Juliet’s Survival - CHAPTER 1 - Part 4
CHAPTER 1 (Part 4)
‘What about Rosaline?’
I tried to convey a word of refusal.
“Yes, okay.”
But the words that came out of my mouth were an unintentional permission.
I tried to knock his outstretched hand away, yet, I found myself already holding his hand. My body was not listening to me. I had experienced something very similar recently.
Even as my mind tried to think of something else, my body kept moving. Against the faint music coming from beyond the balcony, Romeo and I swayed our bodies. His gaze, looking at me, was excessively passionate.
“I came to see you, Juliet, because I missed you so much.”
The words were so out of nowhere. We weren’t in a relationship where we longed for each other. If it were Rosaline, it might be understandable. But once again, my body betrayed my will.
My shyly blushing face seemed to attract the attention of an unintended audience. My body trembled as if it had witnessed something eerie. A duo shot of Romeo and me, beyond awkwardness, turned into something terrifying.
It was. This scene was actually horrifying. Romeo sneaks into the ball and Juliet has an intimate moment with him. It was an all-too-familiar prelude to tragedy.
“Juliet, are you here?”
Tybalt’s voice echoed from outside the balcony. I hastily hid Romeo. Romeo squeezed my busy hand and looked up at me with a glint in his eye.
“I was impolite due to the longing to see you. I hope the day we meet again comes soon.”
With that, Romeo kissed the back of my hand briefly before leaping over the balcony railing. This is the second floor! I didn’t even have time to stop him. Thump, a low sound echoed. My legs felt numb. His reckless act for the sake of style seemed pathetic. Moreover, the thump sound and the subsequent fall made it far from impressive.
Confirming Romeo’s departure from the mansion, I opened the balcony door. Somehow, I regained control of my body.
I was about to walk away when Tybalt, who was a few feet from the door, came back to me.
“Juliet, you were inside. Why didn’t you answer? Did you manage to chase away that Montague scoundrel safely?”
“I sent him out a while ago. There were too many people, and I was just going to get some air. I was late in reopening the door because I had to retie the shawl I had loosened.”
I replied, fumbling with the hem of the shawl around my neck.
Tybalt escorted me again. Even as I drank the wine he had brought and danced to the music, my mind was filled with the events of earlier.
And today, I found myself standing in front of the Shakespeare mansion again. Even now that I’ve arrived, I still don’t know if what I’m about to do is right.
My mother had suddenly turned against the Montague family. Tybalt overreacted like he was about to punch Romeo. Romeo wooing me out of nowhere, and my body refused to listen. And William Shakespeare, who appeared at the same time as all of this.
Things were getting too suspicious to keep the lid on. I chose to stay away from Shakespeare for the sake of peace, but the strange things kept happening nonetheless. In that case, there was only one way.
Direct confrontation.
I knocked on the door of Shakespeare’s mansion, and the same butler I’d seen last time answered the door again. I requested to see Mr. Shakespeare and took a seat in the reception room. Shortly afterward, Shakespeare, with a slightly puzzled face, entered the room.
“Pardon my unexpected visit, Mr. Shakespeare.”
“Not at all, Miss Capulet.”
“You can call me Juliet if you’d like.”
I spoke with the utmost kindness, smiling as much as possible. I had to present myself in the best light possible since I had a favor to ask. Shakespeare pursed his lips as if he had something to say, but he never did. I didn’t inquire about it. There was something much more urgent I needed to tend to.
“I actually came to ask a favor.”
“A favor?”
Shakespeare repeated with a puzzled expression.
“Yes. I know it might be an imposition, but it’s something I really want to ask.”
“An imposition? If you put it that way, writing a story about you without permission would be even more of an imposition on my part.”
Shakespeare looked somehow shy. The blush on his handsome face was quite a sight to behold, but I couldn’t understand why he was reacting the way he was.
“Actually, it’s a favor about the play.”
“A favor about the play?”
His eyes widened in surprise. I gave a small nod and continued.
“Yes. I know it’s impolite, but could I possibly see the script?”
Shakespeare looked noticeably flustered. It was natural. Asking to see an unfinished script was a highly impolite request. This was especially true if the writer was of some reputation.
What should I do if he refuses? I began to think about my next move.
“Yes, sure.”
“Yes?”
But Shakespeare said yes. It was a response that even I, the one making the request, couldn’t understand.
“Are you really okay with it?”
“Yes. The story is inspired after you, Miss Juliet, and you have the right to read it at any time.”
It was a surprisingly easy approval as if he had never been flustered. I expressed my gratitude with a bewildered feeling. Shakespeare led me to his workspace.
“Here it is.”
“Thank you, Mr. Shakespeare.”
Shakespeare hesitated again as if he had something to say. But I didn’t have time to wait for him. I quickly began to read the script he handed me.
The Capulets and the Montagues are enemies. Romeo sneaks into the Capulets’ ball, and Tybalt’s anger towards him. The secret meeting of Romeo and Juliet.
Everything was in line with the current events, and even the plot diverged from the original. His writing precisely ends with the scene where Romeo escapes through the terrace railing and Juliet returns to Tybalt.
A frightening thought crossed my mind. What if what Shakespeare writes comes true? Would I die just because he wrote a tragedy like the original? But how could such a thing happen?
“Rumor has it that if it’s Mr. Shakespeare, completing a masterpiece in the next work is not just a dream.”
I suddenly remembered a conversation I had with Rosaline yesterday. A Masterpiece. What if Shakespeare’s ‘Romeo and Juliet’ is a masterpiece, and the magic embedded in it brings the script’s content to life?
It wasn’t an impossible thing. In fact, judging by the current situation, the probability of this being true was very high. I felt the blood drain from my body. If Shakespeare wrote, “Juliet dies,” I would die just from that sentence.
‘Stop writing the story!’
I said, looking at Shakespeare, or at least I intended to. But once again, my voice wouldn’t come out. This, too, must be the influence of the masterpiece. Now the mystery was unraveled.
The Masterpiece is indestructible. So, saying things like, ‘Stop writing the story’ or ‘Don’t write a tragedy’ or anything that could influence the writing couldn’t be said to Shakespeare.
“Hey, Miss Juliet!”
He called out to me, interrupting my contemplation. His eyes met mine, and they were earnest. I stopped thinking for a moment and studied his face carefully.
A flushed face, eyes filled with admiration, the nervous quiver in his voice. Suddenly, I realized something.
“I would like it if you called me William too.”
He was expressing a clear liking towards me with his whole body. So obviously, I wondered how I hadn’t noticed before.
“Okay, William.”
I smiled as sweetly as I could. It was deliberate to call him by his first name, leaving out any honorifics like ‘Mr.’. As expected, his face lit up as if about to burst. I began to see a ray of light in my dark future. I decided to run toward it. There was no time or reason to hesitate.
“Please just call me Juliet. I told you that earlier, but I feel like you’re trying to keep me at a distance.”
“It’s not that. I didn’t intend to keep my distance, Juli… et.”
He hastily explained, looking somewhat flustered. I smiled contentedly.
“I’m glad we’ve gotten to know each other. Can I come visit again sometime?”
“You’ll come again?”
Shakespeare asked in surprise. I nodded. I discovered two reasons to visit this place more often today, and both were compelling.
“Yes. I’m thrilled that you’re writing such a romantic story using me as an inspiration. Do you mind if I come back and see what you’ve written?”
“Of course. You’re always welcome, Juliet.”
Shakespeare looked at me with enthusiasm.
The first reason was simple—to regularly check the progress of the story. To survive, I needed to know how much time was left until the end and, if possible, hinder its progress.
I wasn’t sure how long I could delay it, given the influence of the Masterpiece, but I had to try. At the very least, the time spent meeting me would be time he couldn’t write.
“Thank you, William.”
I said, clasping both of his hands in mine. I ignored the way his gaze flickered between my hands and my eyes.
The second reason was to seduce him. William has a crush on me. That was the only light I found.
In ‘Romeo and Juliet’, Juliet ultimately meets her demise. A death that comes after falling in love with another man and, at the end of that love, choosing to end her own life.
Could Shakespeare, completely infatuated with me, complete such a story as ‘Romeo and Juliet’?