I say I dream of peace, of a quiet and beautiful Verona, of friendliness amongst all, whether they be of the house of Montague or Capulet, yet that is not what I dream. They say dreamers often lie, and doubtless it is true. Dreams art of a fragile substance, spun of smoky lies and the make-believe. Yet I fear the recurring dream that hast been plaguing me for the last fortnight.
I was walking in the cold and empty streets of Verona. I knew not whither had I come, or whither to, but in the lifeless streets a strange unease enveloped me. It felt strange to walk instead of ride Pride, my stallion, but more importantly, Verona is a bustling city - it should not have been so cold and quiet. I wished to halt, but I could not...my feet led me on, like a gentleman guiding a lady at a dance. As I continued, a faint sound became knownst to me. It seemed muffled, and I could not tell whither it had come. Emboldened by fear, I called out,
"Who goes there?" The sounds, still unintelligible, brought to mind the chattering of sparrows in the morn, but i'faith, they wouldst have been Satan's birds to utter such bone-chilling cries. I whirled about, heart thrumming in my chest.
'Twas a masked man.
He looked young, mayhap the age of Montague's son, Romeo. A frightsome leer hung about his lips; he looked the Devil himself.
"Who goes there?" As the Prince, I was reluctant to repeat myself. The masker did not reply, but spread his arms, as if in greeting. I watched, stricken, as bodies appeared on the forlorn streets of Verona. Stained with crimson, dying, the citizens of Verona. I was frozen. The masked man laughed - a scraping, murderously sadistic sound, and suddenly the muffled cries shifted into shrieks too sharp for any human ears. Ere I could draw my rapier, they were upon me, a horde of black crows, the Devil's birds. They cried out,
"Death!"
"Slaughter!"
"Capulet! Montague!"
"Romejullparimercu-"
"deathdeathdeathescalus! - death! - death! - death! escalus!"
"ESCALUS!"
I awoke, terrified, my mind whirling. I knew I was paler than the sickly moon above, my breath coming in rapid bursts. The last image I had seen before the dream ended burned into my eyes.
The masked man, drawing a dagger, laughing insanely, and thrusting it into his own bosom.
I was walking in the cold and empty streets of Verona. I knew not whither had I come, or whither to, but in the lifeless streets a strange unease enveloped me. It felt strange to walk instead of ride Pride, my stallion, but more importantly, Verona is a bustling city - it should not have been so cold and quiet. I wished to halt, but I could not...my feet led me on, like a gentleman guiding a lady at a dance. As I continued, a faint sound became knownst to me. It seemed muffled, and I could not tell whither it had come. Emboldened by fear, I called out,
"Who goes there?" The sounds, still unintelligible, brought to mind the chattering of sparrows in the morn, but i'faith, they wouldst have been Satan's birds to utter such bone-chilling cries. I whirled about, heart thrumming in my chest.
'Twas a masked man.
He looked young, mayhap the age of Montague's son, Romeo. A frightsome leer hung about his lips; he looked the Devil himself.
"Who goes there?" As the Prince, I was reluctant to repeat myself. The masker did not reply, but spread his arms, as if in greeting. I watched, stricken, as bodies appeared on the forlorn streets of Verona. Stained with crimson, dying, the citizens of Verona. I was frozen. The masked man laughed - a scraping, murderously sadistic sound, and suddenly the muffled cries shifted into shrieks too sharp for any human ears. Ere I could draw my rapier, they were upon me, a horde of black crows, the Devil's birds. They cried out,
"Death!"
"Slaughter!"
"Capulet! Montague!"
"Romejullparimercu-"
"deathdeathdeathescalus! - death! - death! - death! escalus!"
"ESCALUS!"
I awoke, terrified, my mind whirling. I knew I was paler than the sickly moon above, my breath coming in rapid bursts. The last image I had seen before the dream ended burned into my eyes.
The masked man, drawing a dagger, laughing insanely, and thrusting it into his own bosom.
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