his rest, That you shall rest but little. God forgive me, Marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep! I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, madam! Ay, let the county take you in your bed; He'll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be?

Undraws the curtains

What, dress'd! and in your clothes! and down again! I must needs wake you; Lady! lady! lady! Alas, alas! Help, help! my lady's dead! O, well-a-day, that ever I was born! Some aqua vitae, ho! My lord! my lady!

Enter LADY CAPULET

LADY CAPULETWhat noise is here? NurseO lamentable day! LADY CAPULETWhat is the matter? NurseLook, look! O heavy day! LADY CAPULETO me, O me! My child, my only life, Revive, look up, or I will die with thee! Help, help! Call help.

Enter CAPULET

CAPULETFor shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come. NurseShe's dead, deceased, she's dead; alack the day! LADY CAPULETAlack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead! CAPULETHa! let me see her: out, alas! she's cold: Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff; Life and these lips have long been separated: Death lies on her like an untimely frost Upon the sweetest flower of all the field. NurseO lamentable day! LADY CAPULETO woful time! CAPULETDeath, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail, Ties up my tongue, and will not let me speak.

Enter FRIAR LAURENCE and PARIS, with Musicians

FRIAR LAURENCECome, is the bride ready to go to church? CAPULETReady to go, but never to return. O son! the night before thy wedding-day Hath Death lain with thy wife. There she lies, Flower as she was, deflowered by him. Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir; My daughter he hath wedded: I will die, And leave him all; life, living, all is Death's. PARISHave I thought long to see this morning's face, And doth it give me such a sight as this? LADY CAPULETAccursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day! Most miserable hour that e'er time saw In lasting labour of his pilgrimage! But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, But one thing to rejoice and solace in, And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight! NurseO woe! O woful, woful, woful day! Most lamentable day, most woful day, That ever, ever, I did yet behold! O day! O day! O day! O hateful day! Never was seen so black a day as this: O woful day, O woful day! PARISBeguiled, divorced, wronged, spited, slain! Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd, By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown! O love! O life! not life, but love in death! CAPULETDespised, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd! Uncomfortable time, why camest thou now To murder, murder our solemnity? O child! O child! my soul, and not my child! Dead art thou! Alack! my child is dead; And with my child my joys are buried. FRIAR LAURENCEPeace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not In these confusions. Heaven and yourself Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all, And all the better is it for the maid: Your part in her you could not keep from death, But heaven keeps his part in eternal life. The most you sought was her promotion; For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced: And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced Above the clouds, as high as heaven itself? O, in this love, you love your child so ill, That you run mad, seeing that she is well: She's not well married that lives married long; But she's best married that dies married young. Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary On this fair corse; and, as the custom is, In all her best array bear her to church: For though fond nature bids us an lament, Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. CAPULETAll things that we ordained festival, Turn from their office to black funeral; Our instruments to melancholy bells, Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast, Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change, Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, And all things change them to the contrary. FRIAR LAURENCESir, go you in; and, madam, go with him; And go, Sir Paris; every one prepare To follow this fair corse unto her grave: The heavens do lour upon you for some ill; Move them no more by crossing their high will.

Exeunt CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, PARIS, and FRIAR LAURENCE

First MusicianFaith, we may put up our pipes, and be gone. NurseHonest goodfellows, ah, put up, put up; For, well you know, this is a pitiful case.

Exit

First MusicianAy, by my troth, the case may be amended.

Enter PETER

PETERMusicians, O, musicians, 'Heart's ease, Heart's ease:' O, an you will have me live, play 'Heart's ease.' First MusicianWhy 'Heart's ease?' PETERO, musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My heart is full of woe:' O, play me some merry dump, to comfort me. First MusicianNot a dump we; 'tis no time to play now. PETERYou will not, then? First MusicianNo. PETERI will then give it you soundly. First MusicianWhat will you give us? PETERNo money, on my faith, but the gleek; I will give you the minstrel. First MusicianThen I will give you the serving-creature. PETERThen will I lay the serving-creature's dagger on your pate. I will carry no crotchets: I'll re you, I'll fa you; do you note me? First MusicianAn you re us and fa us, you note us. Second MusicianPray you, put up your dagger, and put out your wit. PETERThen have at you with my wit! I will dry-beat you with an iron wit, and put up my iron dagger. Answer me like men: 'When griping grief the heart doth wound, And doleful dumps the mind oppress, Then music with her silver sound'-- why 'silver sound'? why 'music with her silver sound'? What say you, Simon Catling? MusicianMarry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound. PETERPretty! What say you, Hugh Rebeck? Second MusicianI say 'silver sound,' because musicians sound for silver. PETERPretty too! What say you, James Soundpost? Third MusicianFaith, I know not what to say. PETERO, I cry you mercy; you are the singer: I will say for you. It is 'music with her silver sound,' because musicians have no gold for sounding: 'Then music with her silver sound With speedy help doth lend redress.'

Exit

First MusicianWhat a pestilent knave is this same! Second MusicianHang him, Jack! Come, we'll in here; tarry for the mourners, and stay dinner.

Exeunt

ACT VSCENE I. Mantua. A street.

Enter ROMEOROMEOIf I may trust the flattering truth of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand: My bosom's lord sits lightly in his throne; And all this day an unaccustom'd spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. I dreamt my lady came and found me dead-- Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think!-- And breathed such life with kisses in my lips, That I revived, and was an emperor. Ah me! how sweet is love itself possess'd, When but love's shadows are so rich in joy!

Enter BALTHASAR, booted

News from Verona!--How now, Balthasar! Dost thou not bring me letters from the friar? How doth my lady? Is my father well? How fares my Juliet? that I ask again; For nothing can be ill, if she be well. BALTHASARThen she is well, and nothing can be ill: Her body sleeps in Capel's monument, And her immortal part with angels lives. I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, And presently took post to tell it you: O, pardon me for bringing these ill news, Since you did leave it for my office, sir. ROMEOIs it even so? then I defy you, stars! Thou know'st my lodging: get me ink and paper, And hire post-horses; I will hence to-night. BALTHASARI do beseech you, sir, have patience: Your looks are pale and wild, and do import Some misadventure. ROMEOTush, thou art deceived: Leave me, and do the thing I bid thee do. Hast thou no letters to me from the friar? BALTHASARNo, my good lord. ROMEONo matter: get thee gone, And hire those horses; I'll be with thee straight.

Exit BALTHASAR

Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night. Let's see for means: O mischief, thou art swift To enter in the thoughts of desperate men! I do remember an apothecary,-- And hereabouts he dwells,--which late I noted In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples; meagre were his looks, Sharp misery had worn him to the bones: And in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator stuff'd, and other skins Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves A beggarly account of empty boxes, Green earthen pots, bladders and musty seeds, Remnants of packthread and old cakes of roses, Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show. Noting this penury, to myself I said 'An if a man did need a poison now, Whose sale is present death in Mantua, Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it him.' O, this same thought did but forerun my need; And this same needy man must sell it me. As I remember, this should be the house. Being holiday, the beggar's shop is shut. What, ho! apothecary!

Enter Apothecary

ApothecaryWho calls so loud? ROMEOCome hither, man. I see that thou art poor: Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear As will disperse itself through all the veins That the life-weary taker may fall dead And that the trunk may be discharged of breath As violently as hasty powder fired Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb. ApothecarySuch mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law Is death to any he that utters them. ROMEOArt thou so bare and full of wretchedness, And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks, Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back; The world is not thy friend nor the world's law; The world affords no law to make thee rich; Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. ApothecaryMy poverty, but not my will, consents. ROMEOI pay thy poverty, and not thy will. ApothecaryPut this in any liquid thing you will, And drink it off; and, if you had the strength Of twenty men, it would dispatch you straight. ROMEOThere is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh. Come, cordial and not poison, go with me To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee.

Exeunt

SCENE II. Friar Laurence's cell.

Enter FRIAR JOHNFRIAR JOHNHoly Franciscan friar! brother, ho!

Enter FRIAR LAURENCE

FRIAR LAURENCEThis same should be the voice of Friar John. Welcome from Mantua: what says Romeo? Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter. FRIAR JOHNGoing to find a bare-foot brother out One of our order, to associate me, Here in this city visiting the sick, And finding him, the searchers of the town, Suspecting that we both were in a house Where the infectious pestilence did reign, Seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth; So that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd. FRIAR LAURENCEWho bare my letter, then, to Romeo? FRIAR JOHNI could not send it,--here it is again,-- Nor get a messenger to bring it thee, So fearful were they of infection. FRIAR LAURENCEUnhappy fortune! by my brotherhood, The letter was not nice but full of charge Of dear import, and the neglecting it May do much danger. Friar John, go hence; Get me an iron crow, and bring it straight Unto my cell. FRIAR JOHNBrother, I'll go and bring it thee.

Exit

FRIAR LAURENCENow must I to the monument alone; Within three hours will fair Juliet wake: She will beshrew me much that Romeo Hath had no notice of these accidents; But I will write again to Mantua, And keep her at my cell till Romeo come; Poor living corse, closed in a dead man's tomb!

Exit

SCENE III. A churchyard; in it a tomb belonging to the Capulets.

Enter PARIS, and his Page bearing flowers and a torchPARISGive me thy torch, boy: hence, and stand aloof: Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. Under yond yew-trees lay thee all along, Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground; So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread, Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves, But thou shalt hear it: whistle then to me, As signal that thou hear'st something approach. Give me those flowers. Do as I bid thee, go. PAGE[Aside] I am almost afraid to stand alone Here in the churchyard; yet I will adventure.

Retires

PARISSweet flower, with flowers thy bridal bed I strew,-- O woe! thy canopy is dust and stones;-- Which with sweet water nightly I will dew, Or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by moans: The obsequies that I for thee will keep Nightly shall be to strew thy grave and weep.

The Page whistles

The boy gives warning something doth approach. What cursed foot wanders this way to-night, To cross my obsequies and true love's rite? What with a torch! muffle me, night, awhile.

Retires

Enter ROMEO and BALTHASAR, with a torch, mattock, & c

ROMEOGive me that mattock and the wrenching iron. Hold, take this letter; early in the morning See thou deliver it to my lord and father. Give me the light: upon thy life, I charge thee, Whate'er thou hear'st or seest, stand all aloof, And do not interrupt me in my course. Why I descend into this bed of death, Is partly to behold my lady's face; But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger A precious ring, a ring that I must use In dear employment: therefore hence, be gone: But if thou, jealous, dost return to pry In what I further shall intend to do, By heaven, I will tear thee joint by joint And strew this hungry churchyard with thy limbs: The time and my intents are savage-wild, More fierce and more inexorable far Than empty tigers or the roaring sea. BALTHASARI will be gone, sir, and not trouble you. ROMEOSo shalt thou show me friendship. Take thou that: Live, and be prosperous: and farewell, good fellow. BALTHASAR[Aside] For all this same, I'll hide me hereabout: His looks I fear, and his intents I doubt.

Retires

ROMEOThou detestable maw, thou womb of death, Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth, Thus I enforce thy rotten jaws to open, And, in despite, I'll cram thee with more food!

Opens the tomb

PARISThis is that banish'd haughty Montague, That murder'd my love's cousin, with which grief, It is supposed, the fair creature died; And here is come to do some villanous shame To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him.

Comes forward

Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Montague! Can vengeance be pursued further than death? Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee: Obey, and go with me; for thou must die. ROMEOI must indeed; and therefore came I hither. Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man; Fly hence, and leave me: think upon these gone; Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth, Put not another sin upon my head, By urging me to fury: O, be gone! By heaven, I love thee better than myself; For I come hither arm'd against myself: Stay not, be gone; live, and hereafter say, A madman's mercy bade thee run away. PARISI do defy thy conjurations, And apprehend thee for a felon here. ROMEOWilt thou provoke me? then have at thee, boy!

They fight

PAGEO Lord, they fight! I will go call the watch.

Exit

PARISO, I am slain!

Falls

If thou be merciful, Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet.

Dies

ROMEOIn faith, I will. Let me peruse this face. Mercutio's kinsman, noble County Paris! What said my man, when my betossed soul Did not attend him as we rode? I think He told me Paris should have married Juliet: Said he not so? or did I dream it so? Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, To think it was so? O, give me thy hand, One writ with me in sour misfortune's book! I'll bury thee in a triumphant grave; A grave? O no! a lantern, slaughter'd youth, For here lies Juliet, and her beauty makes This vault a feasting presence full of light. Death, lie thou there, by a dead man interr'd.

Laying PARIS in the tomb

How oft when men are at the point of death Have they been merry! which their keepers call A lightning before death: O, how may I Call this a lightning? O my love! my wife! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there. Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? O, what more favour can I do to thee, Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain To sunder his that was thine enemy? Forgive me, cousin! Ah, dear Juliet, Why art thou yet so fair? shall I believe That unsubstantial death is amorous, And that the lean abhorred monster keeps Thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that, I still will stay with thee; And never from this palace of dim night Depart again: here, here will I remain With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death! Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide! Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark! Here's to my love!

Drinks

O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.

Dies

Enter, at the other end of the churchyard, FRIAR LAURENCE, with a lantern, crow, and spade

FRIAR LAURENCESaint Francis be my speed! how oft to-night Have my old feet stumbled at graves! Who's there? BALTHASARHere's one, a friend, and one that knows you well. FRIAR LAURENCEBliss be upon you! Tell me, good my friend, What torch is yond, that vainly lends his light To grubs and eyeless skulls? as I discern, It burneth in the Capel's monument. BALTHASARIt doth so, holy sir; and there's my master, One that you love. FRIAR LAURENCEWho is it? BALTHASARRomeo. FRIAR LAURENCEHow long hath he been there? BALTHASARFull half an hour. FRIAR LAURENCEGo with me to the vault. BALTHASARI dare not, sir My master knows not but I am gone hence; And fearfully did menace me with death, If I did stay to look on his intents. FRIAR LAURENCEStay, then; I'll go alone. Fear comes upon me: O, much I fear some ill unlucky thing. BALTHASARAs I did sleep under this yew-tree here, I dreamt my master and another fought, And that my master slew him. FRIAR LAURENCERomeo!

Advances

Alack, alack, what blood is this, which stains The stony entrance of this sepulchre? What mean these masterless and gory swords To lie discolour'd by this place of peace?

Enters the tomb

Romeo! O, pale! Who else? what, Paris too? And steep'd in blood? Ah, what an unkind hour Is guilty of this lamentable chance! The lady stirs.

JULIET wakes

JULIETO comfortable friar! where is my lord? I do remember well where I should be, And there I am. Where is my Romeo?

Noise within

FRIAR LAURENCEI hear some noise. Lady, come from that nest Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep: A greater power than we can contradict Hath thwarted our intents. Come, come away. Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead; And Paris too. Come, I'll dispose of thee Among a sisterhood of holy nuns: Stay not to question, for the watch is coming; Come, go, good Juliet,

Noise again

I dare no longer stay. JULIETGo, get thee hence, for I will not away.

Exit FRIAR LAURENCE

What's here? a cup, closed in my true love's hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end: O churl! drunk all, and left no friendly drop To help me after? I will kiss thy lips; Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, To make die with a restorative.

Kisses him

Thy lips are warm. First Watchman[Within] Lead, boy: which way? JULIETYea, noise? then I'll be brief. O happy dagger!

Snatching ROMEO's dagger

This is thy sheath;

Stabs herself

there rust, and let me die.

Falls on ROMEO's body, and dies

Enter Watch, with the Page of PARIS

PAGEThis is the place; there, where the torch doth burn. First WatchmanThe ground is bloody; search about the churchyard: Go, some of you, whoe'er you find attach. Pitiful sight! here lies the county slain, And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead, Who here hath lain these two days buried. Go, tell the prince: run to the Capulets: Raise up the Montagues: some others search: We see the ground whereon these woes do lie; But the true ground of all these piteous woes We cannot without circumstance descry.

Re-enter some of the Watch, with BALTHASAR

Second WatchmanHere's Romeo's man; we found him in the churchyard. First WatchmanHold him in safety, till the prince come hither.

Re-enter others of the Watch, with FRIAR LAURENCE

Third WatchmanHere is a friar, that trembles, sighs and weeps: We took this mattock and this spade from him, As he was coming from this churchyard side. First WatchmanA great suspicion: stay the friar too.

Enter the PRINCE and Attendants

PRINCEWhat misadventure is so early up, That calls our person from our morning's rest?

Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and others

CAPULETWhat should it be, that they so shriek abroad? LADY CAPULETThe people in the street cry Romeo, Some Juliet, and some Paris; and all run, With open outcry toward our monument. PRINCEWhat fear is this which startles in our ears? First WatchmanSovereign, here lies the County Paris slain; And Romeo dead; and Juliet, dead before, Warm and new kill'd. PRINCESearch, seek, and know how this foul murder comes. First WatchmanHere is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's man; With instruments upon them, fit to open These dead men's tombs. CAPULETO heavens! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds! This dagger hath mista'en--for, lo, his house Is empty on the back of Montague,-- And it mis-sheathed in my daughter's bosom! LADY CAPULETO me! this sight of death is as a bell, That warns my old age to a sepulchre.

Enter MONTAGUE and others

PRINCECome, Montague; for thou art early up, To see thy son and heir more early down. MONTAGUEAlas, my liege, my wife is dead to-night; Grief of my son's exile hath stopp'd her breath: What further woe conspires against mine age? PRINCELook, and thou shalt see. MONTAGUEO thou untaught! what manners is in this? To press before thy father to a grave? PRINCESeal up the mouth of outrage for a while, Till we can clear these ambiguities, And know their spring, their head, their true descent; And then will I be general of your woes, And lead you even to death: meantime forbear, And let mischance be slave to patience. Bring forth the parties of suspicion. FRIAR LAURENCEI am the greatest, able to do least, Yet most suspected, as the time and place Doth make against me of this direful murder; And here I stand, both to impeach and purge Myself condemned and myself excused. PRINCEThen say at once what thou dost know in this. FRIAR LAURENCEI will be brief, for my short date of breath Is not so long as is a tedious tale. Romeo, there dead, was husband to that Juliet; And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife: I married them; and their stol'n marriage-day Was Tybalt's dooms-day, whose untimely death Banish'd the new-made bridegroom from the city, For whom, and not for Tybalt, Juliet pined. You, to remove that siege of grief from her, Betroth'd and would have married her perforce To County Paris: then comes she to me, And, with wild looks, bid me devise some mean To rid her from this second marriage, Or in my cell there would she kill herself. Then gave I her, so tutor'd by my art, A sleeping potion; which so took effect As I intended, for it wrought on her The form of death: meantime I writ to Romeo, That he should hither come as this dire night, To help to take her from her borrow'd grave, Being the time the potion's force should cease. But he which bore my letter, Friar John, Was stay'd by accident, and yesternight Return'd my letter back. Then all alone At the prefixed hour of her waking, Came I to take her from her kindred's vault; Meaning to keep her closely at my cell, Till I conveniently could send to Romeo: But when I came, some minute ere the time Of her awaking, here untimely lay The noble Paris and true Romeo dead. She wakes; and I entreated her come forth, And bear this work of heaven with patience: But then a noise did scare me from the tomb; And she, too desperate, would not go with me, But, as it seems, did violence on herself. All this I know; and to the marriage Her nurse is privy: and, if aught in this Miscarried by my fault, let my old life Be sacrificed, some hour before his time, Unto the rigour of severest law. PRINCEWe still have known thee for a holy man. Where's Romeo's man? what can he say in this? BALTHASARI brought my master news of Juliet's death; And then in post he came from Mantua To this same place, to this same monument. This letter he early bid me give his father, And threatened me with death, going in the vault, I departed not and left him there. PRINCEGive me the letter; I will look on it. Where is the county's page, that raised the watch? Sirrah, what made your master in this place? PAGEHe came with flowers to strew his lady's grave; And bid me stand aloof, and so I did: Anon comes one with light to ope the tomb; And by and by my master drew on him; And then I ran away to call the watch. PRINCEThis letter doth make good the friar's words, Their course of love, the tidings of her death: And here he writes that he did buy a poison Of a poor 'pothecary, and therewithal Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. Where be these enemies? Capulet! Montague! See, what a scourge is laid upon your hate, That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love. And I for winking at your discords too Have lost a brace of kinsmen: all are punish'd. CAPULETO brother Montague, give me thy hand: This is my daughter's jointure, for no more Can I demand. MONTAGUEBut I can give thee more: For I will raise her statue in pure gold; That while Verona by that name is known, There shall no figure at such rate be

set As that of true and faithful Juliet. CAPULETAs rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie; Poor sacrifices of our enmity! PRINCEA glooming peace this morning with it brings; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

Exeunt

[alonely-dreamer]

Dangerous Creatures | Chapter 25: An Air of Déjà Vu (Part 1)

Summary: Mackenzie Alemaund is an unlucky 18 year old teenager whose life changes drastically after she gets kidnapped by two vampires and learns, in the same day, that she is not human.

Pairing: Elijah x OC

Words: 1394

A/N: Please, note that I am French so there might be some mistakes here and there.

Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23: Part 1 | Chapter 23: Part 2 | Chapter 23: Part 3 | Chapter 24

The Forest was silent and somber when Mackenzie was taken back to the castle. Somehow it seemed even colder inside than out there, and as dark as the moonless sky. She followed the page in silent, wondering if she had met him before, unable to recognize him, or any of them, for that matter. They were all wearing the same clothes, all saying the same things, all avoiding her gaze. She wondered if it was written somewhere in the rules not to look people in the eyes or if they were just afraid of her, and she decided never to ask, happy to believe it was the former.

Her satin dress caressed the cleaned marbled floor in silence, the only noise being the page’s footsteps and her heavy breaths. It would be easy enough to travel through the hallways of the castle if she weren’t wearing such a tight corset. She had been uncomfortable all night, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. She couldn’t wait to get out of this dress, and she’d wake the entire castle if she had to in order to find someone who’d help her out of this prison of satin.

The page stopped in front of her door and opened it for her, before stepping aside and bowing, gesturing her to get inside. She thanked him in a whisper, not caring if he heard her or not, before she stepped inside her chambers where she was happy to see her servant was waiting for her.

Mackenzie frowned, however, when she noticed the girl was standing near the couch, where she last saw her.

“Did you stay here all night?”

“No, ma’am. Someone from Lord Fay informed us of your return.”

Reassured that the poor girl hadn’t spent the last four hours waiting on her feet for her, and trying to forget she had just been called “ma’am”, she breathed out, or at least tried to.

“Get me out of this thing, please,” she begged.

“Yes, madam.”

The girl removed all the layers of the elaborate dress as fast as she could, and Mackenzie took a deep breath of relief as soon as she was able to.

“Thank you,” she breathed out loudly, swearing to herself she wouldn’t wear a corset ever again, and she’d kill anyone who’d try to make her. “Never call me madam again,” she said in a light tone, not wanting to scare the girl who had been acting nervous around her.

The servant looked up with a small and amused smile: “Yes, miss.”

“Have a good night.”

“You too, Lady Alemaund.”

The girl was gone before Mackenzie had the chance to tell her she wasn’t a lady.

 ***

 It was dark in the forest. Abnormally dark. And so silent. As if there were no wind, no animals, no life. As Mackenzie walked on the dead leaves, the absent of noise made her feel uneasy and nervous. She couldn’t remember where she was nor what she was doing out there in the forest alone. All the trees were the same and she kept changing course, hoping to see a light, a rock or a bush maybe that looked somewhat different, that would indicate she was making progress. But everything stayed the same. She cried for someone, anyone, just to see if she would hear anything and her own voice startled her. She expected no answer and received none, and for some reason, it was a relief. She was alone. There was no one and nothing that could hurt her. She felt at peace, not tired, not hungry, her feet weren’t hurting like they would have been if she had really been walking in the forest for this long. She kept walking for a while, enjoying the silence of the never-ending forest. She looked up, expecting a moon and stars, but found only darkness, like a ceiling painted in black, a black so dark she got lost in it.

She stopped, her eyes staring at the darkness, the pain coming back, the fear, the hunger, the exhaustion. She shivered as she started feeling cold, a pearl of sweat sliding down her forehead. A voice startled her. She turned around but saw nothing but the trees, the same trees she had been surrounded with for what seemed like an eternity. The trees that she had been ignoring now scared her, as if someone, or something, was hidden behind one of them, or all of them. She turned around herself, looking there, looking here, always seeing the same thing, all her emotions overwhelming her at once. She heard the voice again, but this time thought she understood it, even maybe recognized it. It was calling her name.

“Hello?” she cried out, not knowing if an answer would make the situation better or worse.

“… hear me?” the faded voice of a woman asked.

“Where are you?”

“Mackenzie,” the voice was now loud and clear.

The ultimate straightened up, a shiver running down her spine as she recognized the voice.

“Where are you?” she cried again.

“Mackenzie.”

“Mom! Where are you?”

She wiped the tears off her cheeks as she turned around again and again looking for her mother. She started feeling dizzy, the trees disappearing from her line of sight as if they were being pulled by an invisible force she couldn’t feel. Light started to break out of her surroundings as if the world itself was becoming a ball of light. Mackenzie brought a hand to her face, trying to shield herself from the blinding light.

It gradually became safe for her to open her eyes again and she looked around, hoping to see her mother, but all she saw was white, as if she were standing in a white empty room with no walls.

“Mom?” her voice broke as she called quietly for her mother.

“Mackenzie,” Aella said, though she was nowhere to be found.

“Where are you?”

“You need to leave, Mackenzie, it’s not safe for you here!”

“What?” Mackenzie breathed out as she looked up then down then around again. She couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from, as if it were coming from everywhere. “I don’t know where I am. How did I get here?”

“You need to leave! You can’t trust him, he will hurt you!” her mother’s voice was getting louder and Mackenzie’s ears started to ring as if the voice was coming from inside her head.

“Who?” she asked, panic obvious in her voice.

“You can’t trust him! He’s dangerous! You have to run!”

The darkness came back so suddenly that Mackenzie felt like she had just been punched in the chest. It took her breath away. She was in the forest again, surrounded by the same trees, on the same path going nowhere.

“Mom?” she called, the knot in her throat making her voice break again.

“You will die if you stay with him! Run, Mackenzie! Run!”

A sudden panic submerged her, and she started to run, as if her mother’s words were spelled. She ran so fast she didn’t know where she was going. The trees appeared before her and disappeared behind her so fast she didn’t see them at all anymore. She ran into the darkness, hoping for nothing, she ran until she couldn’t anymore, she ran until she reached the end of the path going nowhere and fell into nothing.

 ***

 Mackenzie jerked awake, almost choking as she gasped for air. She sat bolt upright, trembling and panting as if she had just run a marathon. She was sweaty, her nightgown sticking to her wet skin. She tried to catch her breath, tried to think straight.

What kind of nightmare was that? She had had a lot of bad dreams, but this was completely different. It felt so real, so vivid, she knew it was something else. She knew it was her mother sending her a message.

She tried to remember her mother’s words, wishing she had misunderstood them, but knowing she hadn’t.

Mackenzie shook her head, trying to forget the words, trying to erase the thought from her mind. She hated it. She hated it so much it hurt. It hurt to think of the mere possibility that it was real. That her mother, stuck in the Other Side, had come through to tell her that Elijah Mikaelson wanted to kill her.

*********

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it!!

I post in parts because I don’t want to run out of things to post every two weeks! Also I think this is a pretty good cliffhanger haha.

The entirety of the chapter can be found on my patreon page: patreon.com/alonelydreamer as well as the first part of chapter 26.

We should get back to a normal schedule from now on so next part will be posted next week.

I really need to know if the tags are working so please let me know if you were notified!

Have a great week!

Tags: @thepoet1975 @nerdysandwichqueen @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @raegan-hale @captainam-erika-trash @silver424 @monetfatalia @vaniileiinkeks @valeria-winchester @favimag @colie87 @hamiltonmadesomemistakes @s0nh4dorasblog @poemfreak306 @white-chocolate-mocha-fan @thegingerthatwaited @therealwatermelon @dark-night-sky-99@aubri1313 @jardinsecos @gymnastgal1997-blog @thearaviagrace77blog @caelst13​ @casedoina​ @nyxestia @happylittlehufflepuff5​

[official-cisphobe]

i highly admire your worldbuilding skills. can you tell us more about your OCs and their universe?

this is probably gonna be a bit lengthy so strap in! (edit: it is very lengthy)

the basics of Voidverse, like I explained earlier, is that there is a group of people tethered to each other by fate and higher forces, the purpose of the Alts is that they are a sort of keeper of balance between worlds and each of them is a sort of savour or hero in their respective timeline/universe. They weren't always aware of each other but when a great danger threatens all multiverses and all life they have to come together to defeat it—they do this with the help of someone called Katalin Huerta who has an ability called The Bridge ie she can create 'bridges' to other timelines/universes from wherever she is.

Technically the main character of Voidverse is Classic the Demon aka Classic, who is sort of a butterfly effect to get both the Alts and the end of the world running. but more about that later, I'll explain the other characters first.

anyway this ended up being super long so added a Read More to not take oevr anyone’s dash akdhsfsfg

Jojo - already explained

Leoh Yu - Leoh aka Badger is probably the most normal Alt out of all of them concidering he's not a demon or any sort of supernatural or sci-fi creature. Leoh grew up in Dazhai, China in the late 1970's to late 1980's with his mother and grandmother where they owned a farm and a bakery. His life took a turn when his mother got very sick and his family couldn't afford good doctors or treatments. at some point in the way of making money Leoh at 18-years-old was approached by a group of hitmen to recruit him, which after some time and thinking he accepted. Leoh worked as a hitman for about 30 years before retiring at age 40 to get married to his now husband Nico Mahariel as well as adopting a babygirl named Qing-Qiu. Leoh's past, however, will not let him go that easy but that's a story for another time.

Tuyja - Tuyja was a prophet of the Goddess Ghalme in an ancient civilisation called the Weykha. the Weykha lived in a sandstone kingdom and it is rumoured that they are where the legends of mermaids and Atlantis came from. Tyuja however was not of the Weykha people, instead she was born from the stars with ocean blue skin and horns made from spacedust. She was regarded as a sort of next in command from the Royal family and was basically treated as an extention of the Royal family (if not even higher than them), which infuriated the jealous Weykha prince. Tuyja had also fallen in love with a servant girl called Muza, which the Prince had used as leverage against her and turned the Weykha people against her, telling them that Tuyja would steal all their gold and jewellery and give it to a servant girl, that he had heard her say she would strip the skies of moon and star so that Muza would shine the brightest, that he had seen her tame ocean waves so that the servant girl could pick sea shells from the sand below. Tuyja had become a threat to the people who had praised her and come to her for guidance, they had banished her into the sea for 5000 years.

Quiet - named after one of my friends because I really like teir name and I've had difficulties naming this character for years, Quiet was born and raised in a lab where they were subjected to varieties of cruel and inhumane experiments going as far as getting permanent damage to their ribs and lungs. in canon Quiet only got their name after joining the Alts, Jojo who became their closest friend nicknamed them Quiet because they're,,, well,,, really quiet. ngl their story and character arc is on the undeveloped side

Lotus Draqon - Lotus is a half-human half-dragon who grew up outside his pack of origin because his mother Jupiter wasn't sure how the Matriarchs would react to Lotus' half-human trait. The dragons are an ancient people of long ago with vast magical abilities and lived in harmony with mortals, sharing their magic with them—until an evil was awakening and the Gods began to tear down entire cities. Mortals expected and begged the dragons to help them survive but the Matriarchs decided to abandon them, priotising the dragon's survival. They lived in isolation and hiding, shielded in a deep forest by magic for thousands of years. until Lotus as a young adult decided it was time for him to leave the nest and see the world. Jupiter was reluctant but Lotus was determined to never again live in fear. In time Lotus would become a very important figure to both the dragon and the mortals inhabiting the lands as dark forces began to matirialise and the Matriarchs became restless, declaring war against mortals.

Voidkeeper - demons are very hard to kill creatures, no regular blade or bullet with damage them much beyond cuts and bruises. the most efficient way to kill a demon is for one to end their own life which by Satan's rule is forbidden. It has happened technically two times but the first one was by a demon now known only as the Voidkeeper. After ending their own life as punishment their horns and tail were cut off, their magic taken away, and they were banished to the Void forever. Slyly they managed to grab some of their depleted magic and put it into a magical stone for safekeeping, it is only a very limited amount but can do very wondrous and powerful things things. The Void grants the Voidkeeper clairvoyance as to what is going on in whichever timeline and universe, they are a sort of silent watcher and will never interfere with the goingonabouts of the mortals. the Voidkeeper has a very minor but very important part to play in regards to the Alts and the saving of all life in the multiverse but for now they are patiently waiting and watching.

and finally there's our boy Class whose story is undoubtedly the most developed out of all of these so let's go through it:

Classic is a minor demon and was born at a time when the Underworld and the Human world were not so separate. He was born in a tiny demon village of about 15-20 inhabitants. His father had left him and his mother when Classic was about three years old and has not been seen since, Classic doesn't know if his father is dead or alive and doesn't really care about it either. Classic was an only child and pretty much a mama's boy, although he had a few friends in his village. Unfortunately his life changed forever at 12 years old when human soldiers pillaged his home, killing everyone—Classic would have been dead as well but his mother used her dying breath to save him with magic.

Classic had been knocked out during the raid but when he awoke he witnessed the aftermath of a bloodbath. Scared and alone and unsure of what to do he ran away from the scene and travelled days across the country until he stumbled upon a town of humans. Wrath overcoming his senses he murdered the entire town, leaving no human alive, going as far as tearing down entire houses and setting the entire place on fire.

Classic was later found in the ruins of that town crying by a group of angels. He was taken by them to a city in the sky and adopted by a family of angels. He wasn't generally liked by his neighbours but the angel child he lived with became his best friend for years to come. They grew up together, learned to use their different magicks together, Classic learned he could even materialise wings and fly albeit badly at first.

But as history has shown, wherever Classic goes, terror follows.

Classic had been having nightmares for months, very terrible ones, of dark forces beyond his understanding. They felt familiar and cruel, almost mocking.

Before he realised what he had done, the angel he spent his childhood with was dead and there was blood on his hands. Just like before, as if on instinct he ran away from the city of angels and went into hiding. Multiple years had passed by now and the human world was very different from what he remembered. It was no longer that easy to stay out of the radar of humans, since they were pretty much everywhere with cameras and police.

To say he was causing issues in the human world would be an understatement. He would steal, break into houses, even kill to survive. Random fires would start and radiation with no apparent source would appear all over.

This is where Katalin Huerta comes in—see, she is a commander of a very special branch of task force, it was her own creation. Her people dealt with supernatural oddities and threats, it was govrrment funded but entirely indepentant from their meddling albeit they can be difficult to please. Katalin was born with special abilities, a sort of family tradition—at birth her soul was bonded with that of a powerful spirit that had once been one with the soul of Katalin's mother. The spirit gave her the ability to control and create fire but her own speciality was her Bridge ability.

anyway, Katalin had taken notice of the strange indicents around town and taken some of her people to go check it out, only to find a teenaged demon crawling in an abondoned factory. She could tell the demon was just afraid and lost and decided to help him. Which is how Classic joined her task force.

Which honestly was probably the best thing that had happened to Classic, Katalin taught him to fight and better utilise his demon magic as well as taught him to use a sword (Classic has never understood guns and will never attempt to). Learning spells with a human was a difficult task but eventually they figured it out. Classic's natural abilities worked very strongly as illusion based magic as well as materialisation, although the latter has been more tricky to master even after all these years so as we speak Classic's only materialisation spells are his wings as well as his sword and teleportation.

Eventually the darkness haunting Classic began to rear its head again, Katalin catches wind of this and fortunately can help him keep it out from his head yet it still lingers in the air and grows stronger.

until now Classic had never before talked about the darkness. but at this point he was cornered and Katalin wouldn't take no for an answer.

At that point in time all Classic knew about the darkness was that it was some sort of ancient entity, it wasn't a demon because its presence felt entirely different from at least the demons Classic was used to. He nicknamed it Ash, as all he could remember from the times it has appeared are the ashes left by roaring embers.

In reality the darkness is one of the five forgotten gods of an ancient people. It was cast aside by the Creator and exiled from the land of gods. The darkness hates mortal life because of the gods' love for them, so it seeks to destroy all that is living. in its weakened state it needs a vessel to succeed and has been corrupting Classic and molding him into that vessel since that day he turned 12-years-old.

Only the Alts can defeat the darkness, whether Ash stays defeated is only a matter of time.

[fox-guardian]

Meeting the Master (part 3)

Part 1 Part 2

(Trigger Warning for heavily implied abuse.)

As the week progressed, Poole paid particularly close attention to the Jekylls. Father, mother, and son were rarely seen in a room together all at once. Dinnertime seemed to be the most consistent setting for them to gather, and even then it didn’t seem guaranteed. Sometimes Mr. Jekyll would arrive home late from work and the others would already be eating, or Mrs. Jekyll would stumble in after being out with friends while the others would be finishing their desserts. Other than that, they didn’t spend much time all in the house at once. If the parents were there at all before dinnertime, Poole sure didn’t see them. He was always too busy with Henry.

Henry preferred to be out of the house, with his two friends, mostly. Poole got to know them a bit, and they didn’t seem like some awful gang of troublemakers as he’d first thought. They were well-mannered, friendly, and if anything, seemed to be good influences on his master. His master, on the other hand, seemed anything but relaxed all week. He would start the day with that strangely perfect demeanor and hold it together until he could bear it no more. By the end of the week, he’d given up holding it together almost completely. Even when he was more “himself”, Poole could tell he was still very tense and apprehensive, especially by the looks his friends gave him. They looked at him with pity and concern. 

Eventually, the linear passage of time caught up to them, and the Saturday Meeting was about to start. All of the servants gathered in a circle, with Poole standing among them. At one side of the circle, Mr. and Mrs. Jekyll were stood, Mr. Jekyll holding his cane in front of him with his chin held high and Mrs. Jekyll fanning herself beside him. In the middle of the circle stood Henry, with his perfect posture, though his face was not bearing his usual smile. He looked nervous. Poole glanced around the room. This young man was surrounded on all sides by servants that all looked so terribly annoyed, tired, and almost resentful towards him, and they were all whispering to each other. No wonder he looked so intimidated.

Mr. Jekyll cleared his throat and the room fell silent immediately. He tilted his head down to face his son directly. 

“Alright,” he began, “Who would like to go first?”

The room remained silent for a moment, until a maid lifted her hand, “I went in to check his room on Tuesday and he’d left some clothes on the floor.”

“He didn’t finish all of his food on Wednesday,” added a cook.

“He started playing with the bookends in your office, Sir,” chimed in another maid.

“Wait a moment-” started Poole, before Mr. Jekyll lifted his hand to silence him. 

He lowered his hand slowly, “…Wait your turn, Poole. I’ll have you go at the end,” he said.

“But-” he tried again.

“I said be patient, Poole,” said Mr. Jekyll, more harshly this time. “Are you stepping out of line?”

“No, Sir. I jus-”

“Then be quiet.”

…Poole decided to be patient and to wait his turn. He merely wanted to inform him that the maid was lying. Henry never went anywhere near his father’s office all week, and if he had, Poole would’ve known. He looked at Henry. From where he stood, he could see him start to tremble.

“…I saw him pulling at grass in the backyard,” said the gardener. That was also a lie.

“He flung clean laundry about while he looked for something,” lied another maid, “I had to rewash it all." 

"He stole from the pantry,” fibbed a footman. 

Servant after servant, statement after statement, and Poole could count on one hand the amount of times they told the truth. Most were lying through their teeth, some of which even blaming their own ill-behaviour on Henry. Why would they all lie? Had they no integrity?

Finally, the servants ceased speaking and Mr. Jekyll smiled, gesturing for Poole to come forth.

“Now for the star of the show,” he began, allowing Poole time to step forward, “You’ve been closer to my son than anyone else in this house has been in years. You’ve seen firsthand how he behaves outside these walls,” he paused, grinning in anticipation, “Why don’t you tell us all about what he’s done, hm?”

Poole took a moment to process it. Perhaps that grin was his hoping to hear something good? He thought about the week, recalled all of Henry’s misdeeds, but also all that he’d done well. He’d start with that, since no one else would. “Well, Sir, he had excellent table manners all week. He always ate with his mouth shut, wiped his mouth accordingly, used all the right utensils-”

Mr. Jekyll’s grin fell from his face like a pitcher falling from a counter, it was sudden and startling. “Poole, do you understand your job?”

He was taken aback by this, “Of course I do, Sir.”

“And you understand which part of your job you are currently fulfilling?”

“I-Yes, Sir-”

“Do you?”

He paused, confused, “…Am I doing something wrong, Sir?”

Mr. Jekyll adjusted himself on his cane, “Tell me what you think you’re meant to be doing right now.”

“I am meant to be reporting your son’s behaviour from during this past week-”

“Misbehaviour.”

“I…beg your pardon?”

“I told you to report to me his misbehaviour. Only that.”

Poole stood there silently, confused, glancing about the room. His master caught his eye. He was trembling much more now, trying to stay still. He was staring ahead at the wall, and he looked to be sweating. Things started slowly shifting around in Poole’s mind, certain things were coming together, but he couldn’t see it all yet.

He looked back at Mr. Jekyll, whose eyes suddenly narrowed suspiciously. “…Did he tell you to say those things?”

Henry made a faint noise –sort of like a whimper, sort of like a muffled cry of protest, it was caught somewhere in between.

“No, Sir, I’m telling you the truth. Which reminds me-”

“I only want you to tell me what he’s done wrong, Poole,” he interrupted.

“But Sir-”

“That is all I ever want to hear from you at this point,” he was deeply annoyed now, rolling his eyes as he addressed Poole, “Now start telling me what I want to hear.”

Poole sighed, “He… climbed a tree with his friends.”

He perked up, more interested now, “What else?”

“He swung a branch at a tree and broke it in half. That was rather concerning.”

“What else? I don’t want you to stop talking until you’ve told me everything.”

And so… he didn’t. He kept talking, telling him everything he could think of that Henry had done wrong. Once he’d finished with what he thought was everything, his father started questioning him further.

“What about his posture? His smile? His voice? Was he articulated? Poised? Did he waver in his presentation?”

That was a tad nit-picky, he thought, “Uh, yes, Sir, he wavered a bit…”

Mr. Jekyll cocked an eyebrow, “A bit?”

“Well, he started the week holding himself high… but each day he could keep himself together less and less. By the end of the week, he had sort of… given up, I suppose.”

Mr. Jekyll turned to his son, who was now trembling terribly, tears streaming silently down his face. He looked terrified.

“Given up, you say?” Mr. Jekyll said slowly, keeping his eyes on his son.

Poole was almost afraid to confirm it, “Yes, Sir…”

“He was too weak to hold his own body correctly,” he said, his voice carrying itself with an air of scorn, “how pathetic.” He turned and walked towards a door, it was one of the rooms that Poole was forbidden from. He assumed it was a cellar of some kind. Mr. Jekyll opened the pristine door to a pitch black stairway. He turned back to his son.

“Come here, you insolent little brat,” he hissed.

Poole was shocked. He didn’t think that Mr. Jekyll, a man so popular and held in such high regard by almost everyone, would speak to his own flesh and blood in such a manner. He looked at Henry, who straightened himself up a bit, took a deep breath, and his expression changed from fear to… acceptance. A very morbid sort of acceptance. He stepped forward, still shaking, and went down the stairs, his father following close behind. A servant approached and locked the door behind them. Poole stood staring as everyone, even Mrs. Jekyll, all dispersed without a care in the world. He approached a maid, tapping on her shoulder.

“What was all that? What’s going on here?” he asked, distraught.

She sighed, “You’re new, I get it. It was kind of shocking when I first came here too.”

That helped nothing. 

“What do you mean?” He was starting to become frantic.

She sighed again, more annoyed this time, “He gathers us here every Saturday to tell him how his son misbehaved. He won’t let up until everyone has said something about him.”

“Is that why you all lied?” he said accusingly.

She shrugged, “Doesn’t matter if it’s true of not, he doesn’t care. He just wants to know all the bad stuff.”

“But why? What good does that do?" 

Her face suddenly became dead to him, apathetic, uncaring, "Because once he’s knows all the bad stuff, he can beat it out of him.”

Poole’s eyes widened in horror. He turned back to the cellar door, he started to charge at it. 

The maid held him back. 

“What are you doing?! You’ve done enough already!”

“I’m going to- Wait, what do mean I’ve done enough?”

“That little stunt you pulled? Trying to tell him nice things? No one will ever convince him that boy didn’t put you up to it to try and make him take it easy on him.”

“But that’s not true!” He turned back to the door, “I’ll tell him, I can convince him-”

“You’re a fool if you think you could make anything easier on that child. The best thing you could do for him is to do exactly as you’re told.”

Poole stared at the door, “But he’s hardly done anything wrong…”

She shrugged, “Doesn’t matter. This isn’t just him being punished, y'know. His father’s job tends to get him pretty riled up during the week. This helps him to sort of blow off steam.”

He kept staring at that door, filling with rage for that man and worry for that boy…

“Just let it happen,” she said, turning away, “He’ll thank you for it later.”

…

Poole was sitting in his bedroom, his face in his hands. Everything was making sense now. Henry had been trying to shape himself to his parents’ standards whenever he went out, and the pressure built up until he could no longer endure it during the day, hence why he broke down. He didn’t want to stay in the house so his other servants would have less to report, so he spent all of his time with his friends. Everything his parents and all the servants said, it was all because they were only allowed to see the worst of him. It was all they were required to look at, so they didn’t care about the rest. They weren’t supposed to. It all made sense, it all made some sickening, twisted sense.

That boy wasn’t some menace, he was just a boy. Just a young man that wanted as much freedom as a young man should have. His parents were suffocating him and worse, whatever was being done to him in that cellar. His father had set everything up just like that, putting an entire household against his own son to punish him, and for what? To cope with his own job? It had taken everything in Poole’s body, mind, and soul to not burst through that cellar door to see just what was being done to that boy, and to lift him up and carry him far away from it all. His stomach turned with worry as his brain tried to fill in all the gaps.

He heard footsteps. One set was mostly steady, though one foot seemed to fall more heavily than the other, as if the person was limping. The other set seemed to also be limping, but with an extra limb, a cane. Poole stood up quietly, and pressed his ear to the door. He could hear faint whimpering and sniffling, and Mr. Jekyll speaking quietly.

“…I hope this has helped you learn your lesson, boy…” He paused, “You speak when you’re spoken to.”

The response was meek, and uttered between quiet sobs, “….Yes, Father…”

“You won’t lie to me again.” It wasn’t a question, or even a request. It was a statement, a command.

“…No, Father…” came the tiny reply.

“Good. Now…” Poole could hear him take a step closer,  "What do we say?“

Poole listened very closely.

”…I love you, Father.“

"Good boy.”

The three-limbed footsteps went back the way they’d come. Poole wanted to scream. He wanted to strangle that man. But most of all, he wanted to check on that boy. But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t be able to control himself. Not to mention the chance that any other servants that may hear him. He’d need a proper plan before he did anything bold.

…

The next morning, he brought his master breakfast as usual. He watched carefully as he ate it. He couldn’t see any bruises or other marks peeking from under his master’s night shirt, but he could tell by the shaky way he lifted his utensils that we was at best very sore. Poole contained himself. 

Later on, they went out as usual, but Poole made a request this time. “Sir, may we stop in the park for a bit?”

“What?” asked his master, turning to him, “What for?”

“I would just… like to speak to you, somewhere private.”

He looked at him suspiciously, “…Why? About what?”

Poole sighed, “Yesterday.”

Henry tensed up, “W-We don’t need to talk about tha-" 

“Master Henry,” he interrupted, “please…”

He looked away, “…There’s nothing to talk about. That’s just the way things are.”

Poole looked at him, he didn’t want to cause a scene out in public. “Please, Master Henry. I only wish to speak with you.”

He hesitated, “…Fine. But make it quick.”

He smiled, “Of course, Sir.”

And so they went to the park, and Poole led him off of the beaten path, into that little patch of forest that those three young gentlemen had played around in just a week ago. 

He began slowly, trying to ease into it as best as he could given the urgency of the subject, “Master Henry, I had no idea that my reports would lead to… whatever it is your father did to you yesterday evening.”

Henry looked away shamefully, “It doesn’t matter. It’s basically the same every week. There’s no good weeks, only bad and terrible.”

Poole looked at him sadly. Such a bright young man, a doctor, he was a doctor! With two law degrees! He was brilliant! And he wasn’t nearly as awful as his family insisted. He didn’t deserve what he was getting, he didn’t deserve to feel so hopeless. “Is there anything I could do to help? You know them better than I do.”

He didn’t look up, “You can do nothing. It’ll only make things worse if you try to help me.”

Poole sighed in frustration, “Perhaps I can talk to him, help him see how wonderful you are-”

“NO!!” Henry suddenly cried out, “Don’t try to talk to him! He’ll punish me for ‘manipulating you’!”

Poole clenched his fists by his sides, “Then maybe I’ll have to be more aggressive-”

“NO!! You aren’t helping!!”

“Surely there’s something I can-”

“You can stop caring. It isn’t worth it.”

“If it means you won’t get hurt, it’ll be worth everything that it takes.”

“But I will get punished no matter what. If I do poorly, he punishes me. If I do well, he would never tell me, and it doesn’t make things any easier. It’s useless. Trust me.”

They stayed silent for a moment.

“…Wait,” Henry started, “Did you say that I was… 'wonderful’?”

Poole looked at him, surprised, “Of course. You’re incredibly bright. Once you leave that awful place, I’m sure you’ll have a bright future.”

Henry’s face fell, “They won’t let me leave. I would have if I could have… years ago. They won’t give me the money to leave. I don’t get anything more than pocket money until they die and then I inherit everything…”

Poole approached him, and gently rested a hand on his shoulder. Henry looked up at him.

“You deserve so much more than what you’ve been given,” he said, “I wish with all of my heart that I could take all of this away. I wish that I could give you a fresh start, a new life, and wipe away whatever pain you’ve endured from this terrible treatment.”

Henry’s face shifted from furrowed brow and annoyed scowl to misty eyes and a mouth that hung open in shock. “…Y…You don’t mean all that…” he said, his voice breaking.

“Of course I do,” Poole insisted, “It pains me to hear you doubt me in that way…” He placed his free hand on Henry’s other shoulder, staring deep into his eyes, almost as if trying to telepathically show him how deeply he truly cared. “I would do anything to bring you any sort of relief from this.”

A tear fell from his master’s eye. “You’d lose your job… and if you really mean what you say… then I’d have lost the only person in that entire house that cared about me.”

Poole’s heart wrenched as his master spoke. He thought for a moment. “…The other servants lie about what you’ve done. Why don’t I do the same?”

Henry looked at him in confusion, wiping tears from his eyes with his sleeve, “W-What do you mean? You can’t lessen my punishments any.”

“I know,” he replied, “but if it doesn’t matter whether what I say is true or not, then why must you hold yourself so carefully if I could lie about it anyway? If your father wants to hear about your worst behaviour, then I’ll tell him what he wants to hear. You won’t have to put up a facade in front of me.”

Henry hesitated, and then smiled at him, a real, genuine smile. 

“Of course, you still need to mind your manners and be kind,” Poole clarified, “but the nit-picky bits are just…bleh.”

Henry laughed, a real, genuine laugh.

Poole smiled back at him, “You can be yourself outside the house. You can be yourself around me.”

Henry started to cry happily. Poole smiled even wider as he pulled him in for a tight hug. Henry grunted in pain.

Poole pulled back immediately, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Henry stared at him for a moment, and then wrapped his arms around him, “A little bit… but it’s alright.”

Poole hugged him back, more gently this time, and felt his master hug him as though he’d never get the chance to do it again. 

…

The day went on. Henry wiped his tears and went to spend time with his friends as usual, only this time, he seemed more free. His friends definitely seemed to recognize him for once. He seemed happy, truly happy. And it warmed Poole’s heart to see. That day, he decided that this young man was his top priority. He would do everything in his power to make him feel happy and loved as often as possible. He’d make that boy feel loved if it killed him.

((Ok wow this one took two days. Also I hate doing so much dialogue, I hope it turned out well. Hope y’all enjoyed this one.))

[chiseler]

TWO NEW FILMS

Viewed by Henri Duvernois

Le Bataillon des sans-amour [Battalion of the Unloved]

(The Mayor of Hell)

I was greatly moved by this film. The dreadful existence of some delinquent children, I believe, can never be shown enough. And it is not blindly optimistic to declare most of them capable of reform. During my research for a novel, I discussed this subject with the man most qualified to do so, the head of instruction at the Petite Roquette [a Paris prison for boys 7-20]. He told me flat out:

“Eight out of ten, at least, if they are treated kindly, intelligently, gently, are capable of becoming splendid fellows. And I myself would not hesitate to have them associate with my own children. If you write a book on this subject, your surest inspiration will be pity.”

He told me this at a time when France did not yet have a juvenile court, and where judges, broken-hearted—more than once I saw tears in their eyes—were obliged to condemn a poor tubercular starveling of twelve, guilty only of vagrancy and not the slightest crime.

The effect of these films on the public is healthy. There are still too many martyred children—as recent news items show—but there are, above all, unrecognized, too many unfortunate children. Their sad stories do not always end in suicide, like the poor little Rozentweig child, victim of brutish imbeciles [a minor cause célèbre of 1933: Sonia Rozensweig, 13, a refugee Polish Jew, drowned herself after an encounter involving herself, a 7-year-old brother or cousin, and a local shopkeeper, which ended in the police station; leftwing and rightwing papers gave widely divergent accounts of the affair], or the baby slowly tortured by an appalling stepmother. Children are beaten. Children are, morally, abandoned. I was struck by these lines, during the courtroom scene of the film: “I’m sick of supporting him!” says one father, to which the boy replies, “When did you ever support me?”

The battalion of the unloved, then, is made up of young vagabonds left to the streets by the carelessness or poverty of their parents. A director may, through his careful reproduction of life, make a work of art at art’s finest: the sensitive transposition of truth. So it is here. The actors are between twelve and fifteen years old. Each, by his physical appearance, voice, costume, is a chapter of a  novel. Here is the snitch, the traitor, who steals and pillages but can and will sell out his comrades. Here is the leader, quick to deal out chastisement, bolder and more energetic than the others, more dangerous too, in whose generous nature his good and bad instincts are at war. A kind word, a caress may save him. But one must divine his heart and pierce his tough shell to reach it. There is the hate-filled one, who would love with the same fervor if he were given the chance; the fat kid, greedy and lazy; the pickaninny who follows the gang because he’s hungry; the sickly boy who wants to have a little fun before he dies.

The whole gang is condemned to reform school. The latter is directed by one Thompson, whom the film’s authors have perhaps made too starkly a villain. There are (and, above all, there have been) a good many of these civil servants who, without being monsters of cruelty like Thompson, even while undeviatingly pursuing their duty—what they believe is their duty—have produced equally deplorable results.

But there must be a counterforce: Dorothy, the reform school’s nurse. She is not satisfied merely to take care of the boys when they are ill. She wants them to be better treated and better fed. Her smile and her blondeness perform the miracle. An inspector is named, an insouciant young man placed there by crooked politicians. For love of Dorothy, he no longer smiles and approves. He furloughs the savage director and takes his place. Surprise! The mess hall’s foul gruel is replaced by bacon and eggs and cream cakes. The boys are made responsible for organizing themselves; they name one judge, another chief of police, etc. There is laughter and song in what once was hell. But the director returns. By a rather too neat coincidence, Gargan, the inspector, is charged with murder. The other triumphs. Once again the school is a prison. A little TB case, confined to an icy cell, dies of cold. The boys revolt, a torch-bearing mob. Terrified, the director jumps off a roof and falls to his death. Gargan, found innocent, returns. Order is restored and Gargan will marry Dorothy.

The film is full of exquisite details. One, especially poignant, bowled me over. This was not the death of the little TB case, admirably handled though it was. It was the moment when Jimmy, the gang leader, while being upbraided, takes a sheet of paper and a pencil and, in a few strokes, makes a lovely sketch. If someone takes an interest in him, flatters him with a few compliments, he might become a great artist. If he is treated roughly, he will surely become a criminal… The agonizing question of vocation is raised here. And a detail like this honors and illuminates a film.

This film is marvelously interpreted by the boys, headed by Frankie Darrow as Jimmy, very well by Madge Evans and James Cagney as the nurse and the inspector, and with great sensitivity by Arthur Byron as the kindly judge.

La Porte des rêves [The Door of Dreams]

(The Keyhole)  

The Keyhole tells the story of the beautiful Anne, wife of Maurice, her former partner in a dance act. Believing herself divorced, she has married a rich older man, Schuyler Brooks. But the divorce was not finalized. Maurice takes advantage of the situation, blackmailing his ex-wife by threatening to reveal the truth. He makes her meet with him, extorts large sums, tears her jewels from her.

Terrified, Anne asks her own sister-in-law for help. Maurice must be gotten out of New York. He is a foreigner; they will arrange that his return visa be refused. Anne claims she is going to Cuba. Maurice will follow her there and she will be rid of him.

Brooks thinks she is traveling because she is weary of her luxurious but dull conjugal existence and seeks an adventure. He hires a handsome private detective, Davis, to seduce her and become her lover. When he has done so, he is to telephone the husband, who will fly to Cuba and take the couple in flagrante. But Anne falls truly in love with the detective, and he falls in love with her. He saves her from an ambush arranged by Maurice. When Brooks, alerted by his sister, arrives to take Anne back, the ex-husband flees, falls off a balcony, and is killed. Brooks opens the door. Anne is in Davis’s arms, passionately kissing him. The jealous husband has gotten what he paid for…

Of course, any plot summary is derisive for a film of this type, whose worth lies in its dramatic sweep and the talent of its interpreters. The action is here only to serve the actors and give a pretext for ingenious images, marvelously coordinated. There is no question of psychology. In any event, to disarm criticism, the actors in The Keyhole make the heroine a former dancer, accustomed to a certain liberty and who may thus, over the course of a cruise, swayed by sweet music, the sea, and the starry sky, let herself be beguiled by a mere detective, private though he be.

But what delighted me and must be set apart is, in the role of Dot, a little blonde tart, the charming Glenda Farrell. We have already seen her in certain supporting roles where she struck us by her intelligence and acuteness of observation. Glenda Farrell belongs to that small number of actresses who produce true literary creations, through the amused tenderness with which they realize a character who would be, with another, insignificant and purposeless. She was from head to toe the cruise ship charmer who shares her takings with the barman, chooses lonely and naïve men, and drops them when she sees that the game is not worth the candle. More and more, talking pictures will use and showcase talents of this sort. And it is among them that directors must seek future stars, rather than among the immobile beauties, vamps or victims, inherited from the late silent cinema.

Such a reproach is not addressed to Kay Francis, who has magnetism and authority and, above all, that invaluable advantage for a cinema artist: a ravishing and sensitive shape to the mouth. I do not have the space here to develop this argument, but the mouth is of capital importance in film—more so even than the eyes—and not for the final kiss alone. Smile, emotion, irony, fear, radiant youth and sudden aging, it expresses everything. Take, for example, in France, the mouth of Gaby Morlay and, in America, that of Irene Dunne. If so many actresses disappoint us with their monotony, it is above all because nature has refused them this power of expression.

Henry Kolker has naturalness and ease. He establishes the character of a deceived husband and saves it from convention. Finally, the rhythm of the film is excellent and its technique fully mastered, meaning that it does not intrude and serves the story without overwhelming it.

Translated by Phoebe Green

First published in Pour Vous magazine

NUMERO. 259

2 NOV. 1933 

[et-in-cinerem-reverteris]

Class of 1953 - Chapter 5 - Nowhere Fast (6.5k)

“So,” Dan begins, “now that I’ve finally got you alone, tell me - how are you?”

“I’m fine - tired - but nevertheless enjoying myself. Thank you for saving me from those girls earlier, I was having a completely rotten time with them.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it! It was my pleasure,” he assures, taking a sip of his champagne and leaning in slightly closer. “Anyway, I couldn’t let them at you, could I? You’re mine.”

Here I am with what could possibly be the final installment of Class of 1953! I may add more chapters if I come up with new ideas, because I do love writing this story...but we shall have to see!

The link to Ao3 is here

Or, read under the cut!

Tonight is the night they have all been waiting for - tonight is the night of the Drama Society’s production of Romeo and Juliet. The show marks the last day of term at the University of Oxford, and as lecture halls shut and the libraries close, thousands of students traipse across the town to parties and dinners in celebration of their first, second or third term here at Oxford. The past eight weeks have been academically demanding, mentally challenging and socially exhausting; Phil had taken an entire month not to feel overwhelmed at the imposing professors, the foreign city and the sea of unfamiliar faces. To make matters worse he had struggled to make friends, too nervous to join in with conversations in the lecture halls and dinner halls alike. Thankfully socialite Mary had then come to the rescue; dragging him along to clubs and speeches, competitions and parties, she had set to work sowing the seeds of a social life until Phil was sure there was no student in the city he hadn’t yet been introduced to. Before long several friendships had begun to bud, and then finally after a month of worrying, all was finally calm and relaxed in Phil’s world.

That is, until one of the seeds that Mary had secretly planted unexpectedly grew vines around his entire being, taking root inside of him with a strength he had never experienced the likes of before. Each day the petals grew bigger, the colours brighter and its scent ever sweeter, until eventually it had become so overwhelmingly pretty that it took every atom in Phil’s body not to pluck it lest his caress caused the flower to die. So there he had stood, secateurs in hand, unable to touch what he so badly wanted to cut from the stem and claim as his own.

The room is plunged into darkness. Phil snaps back to reality. A hushed stillness sweeps over the crowd and all eyes are trained on the chancel as the chamber becomes hushed. The clack of high heels ricochets off ancient walls as hree women clad in dark hooded cloaks come into view, gliding across the space and stopping before a threshold of candles as they remove their hoods, look up, and begin to speak in unison.

“Two households, both alike in dignity,

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;

Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows

Doth with their death bury their parents' strife.

The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,

And the continuance of their parents' rage,

Which, but their children's end, naught could remove,

Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;

The which if you with patient ears attend,

What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.”

The three women replace their hoods and glide back to the enclosed space. 

Phil fidgets in his seat. The play is about to begin.

Enter Sampson and Gregory of the house of Capulet. 

The servants barge onto the stage and chatter amongst themselves before being interrupted by the presence of their rival Montague servingmen. The scene quickly descends into chaos as Abram and Sampson quarrel, sir, and despite having watched, read and studied the scene countless times before Phil finds himself on the edge of his seat, wholly absorbed by the spectacular acting in front of him. In the midst of the madness Benvolio launches onstage, parting the bickering servants and beating down their swords as he begs them to stop. A trio of girls in the front row start to giggle. Phil furrows his brows, glaring daggers at the gaggle from the far side of the room. What about Dan’s acting is there to laugh at? Disgruntled, he turns his eyes back towards the set, before realising what’s causing their tittering.

Ah. The codpiece. Of course. With his cheeks feeling slightly hotter before, Phil switches his attention away from the girls and back towards the performance.

Sixty minutes pass, and as the two hours’ traffic reaches its halfway point the mood inside the chapel is that of intense concentration. There are no breaks in between scenes, no respite in the intensity of the emotion, and as such the air grows heavy and humid. Romeo and Juliet’s relationship explodes into existence, turbulently naive as it teeters like a spinning top, threatening to crash at the slightest wobble. The first tremors arise on a swelteringly hot day as Mercutio and Benvolio run into Tybalt and Romeo. Tensions spark immediately; swords crash, insults are spat, and in a flash Mercutio is left with a wound which damns him to a sudden and early grave. Staggering under Benvolio’s grasp with tears in his eyes he howls a plague o’ both the Capulet and Montague houses, and in a weeping mess, is dragged off stage. 

A few seconds later Benvolio re-enters. With a bowed head and anguished countenance, he sinks down to his knees and announces that the brave Mercutio is dead.

“Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did stay.

Romeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink

How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal

Your high displeasure. All this- uttered

With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd-

Could not take truce with the unruly spleen

Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts

With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast;

Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point,

And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats

Cold death aside and with the other sends

It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity

Retorts it. Romeo he cries aloud,

'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and swifter than his tongue,

His agile arm beats down their fatal points,

And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm

An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life

Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled;

But by-and-by comes back to Romeo,

Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,

And to't they go like lightning; for, ere I

Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain;

And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly.

This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.”

The hairs on Phil’s arm start to prickle, and an intense rush of passion floods into his breast. It feels as though he has just witnessed the greatest tragedy on earth. Lady Montague speaks and the plot moves on but all he can see is Dan, his Dan, the Dan who he had known was a keen actor but had never expected to be so talented as this. 

As the room gets hotter, Phil begins to feel slightly faint. His mind wanders away from the performance and drifts through the air, scattering across the mosaics, twinkling into the lights - only an hour until Dan’s party...

The play draws near to its tragic end. As the bodies of the young couple are uncovered, the quarreling families finally begin to make amends.

“O brother Montague, give me thy hand.

This is my daughter's jointure, for no more

Can I demand.”

“But I can give thee more;

For I will raise her Statue in pure gold,

That whiles Verona by that name is known,

There shall no figure at such rate be set

As that of true and faithful Juliet.”

“As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie-

Poor sacrifices of our enmity!”

The two men stride towards each other and clasp hands, thus ending the feud which took the lives of their innocent children. As they part, Prince Escalus begins his closing speech.

“A glooming peace this morning with it brings.

The sun for sorrow will not show his head.

Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;

Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished;

For never was a story of more woe

Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”

The actors bow their heads, and the chapel is silent.

One person claps, two people clap, and then before long the whole audience explodes into rhapsodic applause accompanied by shouting and cheering and whistling, filling the air with an ecstatic buzz as the heaviness is lifted and transformed into a feeling of triumph. Onstage the actors and actresses break out into wide grins, linking arms and forming a line as they bow towards the audience, smiling and laughing at the roses, hats and handkerchiefs people throw at them.

There’s a tapping on Phil’s arm. As he angles around he sees Mary gesturing towards the door and saying something including the words ‘going to get Beth’ and ‘see you later’. He turns his attention back to the stage. Scanning through the actors and actresses he scours each circle until he locates Dan in a corner exchanging warm embraces with his friends. It’s a joyous sight; for the first time since the pair of them met, Dan looks well and truly relaxed. The boy pats one of his friends on the shoulder before waving goodbye and turning around to examine the audience. Phil perks up. What is he doing? Is he looking for someone? Could he be looking for him? Perhaps he’s looking for someone else. Perhaps there’s another friend Dan’s looking for, perhaps there’s someone else who he-

Their eyes connect, and Dan’s entire face lights up. Phil smiles, unable to stop the warmth bubbling in his chest as he waves.

Then, in a swift and synchronous movement, the pair are on the move. 

Leaping up from his seat Phil shuffles down to the end of his pew, apologising for treading on bags and shoes as he darts towards his companion as quickly as possible. He bypasses a flirting couple, crosses two confused parents, avoids a gaggle of staggering drunks and then slowly, excruciatingly forces his way through the backs of some excitable swots who are totally unaware that he’s trying to get past. Through a gap in their necks he manages to catch a glimpse of Dan. Trapped amongst a horde of plump and well-dressed gentlemen the boy stands a few meters away, unable to elude the meaty paws he has become ensnared in. The men eye him hungrily, bombarding him with bawdy and flirtatious comments which Dan graciously rebuffs as he locks eyes with the ginger haired boy, shooting him a wink and a knowing smile. Phil goes limp with infatuation. With a grunt of effort he pushes through the crack in the swots’ backs, inching through their shoulder blades, crawling between their knees, inhaling the stench of the sweat from their skin before finally, finally he is free! He lurches forward, rushing through the open space, skidding as he treads on a wonky stone slab, reaches his arms out and-

The force of their embrace sends them flying backwards, foreheads knocking together as they collide against the back of a pew with a sharp jolt. Dan’s neck feels clammy under Phil’s fingers, hair still moist from the sweat of the performance. There’s a certain roughness in the smell of musk and perspiration exuding from the boy’s damp skin as he’s pushed up against the pew...and then he feels the codpiece digging into his groin.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for tonight.” 

They pull themselves apart, legs and arms still intertwined. Dan’s face glows, golden and flushed, glistening as he grins with joy. 

“Hey - you should come backstage and meet the cast.” 

Phil scrunches his face up.

“No, I’m serious. I want you to meet them, they’re a wonderful bunch.”

Sighing, he bows his head in surrender. Dan beams, turning to walk down the aisle as Phil follows on close behind him, watching the golden lights twinkle as they pass through the excited crowds who- 

Knuckles brush against his. Phil flinches. Fingers dance around the back of his hand before scuttling over towards his palm. He smiles. Heart racing, he rotates his hand as his and Dan’s fingers interlace, a secret gesture of affection seen and understood by nobody else but the two of them. He gives the hand a squeeze, and it squeezes back. 

Right now, Phil could die happy.

The sea of faces washes on. A circle of students stand near the stage, singing For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow to a boy who waves his hands arounds in embarrassment. The entourage cheers, causing the boy to hide his head in his hands. Phil smiles at the scene, remembering how he once suffered a similar fate back in secondary school. They approach the stage, hands disentangling as they walk through the cloister which Dan had dressed inside during their visit to the chapel a few weeks prior. Squeezing through the narrow stone entrance Phil is immediately confronted by the stuffiness of the room. Twenty-odd actors and actresses all in various states of undress gossip and laugh as  they run around, sharing bags of sweets and throwing roses at each other in giddy revelry.

“Ah, Daniel! Where have you been?”

Phil looks over to see the actor who had played Mercutio, a short Sikh man that Dan has to bend over to hug. After exchanging some brief jokes, the stranger looks over towards Phil.

“Hello my friend! You must be Philip,” he begins, voice imbued with a Punjabi accent. “I am Daljeet Kahlsa, but please, call me Dalji.” 

Daljeet’s handshake is firm, and when he smiles Phil notices that his moustache is curled at the ends. When complimented on it, the man only smiles wider.

“Ah, I can tell I am going to be friends with you! Daniel speaks of you often - he says you are a very clever man. What are you studying?”

“Oh,” he laughs nervously, “I’m probably not as clever as Dan says I am. I’m studying Eng-”

“Dalji please, you can interrogate him later! I’ve got to introduce him to everyone else first!” Dan cries.

“Okay, okay, as you wish!”

As Dan pulls him away Phil mouths an apology to Dalji, who replies with a reassuring wink. 

Passing through the congested room they walk over to a small crowd standing in front of a box which, every now and then, people unceremoniously fling their costumes into. Dan introduces him to a well-groomed and well-spoken man called Kenneth, who shakes his hand and asks “how do you do” followed by Christopher, a lanky, blond, bespectacled lad who greets Phil with a subtle nod of the head. 

“Here, sit down old chap,” Kenneth booms. “We don’t want to have you awkwardly standing up while the rest of us get changed.” 

Phil sits down, giving his thanks to the courteous man. Fortunately, before he can be bombarded with questions about who he is and what he’s studying, the group are interrupted by a loud Irish voice shouting the names of Dan and his friends. 

“Chris, Ken, Daniel! Where have you bastards been?”

“Owen! Come here you rascal,” Kenneth cries, shouting at a ginger haired boy who skitters towards him. The two begin to play fight, pretending to box as Dan rolls his eyes and Christopher watches on reprovingly. In the middle of the fighting Owen catches Phil’s eye and stops, tapping Kenneth to let him go.

“Hey, who's this?” He asks, lightly punching Phil on the shoulder.

“I’m a friend of Dan.” He reaches out a hand. “Phil, nice to meet you”.

“Ah, great to see you buddy. You enjoy the show?”

“Oh, it was superb!” He beams, looking around at the actors. “You’re all so wonderfully talented.”

Kenneth guffaws. “Well, Philip, I’m terribly glad you think so, but I shall have to correct you there. We’re the talented ones,” he jests, pointing at himself, Christopher and Dan, “but this buffon managed to fuck up one of only five lines. Five lines! How on earth you managed to do it really is beyond me!”

“Too many whiskies,” Christopher mutters drily.

“Oi!” Owen scoffs. “Enough with the Irish stereotypes! I don’t even like whiskey. Now, Guiness however…”

The congregation continue to laugh and joke as they unlace their doublets, shuck their boots and peel off their tights. Out of modesty and embarrassment Phil averts his eyes, occasionally stealing a glimpse at the men in their vests, briefs and boxer shorts; regrettably, when Dan starts to rope him into the conversation, he has no choice but to look their way.

“Say, Christopher, you’re a bit of a photography whizz, aren’t you?”

A smirk flashes across the blond boy’s face as he adjusts his wire glasses.  “Well, I wouldn’t quite say that I’m a whizz as such, but um, yes, I suppose I do enjoy taking the camera out for a bit of a spin every now and then.”

Phil’s interest is piqued. “What camera do you have?”

Christopher turns to face Phil with a surprised look on his face, as if not used to being talked to. “Oh, I’m not a serious photographer or anything,” he confesses, “my parents just bought me a Kodak Retina as a gift for my 18th birthday. I haven’t been using it much so far - mostly just taking pictures of wildlife really - but if this beautiful snow keeps up I just might have to start using it again.”

Dan re-enters the conversation, seemingly having engineered for it to go towards this point.

“Phil is part of a photography club, you know. Chris, you should join.”

“Really? Oh how wonderful. Yes, I’d be very interested in joining actually. When do you meet?”

“Thursdays at eight, right here at Keble,” Phil explains. “We’re only a small bunch and none of us are experts, so there’s no pressure to be a photographic prodigy or anything.”

“He says,” Dan jeers, “despite being one himself.”

Phil scoffs. “I am not!” 

“You should see his photographs,” Dan continues, putting a leg on Phil's chair and a hand on his shoulder. “Harsh shadows, mesmerising patterns, vivid colours - this chap could make the most mundane of objects look worthy of being in the Ashmolean Museum.”

“Now this is just nonsense - pure flattery,” he assures Christoper. Nonchalantly leaning back in his chair he angles his head towards his flatterer, halting when he sees the look on the boy’s face. The solemnity of Dan’s expression burns through him like hot coals, brows slightly furrowed as he stares into Phil’s grey eyes with a look of unwavering adoration. If the pair of them were alone he might cry at such a gaze, and with an uneasy swallow he turns back to Christopher. “Still, come to the club when it resumes in the New Year, we’d be glad to have you.”

“Fantastic,” he beams. “I shall make a note in my diary!”

The group don their normal clothing and make their way out of the chapel, stopping frequently to say their goodbyes to fellow actors and actresses while picking up various party-goers along the way. As they leave the chapel Phil strikes up a conversation with Christopher, who turns out to be a second year History student with many similar interests to him. Ambling across the Liddon Quad with the rest of the crowd - which has now amassed to a party of twenty-five plus a few stragglers - they talk of studying Latin, trips to the Isle of Man, and how to cultivate rare South American plants in an English greenhouse. Before long they arrive at the corridor leading to Dan’s room, which has now become rammed with people as the boy struggles to unlock his door.

“Urry up then!” An impatient partygoer shouts.

“Alright, alright, be patient!” Dan retorts. The crowd laughs, and then, finally, the door swings open.

The torrent of people carries Phil into the room until it dissipates, dropping him in the middle of and submerging him in his new surroundings. 

This is Dan’s room. This is the place where Dan lives.

In Oxford’s typically palatial style the walls are panelled with wood, there’s a fireplace at one end, and in the centre sits a red velvet sofa amongst a few ratty leather armchairs that circle around a dark wooden coffee table. Tucked away into the corner is a small black piano with a jumble of sheets laid on top of it, no doubt Dan’s doing. Feeling relaxed by the homely decor Phil helps himself to a healthy glass of champagne and saunters through the room, searching for someone familiar to talk to. 

It doesn’t take long before he’s stopped by Daljeet, and half an hour later, Phil finds himself engrossed in a retelling of the man’s life. Seven years of service in the British Army during World War Two had only rewarded Daljeet and his country with partition, a bitter war that he had escaped by fleeing his country and returning to England. Within a year of his return he met his now-wife and had begun studying for a Medicine degree at Oxford, which he is now in the third year of. Aside from an interest in science Daljeet reveals that he also has a love for contemporary American literature, but just as Phil is about to ask his opinions on The Catcher in the Rye the pair of them are interrupted by the sound of tinkling glass and a loud cough. They look around in confusion, wondering what the noise was, until they see a man standing on the sofa with a glass of whiskey and a silver spoon in his hand, waiting for silence as the chattering grinds to a halt.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen. We are gathered here today to witness-”

A woman shouts at him from the corner. “This isn’t a bloody wedding, George!”

Several people laugh. “Oh be quiet Olivia! Come on then, come up here. Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for Miss Juliet!” 

As the crowd cheers a tall, elegant woman with long, mousy brown hair bounds up to the sofa and is hoisted up by George, who wraps his arms around her and kisses her cheek. 

“Now then, I suppose you would like to do the honours?”

“I think I shall,” she beams. “Hello everyone. I would just like to quickly say an enormous thank you to all of you for coming tonight. You were marvellous. I’d also like to say a big thank you to my wonderful Romeo...” 

This immediately sets off whooping and whistling as Olivia giggles. 

“Where are you Harry, where are you, ah! Hands off my woman, do you hear?” George cries, raising his fist in mock jealousy. 

“Anyway, tonight is a night for celebration. Congratulations to those of you who have just completed their first Michaelmas term here at Oxford - the workload only gets heavier from here on in,” she laughs. “Many thanks to the magnificent Daniel for letting us use his room for our revelry, but remember everyone! Do not go into Terence’s room, or we shall all receive a beating from that brute, do you hear? Now, go off and be merry you depraved bastards, and if you want champagne, form a queue here!”

The chattering resumes, and as Phil turns around to find somebody else to talk to he sees Mary approaching him with Beth on her arm. 

“Hello you two! Are you having fun?”

“We certainly are! I’ve just rescued Beth from Bailiol’s drab Christmas party. It looked absolutely horrend-”

“Really, it wasn’t that bad! You just wanted me to leave so you wouldn’t be alone at Daniel’s,” Beth cries.

“Yes alright, alright,” Mary tuts. “Phil, come - you must meet our friends, I’ve told them I’ll introduce you, come.”

Gripping his arm, she drags him across the room until they arrive in front of two American brunettes with coquettish, blushing faces who are introduced to him as Joan and Jean. Their small talk is light and humorous, and as they share anecdotes and funny stories about their time at the university Phil begins to notice that his new acquaintances appear to be quite taken with him. They ask about what he’s studying, what college he’s at, where he comes from and what his hobbies are, and as the conversation progresses he could swear that Joan and Jean are edging closer to him each time they keel over at his jokes. 

Finding their flirtations slightly intimidating, he scans the room for a certain familiar face. Their eyes lock immediately. Dan takes a swig of champagne and sends him a reassuring wink, mouthing ‘you okay?’ through the distance. Phil simply indicates towards Joan and Jean, who have taken to clutching onto his arms. Dan explodes into laughter. ‘You’ll be fine,’ comes the response, followed by another bout of mirth. Phil stifles a snicker.

“Hey Phil,” Joan begins, batting the lashes of her big blue eyes. “You say you’re teaching yourself Latin? That’s so neat.”

“Oh I agree, you must be super clever,” Jean adds, pawing at his arm. “I’m taking French as well as English Lit. I can help you out with your lessons, if you’d like.”

The other one tuts. “I’m sure he doesn’t need our help, Jean.”

“But I’m sure he wouldn’t mind! Won-”

“I’m afraid,” Phil interrupts, “that I’ve had to go on a bit of a break with studying Latin, as I’ve had quite a lot of other things to focus on this term.”

“Oooh, like what?” One of them asks. Phil is starting to forget which is which.

“Well, like-”

“Like a girl, perhaps?”

Phil shoots a nervous glance at Mary and Beth, who look as though they’re restraining themselves from laughing.

“Oh Philip, do you have somebody that you’re seeing?” 

“Well...not really, but I um...”

Phil now faces the difficulty of trying to explain his situation whilst skirting around the fact that he is openly-but-also-not-openly a homosexual who is probably-almost-definitely falling in love with a boy who is probably-almost-definitely falling in love with him too despite neither of them explicitly talking about it but both of them communicating it through questions and answers and gestures that have been building up to something which Phil sincerely hopes will come to a conclusion tonight, so sorry June or Jane or Joa, or whatever it is, but there’s absolutely no chance whatsoever of anything happening ever in a million years. 

Fortunately, before he has to face that problem, the man of his affections swoops across the room and steps towards the group.

“Good evening Mary, Beth, Phil - oh! Who are these lovely ladies I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting?”

“Hi, I’m Joan,” the first one giggles, reaching out her hand for him to kiss with Jean following on in the same fashion. The two women exchange a glance, the meaning of which Phil understands with a feeling of disgust.

Great - one each. 

Filled with enough repulsion to last a lifetime, he flashes a panicked looks towards Dan.

“Well ladies, it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to dash off and take Phil with me.” 

The girls’ faces fall. “Please say you’ll come back!”

“Ah, I’m afraid he’s mine. See you later ladies.”

“But-”

Phil walks off, returning Mary’s sly smirk with a nod as he breaks away from the circle and catches up to Dan. When they’re halfway across the room Phil releases a long breath, finally free of unwanted attention as they pull up to a side table laden with alcohol.

“Champagne for you, sir?”

“Go on then. I could do with a drink.”

Dan pours one out for both of them and hands a flute to Phil. “Cheers!”

“Cheers.”

The champagne is delightful, washing through his system like a cool, crisp wind on a hot summer’s day. They take their seats on two small chairs that lie parallel to the table, unintentionally mimicking each other’s body language as they rest an elbow against the top rail, prop their heads up against their hands, cross their outermost legs inwards and then lean in to face one another. 

“So,” Dan begins, “now that I’ve finally got you alone, tell me - how are you?”

“I’m fine - tired - but nevertheless enjoying myself. Thank you for saving me from those girls earlier, I was having a completely rotten time with them.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it! It was my pleasure,” he assures, taking a sip of his drink and leaning in slightly closer. “Anyway, I couldn’t let them at you, could I? You’re mine.”

“Am I now?” Phil quips, taking another swig of champagne and passing over the flute to his other hand as Dan unconsciously does the same. “It got terribly awkward when one of them asked me whether I had a girlfriend.”

Dan guffaws. “You should have told them that you do,” he jests, grabbing Phil’s hand and holding it. “‘Hi, I’m Daniella Howell, pleased to meet you! I’m Phil Lester’s girlfriend, tee hee!’”

Phil laughs at Dan’s ridiculous impression, doubled over with tears in his eyes as his chest heaves. When the act finishes, Dan’s hand stays stationary. Phil’s eyes flit down, admiring the sight of their hands together before he looks up at Dan, who smiles at him fondly. Suddenly Dan’s eyes flit across Phil’s face and over to something in front of him, a small smirk creeping across his face.

“Look, look over there.”

“What?”

“Turn your head around, slowly.”

Careful not to look suspicious, he cranes his neck backwards to see Joan and Jean peering over at their shoulders and gawking them. They spin away, realising that they’ve been noticed. Phil turns back to face his companion, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh dear.”

“Oh dear indeed. Poor girls, they don’t have a chance in Hell with us.”

“Mmm, quite.” Dan removes his hand, places his glass on the floor, and slaps his knees. “It’s a bit stuffy in here, don’t you think?” 

Phil nods, finishing his champagne and putting the glass on the table next to him. 

“Come on, let's go and open some windows.”

Dan pulls him out of his seat, bubbles dancing around his head as they cut across the room. Phil thinks he can hear the sound of Joan and Jean trying to get their attention, but he’s too tipsy to tell. They stop in front of a door as Dan fumbles around in his pockets for a key, thrusts it into the lock and turns, opening up the shadowy alcove within. 

Stepping forward, Phil crosses the threshold, door closing behind him with a soft click as he’s sealed off from the outside world with a soft click. The hairs on his arm start to prickle. He can hear the sound of Dan’s footsteps treading through the inky blackness, followed by the glide of opening curtains. Blue light pours into the room, dim and obscure. He steps up onto the window seat-cum-window sill that Dan stands upon, catching a glimpse of the city before the panes swing open and cold air sails into the room. The moon shines brightly, illuminating the ivory frosted lawns and red brick fortress that separates them from the rest of Oxford, a sea of gleaming church spires that stretch on for ever and ever like a vast expanse of endless and undiscovered land.

“It’s a breathtaking view.”

“Not as breathtaking as you are.”

Phil’s heart thumps in his breast. He whips his head around. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

His heart beats even faster. He thinks he knows what’s coming next. Dan hooks his fingers around Phil’s belt loops, pulling their hips together while looking him dead in the eye. Phil’s gaze darts to the floor.

“I-I mean, if you think so then I can’t refute you, but in my eyes you are, and always have been, far, far more handsome, a-and-”

“Phil.”

He looks up.

“Just kiss me.”

Time stands still.

Their faces inch closer, breath mingling and eyelashes brushing across each other’s skin before finally, finally, their lips connect with a kiss. 

It starts off soft, and slow, and delicate, before growing stronger and rougher until Phil is pressed up against the wall with his hands on Dan’s rear and his tongue slipped into his mouth, touching, feeling and devouring every inch of this gorgeous boy in a starved rapture, their kisses growing deeper and more adventurous until something starts to stir and Phil moves his hand to grab-

*knock knock knock*

They break apart, freezing to the spot. 

The door swings open.

“See, Joan, I told you they weren’t in here.”

“But they must be, where else would they-”

The light switches on.

The girls turn their heads.

Their jaws drop.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. I’m so sorry. How do I...oh my- carry on…” 

Moving as quickly as they can the intruders shuffle out of the room, turning off the light as the door closes behind them. A few seconds later the sound of Mary’s cackling can be heard. Phil looks over at Dan, who stares back at him. Dan starts to snigger until then they both erupt into laughter, cachinnation soaring out of the window and into the breeze. As they quieten down Phil looks out towards the view below, resting his forearm on the sill as a peaceful stillness settles. Keble’s vast, niveous quadrangle extends before him, glowing with a magical sparkle under the ultramarine wash of moonlight. Beyond the red brick turrets lie a mass of church spires and plane trees and twinkling car headlamps.

Dan sighs. “I can’t believe that that just happened.” 

Phil rotates his head around and watches the other boy. “Ridiculous, right? Did they really not get the hint that we weren’t interested in them?”

“I wasn’t talking about that.” 

“Hmm?” He blinks. “What were you talking about?”

“About us. I can’t believe it happened.”

“Oh.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.”

A sheepish smile flickers over Phil’s face as he looks back towards the quad. Out of the corner of his eye, a light turns on. A student opens her curtains, peering out of the glass and staring at the snow-covered grass before pulling up a chair to the window and beginning to read a book. After a few seconds she gives up on reading and stares back out of the window, brushing a strand of hair out of her face as she rests her head in her hands.

Dan clears his throat. “Ever since I first saw you,” he begins, “I have been completely and utterly enamoured by you.” 

Phil turns around, resting his head on the window as he watches the boy speak.

“I have always thought of you rather like a secret garden. I imagine myself walking down a tree-laden path, exploring some uncharted territory near a house I have recently moved into when I come across a gate clad with ivy. As I go up to the gate, I see that it is closed. I peer inside. From this side of the gate I can’t see much, but what I can see is stunning - arches and roses and statues and fountains, neatly kept and beautifully decorated, the creation of a person with real elegance and grace. Unable to enter I continue on with my walk, but as I arrive home I find that my thoughts all centre around that mysterious gated oasis. Each day I visit it, and each day there is something new to discover: a babbling brook; a tree bearing fruit; a peacock wandering the grounds; a bridge tucked away in the distance. The more I visit the more my obsession grows, but I am too scared to try the lock or climb the walls lest the owner of the garden doesn’t want me there.” He pauses, shifting in his spot. “One day I arrive at those walls and decide to give the railings a shake; to my surprise, I find that it is open. Tentatively I push the gate, and as I walk in I am greeted by the most heavenly sight that I have ever seen. The sky is blue and warm, the flowers sweet and bright, the brook is clear, the fountain is great, and the fruit is full and ripe. I chide myself for not realising that the gate was unlocked all this time, thus idiotically depriving myself of something that I could have enjoyed for months before. After a short while I think to myself that perhaps it was destined to be this way, for now, after admiring for so long, I can truly appreciate what it is I have to behold.”

Phil takes a slow breath and tries to will his brimming tears back into his eyes. Biting the inside of his mouth he squints and knits his brows together, trying to compose himself. 

It’s no use. 

He turns to Dan, steps forward, cups his jaw and kisses him, firmly and wholeheartedly. The other boy’s hands clutch him by the waist, pulling him in as their kiss continues. After a few seconds they break apart, still in each other’s embrace and gazing into each other’s eyes as they catch their breath.

“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

Dan beams. “Well, the inspiration behind it was quite something.

Phil is about to ask what it was, before remembering with a leap of joy that it was himself. 

“Oh Dan, how are we going to live apart for the next month? I don’t want to go home, away from you!”

The other man pauses to think. “I know - we shall send each other letters! I’ll write to you about Reading and my music work and you can write back to me about your photography and all the books you’re reading.” 

Phil grins. “That sounds great. I’d love that.”

There’s a brief moment of silence spent looking into each other’s eyes. Dan is the first to move, slapping Phil’s back and moving away.

“We had better get back to this party! People must be starting to wonder where we are.”

“Mmmm. We don’t want a repeat incident of Joan and Jean barging in.”

Dan laughs as he steps down from the window ledge, holding Phil by his wrists despite the drop being perfectly safe. They walk through the dark room together, still connected. 

“If I catch them looking at you again I shall have to kiss you in front of their prying eyes.”

“No, no, you mustn’t!” Phil giggles, wriggling as Dan nuzzles his face.

“Here, let me get one out the way before we go out there and I can’t kiss you again.”

Pulling Phil in by the wrists he draws him in for one last kiss, slow and sweet. Letting go of his hands he twists the door handle open, and a streak of warm light floods into the room. He turns around, giving Phil one last smile, before the pair of them walk through the doorway and back into the bustling party. 

[epochalisms]

001. zhaozi

THOUGH HER PRINCE has only started his training, he is impatient. Yonghuang is the first prince; he knows decorum and has made sure that any nearby person would not know of his plight, yet his hands are often blistered and Zhemin can tell that his grievances towards himself are deep. Steadfast ambition and quiet resolve keeps him here when all others will have retreated inside already.

He is five years old.

Though back home and here too, the boys starts their warrior training young and under the care of instructors who were the best the kingdom had to offer. His teachers are already praising him for his quick study, for his talent yet they do not know how hard that he works underneath the cover of darkness when the only audience is Zhemin and Juhua, holding her lamp ever afloat for him to see the target.

Her son is beautiful; he has his father’s steadiness, a strong jaw and intelligent dark eyes. He is light itself, her prince though she does not dare say crown prince. They are already discussing succession even though her emperor has only ascended a year ago. He is not the only prince of the kingdom but he is the eldest prince and the measuring stick of whom all other princes would be judged against. And the other prince well —

Zhemin loves Yonglian as though he is of her flesh but sometimes, watching him falter, at his raspy breathing during the night and the worried stares of the Fuca elders and Rongyin’s tears and then again at Yonghuang, strong and smart and charming and she feels her heart stutter. The two princes are as different as the sun and the moon and all she can do is clutch Yonglian close and whisper fiercely to Yonghuang to protect his brother until the end of time. He loves you, she says. Please, she says because the Empress cannot.

Yonglian has already gone to bed, Zhemin wonders if she should order her own dear, quick-silvered boy back inside. His father is not coming tonight. He has not come for a few days though she knows that he must share his attentions with the rest of the palace. He is not theirs anymore, but Yonghuang has been practicing. He is shaking with disappointment right now, all day his sword swings have been overreaching and his arrows just-quite missing the center. He has heard the tutors say (and how she wished she could slap the man then) that when his aim is better that his father will come. Zhemin has watched him stagger back, off-balance. But he is determined and she knows that her place is not to instruct the tutors, though it makes her heart ache watching them allow himself to tire himself out as the Manchu custom was for him to practice until he masters it himself.

“My darling,”

Yonghuang spins back from the target, nearly stumbling from the whiplash of his bow. Yet he bows, face flushed with sweat and exertion but gazing at her with so much adoration —

This is her son, her joy and she indicates her head before placing one hand upon his shoulder. She brushes her lips against his cheek, he’s still a child, face flush with baby fat and she wants to keep him like this forever though his hands are already calloused and his face dark from the midday sun.

This is not her place but this is her son and so she takes his bow and hoists it up. Her muscles have grown weak from the years spent in the palace but she nocks one of the arrows before pulling the string back, one eye closed and fires —

( Hongli competing with her over archery, trading kisses that never miss their mark as prizes and words sharp enough to cut always to the heart. Above them the bright, dazzling blue skies. And she finds that she misses him, misses the dark intensity of his eyes, the curl of his lip, the knowledge that even though she had nothing at that time, she had him and she had their family. )

She steadies her resolve. The arrow flies towards the target and hits true.

Yonghuang’s mouth is open and she relishes in the fact that she can surprise him. He is a sweet boy, a child still who has little understanding that they’ve lives before him. “I’ll teach you as I’ve taught your father,” she says and oh — was it possible that sweet Yonghuang’s mouth opened just a little bit more? A giggle burst from her lips. She’ll have to warn Yonghuang to close his mouth before one of the poor fireflies ends up in there.

Her son nods, resolute. He reaches up and she gives his bow back to him. His father had promised her a long time ago that he was going to find her a bow. Perhaps he’ll actually keep his promise now that he’s emperor, she thinks and bends down as she straightens his form. “Don’t think about the target, just about how your arrow will follow your line of sight,” she lifts his arm higher so that it remains straight, the back of his elbow in a perfect tangent to his target.

“Now fire,”

He does and the arrow flies from his bow, sailing across the air before embedding itself within the target. It still does not hit the red but this time it’s much closer and remains there, firm. Yonghuang beams and cheers; he is allowed that for now but when the other princes arrive, they will have to be far more careful. He stands up straighter before trying again and the arrow once again embeds itself within the target.

He gives a whoop of joy before running to collect the arrow once again. When he runs back to try again, she places her hand upon his shoulder once again. “You should rest, baobei” she says. “Tomorrow we’ll try again,”

He’s a filial son and save for the droop in his shoulders, he nods before her and sets the bow and arrow back to its proper place. “Do you promise, mama?” he asks and she scoops him up in her arms and nods her affirmation. Soon he will be too big for that but he is her treasure and she strokes his hair and presses kisses among his sweat lined brow.

“We’ll practice together after your tutors have left,” she murmurs because he is her prince. Hongli had been her prince once but he is gone now. There is only Qianlong now and though she finds that she can love him, it’s a different sort of love. She’s grateful that Hongli’s given her this at least before he left, this sweet boy who looks to her like he is the sun, as his father has once done. She feels her hands shake again, tears rising unbidden — it’s stupid, the Imperial Noble Consort Zhemin should not be crying, not a month after the Emperor’s coronation but she’s fearful and Yonghuang pulls her close. He doesn’t understand, she thinks, this brilliant boy whose eyes will become too old for his age and who will have to fight his way to the throne.

Because that’s the only fate for him now as one of the princes of the palace.

She knows everything about him. She knows that he likes pretty birds and throwing her silks above to watch them flutter down and that he likes the color of purple because it brings out his eyes. She knows that he’s fiercely competitive, fiercely proud as only a son of the Dragon Emperor can be, the way his eyes alight and the ramrod posture he holds upon greeting foreign dignitaries and nobles. The way he looks for stars atop the roofs of the palace and that his dream is to pilot a dragon-boat. She’s seen the way he looks when seeks his father’s approval, the way he already misses his father when Qianlong’s at one of the other palaces. He has a good heart, she knows, he is as kind to the servants as he is to the nobility and she does not wish to surrender him to the squabbles of the palace, the game of succession that will be played. Not yet.

Her hands clench and she bites the cry into her flesh. She hoists him up and he clings to her and even now, when he’s tired, when he doesn’t know why is mother is crying, he is still trying to comfort her. “Let’s get Yingtao to make us some dumplings tonight,” she says. It’s a segue but the way his eyes light up warms her heart. “And tomorrow we’ll practice arrows and then we’ll practice with swords — “

“ — and then we’ll make wagashi!” he finishes, an earnest, childish look directed towards her. “You promised that a week ago!”

She laughs, ruffling his hair. “I did, didn’t I? We’ll have to get Yingyao gege and Hefang to go and get us some ingredients. We’ll have to make a lot of them for Fuca and Yonglian and Ruyi and Hailan — “

“And grandmama and baba but we won’t make any for baba’s other wives,” he says. “Especially not Jin gugu and Gao gugu,”

Zhemin blinks at him; was her distaste for the two so obvious that even Yonghuang noticed? She shakes her head and instead carries him into the palace.

“A prince should be gracious,” she murmurs, remembering the analects — the first books that Hongli had gifted her when she was learning. This she would tell their son, this Zhemin can still impart. “A prince should be filial,” She would be kinder to Jin and Gao and the rest of them, brightly colored birds brought into the palace as her old mistress has been. To win the favor of the Emperor for their families, she cannot fault them for that for they too are only trying to live. Qianlong is resting in Yikungong tonight, he will not be coming to Zhongcuigong. This Zhemin knows, this she has cautioned herself to when her Hongli was chosen not too long ago.

“A prince should be loyal and a prince should be kind,”

He nods, he’s dozing off and his eyes are closed and he misses the tears that threaten to fall from her eyes. He knows at least to some degree what his future will be though they are (perhaps the only ones here) with no ulterior purpose. They have no family nor nobility nor wealth, they are strangers here save for the love of the Emperor though she fears that perhaps there will be a day where love will not be able to save them. She’s seen the Empress Dowager, plotted with her against the Empress, against all the others — though she has always believed that her and Yonghuang will be safe —

She misses Yonghuang’s look of concern until she feels him snuggling closer to her. “It’s okay, baba will come home soon,” Sleepiness and conviction mixed in his voice and she finds him smiling in turn as they stepped over the threshold and into the light of the palace.

“We’ll save a few dumplings for him,” she says with a smile. “I’ll invite Rongyin and her attendants too,”

Just like old times except Zhongcui gong was already so much grander than their old home which she and Fuca privately had called their summer garden. Though there are flowers here, perhaps flowers far nobler than the wildflowers they were accustomed to, she misses it there and she finds herself missing Fuca. Though she’s the Imperial Consort now and Fuca is the Empress and while Zhemin will mourn everything they’ve lost, she’ll also get up tomorrow morning and fret over her hairpins and Yonghuang’s new clothes and teach him how to shoot. She’ll help Fuca manage the six palaces and help the Empress Dowager with her flower arrangements and before Qianlong, before this palace, when it was just Zhemin and Fuca Rongyin and Hongli they were happy. She’s been happy and she’ll be happy again.

And she’ll carefully box up all their old memories, folding them carefully into origami flowers and cradling them into her heart and teach him how to shoot straight and ride. Her boy nestles closer to her, her Yonghuang is tired tonight and he will be tired tomorrow when there will be classes and training. There will be other princes but at the end of the day, Yonghuang is his father’s favorite. He is the eldest after all and is there any boy on earth better than he?

There’s a knock at the door and a maid announcing the arrival of Empress Fuca. The Empress Dowager will be joining them soon. There’s the scent of dumplings wafting from the kitchen. There’s the lanterns being lighted and the flowers blossoming. Soon it will be summer and the chrysanthemums will be in full bloom. They’ll make a new life here, a grand one, she promises herself. When the Empress Dowager comes, there is still one empty chair and without batting an eyelash, she turns and invites Mingyu to sit. When an attendant goes to take Yonghuang from her, Imperial Noble Consort Zhemin only shakes his head and pulls him closer. She picks up her chopstick to grab a dumpling and gracefully deposits it into Yonghuang’s plate.

[hhemeraa-a]

          Rumors had spread about their house, about the things that were done there because one servant too many escaped to tell the tale. One was simply crazy, a foolish girl from a poor family, who would bother to believe her over the powerful house of Black? But two whose stories were far too similar and years, if not decades, apart to blame on a simple collaboration -- ah, that does perk up some suspicion, doesn’t it. One prying eye too many, rumors built on nothing but feverous imaginations and who was to say otherwise when the pair never left? 

         Prejudice. Ignorant. Blind despite their eyes, humans were distracted by the simple illusion of a pretty face. Torches and pitchforks wouldn’t dare pierce soft rich skin or golden hair -- entranced, under a spell -- Myles was bewitched and they were here to save him. The harder he fought, the more proof it was that the man simply didn’t know better, that the collective must snatch the glowing man away from his bewitcher to bring him back to royal house of Knight after being lost for so many years. Bound, gagged, dragged off into the night without a trace and nothing but fear -- humans praised their intelligence, their misplaced sense of cunning that they have saved Myles Knight from his captor! A drug here or there to help him sleep, holy water and sage to purge the demons, the binds to ensure he would not fall back into the hands of the devil. 

         Anger faded into desperation. Desperation faded back into anger, but as the days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months did man hatch a plan within the darkness of his cage. An act to win the hearts of dumb animals that smelled like rotting meat in the sun. With every tear, with every praise to monolithic god and cries of unbridled happiness that he’s been saved did Myles plot their death. Every inch closer to freeing his binds did he imagine the taste of their sweaty filth ridden flesh between his teeth. I’m cured he’d plead, Praise be for your faith he’d sob through tears under the illusion that he’d finally broken free from the spell he’d been under for years. 

         "I’m ready to be let out now.”

         Pristine white church was splashed in a beautiful crimson as immortality brought powers he never knew he possessed. Fingers turned sharp, carving perfect lines through stone and bone as he tore through man and woman that dared keep him there. Golden eyes bloodshot and wet from months of frustration that he’d been gone for so long away from his love; how Vincent must be suffering, how far away he must be, how hungry, how desperate-- thoughts buzzed through his head in a single minded focus while bittersweet red mixed with the salt of tears that fell in thick drops until they couldn’t anymore and it wasn’t until stomach was so full that he vomited at the base of foreign alter what little bits of human he couldn’t keep down that he stopped and realized he’d never seen such a place. Pews upon pews, tall ceilings, statues depicting deities he’s never seen with a smoke he couldn’t place. Was this place supposed to be pure? Was this place supposed to be holy? 

         Where was he that such filthy things would lock him away in the name of his soul? 

         Large doors opened up to rolling hills and vast sky with unfamiliar stars littered the sky, but this building was alone save for the few sparkling lights of a town barely seen over the horizon. What books he could find were written in a language he didn’t understand, church an outlier in architecture of the area -- this was not home. This may have not been the same continent for all he knew. He was lost. 

         Lead after failed lead, rumor after failed rumor, blond scoured the Earth on the hunt for lost partner. Months too late, their home left abandoned, but tell tale marks on the walls, on the ceilings, on the floors told a story Myles didn’t want to read. How long had it been? How long had it taken him to get so close he could almost taste it? Myles could tell the men down to the last second from the moment he left his peaceful isolated estate to this very moment how long he’d been away. Every second was one too much and it pained him in a way that he couldn’t describe. The physical he could handle, memories of first realizing what he was, the emptiness in his stomach and the aches in his bones and flesh withered away; it was nothing compared to anguish he felt inside. 

         Selfish nights were filled with the wishes of the damned, that maybe they’d both die and see each other in hell -- if not to finally be together, but to end this suffering he knew lost love was feeling. Ah he couldn’t even imagine the monster the man would have become after so long. Would he recognize him? Would he know it was him? Perhaps the taste of his own flesh would keep these thoughts at bay, punishment for such pitiful notions. 

         But today held promise as full cart of hunters with misplaced confidence and egos rattled over bumpy dirt roads into a deathly quiet town. Eyes watched as they all chattered away, comparing notes and tales of beasts fought long ago to see which of them was the strongest, which of them had the better strategy to face what was soon to come, who would be in charge, boosting their egos while attempting to put down another’s -- Fools. All of them. Disgusting fools. 

         “Bait.” Is all blond said, motioning towards hair before staring back into the thickening darkness of the woods. The rest of the men nodded in blind agreement, talking in circles until they believed it was their own idea to let him draw out the beast. Myles could smell it and it made his skin prickle and crawl, this might be it, he could be this close. Hip pouches were filled with an assortment of trophies -- the teeth of werewolves, broken haunted baubles, bits of silver and holy water, crushed diamonds and rubies, all remnants of beasts hunted and felled in the hopes of finding The One, but these things were nothing but garbage compared to the single ring that was nestled deep within. Considered an antique in this era, worth more than the two haunted souls he kept in a jar on his back, he slipped it on while continuing to ignore the human chatter behind him that seemed to be bickering about the split of reward money. They sounded like cattle prattling on before walking into slaughter. 

         It made him laugh.

         “What a haughty disposition you have Mr.Black, do you think you’re better off than the rest of us?”          Myles continued to smile, chuckle bubbling as he watched them all prepare unnecessary weapons for a battle that wouldn’t happen before turning to the stout man with far too many scars, “...if you survive the night, you can have my share, how about that.”          Money always seemed to silence the one’s with a cocky air.          He’d be the first to die.

         Myles carried no torch -- he had no need. He held no weapon, it was pointless. Face quietly determined, but palms shook with anticipation that he tried to control. He wanted to be used to disappointment, but every time the hope burned in his chest to the point where he wanted to scream. Everyone’s eyes were panicked and searching, the darkness of the forest settling in such an unnatural manner that they wildly glanced about in hopes of spotting anything, but immortal thing knew he only needed to go forward. Even with the shuffle of leaves and the first crunch of bones in the dark, even as sounds in the pitch blackness seemed to have no source picking off walking food with predatory stealth, did man attempt to keep composure, but he knew. He hoped. Hood slipped off, ignoring the panicked chattering behind him and firm voice called into the night: “Vincent.” 

         Then silence. The kind of silence that made his heart stop with hope, skin prickling to an excited flush with the knowledge that he was understood when trees parted and beast emerged that struck him with such a familiarity that it nearly broke him. The change in Myles had been subtle over the years; appearance the exact same from the last day they’d seen each other save for the eyes that told of years and years of heartache and desperation, the effects of their distance taking far less of a toll physically than it had on the other, but even now he could see it in their eyes-

         Shaky palm raised itself towards the object of his affections that he’s been kept from for so long, desperate hope that he’d too remember who he was with the ring on his finger that he had butchered thousands to keep in his possession and gladly do it again. The only keepsake he’d managed to find amongst the bloodied bodies of the men who’d taken him away. Beast--- Vincent lowered his head into his palm and the only thing man felt was the beating of his heart despite the thick dripping of blood and human remains that began to dye his skin. Other hand pressed against  Vincent’s cheek and deep breath brought with it years upon years of broken emotions finally becoming hole as he’s embraced with thick tears staining flushed red face. The sound of his name making him bury himself deeper into wild fur that smelled of sweat, blood and earth, all he can do is repeat name over and over again while nails dig desperately to embrace that while he never wants to let go of. Boy only breaks away once, face beaming up with an undying affection that radiated from every pore in his body. 

         “Let’s go eat.” 

@corpusdxlicti from here