Young Writers Society

The house is a flutter of movement and excited whispers. Though tension from this days brawl still simmers below the surface of my family’s ancestral home. I pretend to be ignorant of it, and pull at the corset of my gown once more when my lady nurse is not looking. The dress my honorable mother had chosen for tonight’s mask is a shimmer of red and gold. The Capulet family’s formal colors. Though it is breathtakingly beautiful I am not quite sure I like it. Red is a color that has always been a bother to me. It reminds me of blood. Something my family has seen too much of late. Today’s brawl with the Montague’s, my family’s mortal foe, is the third to disturb Verona’s street. As some of the ladies had predicted this behavior will no longer be accepted. The sounds of our servants preparing for tonight brings my attention back to the present. I adjust my speed to be a little farther behind the procession of my family.
From this spot I can see the glitter of jewels hanging from the ladies neck’s and ears, their swirling dresses, and the masks. Oh the masks are wonderful and quite strange. My hands tighten against the velvet of my skirt as we enter the grand hall. My father bellows out to our guests.
“Welcome, 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.”
One of my cousins catches my hand, his eyes full of mirth, asking silently for the first dance. I quell the urge to giggle or just turn my hand away. Giving a slight nod to the light haired youth. He leads me along side the other women of my clan, and those of others to the floor. It’s already getting hot in the hall, with bodies pressing together with laughter. Mead is beginning to flow like water into the cups of noblemen and women.
The music starts with a grand upsweep; my partner stands a few feet in front of me for the first step of the intricate quadrille with the others of my house. I feel sweat beginning to wet my underarms and slick my back, I’m relieved when I distantly hear my father call for the fire to be quenched. The dance finishes and I’m passed off to a nobleman twice my age that my father is quite fond of. My skin crawls at his calculating gaze drawls a line down my front.
From the corner of my eye I see my father gossiping with one of my uncles his cheeks flushed already with drink. My attention is pulled back to my partner. I’m glad when this dance is finally closed. However, I have no respite. For a youth, I believe a close friend of my cousin Tybalt’s, steps up to take my hand next. I smile sweetly as best as I ought to and hide my internal discomfort. As the dance takes me to turn away from my partner I feel something quite strange. I am no stranger to the weighty feeling of eyes boring into ones skull. I receive it often enough when I’m out in public, though I don’t quite understand why. Anyhow I've felt it since entering. Being my fathers only daughter is ought to have such interest wrought. I was ignoring it, it can be quite distracting, but now this time is different.
I can feel heat pulse through my veins, my breath quickens. What happening is this? I recover enough to face my partner once again. That’s when I see him. His face is hidden by his strange mask of the noble face of a peacock. His eyes are uncovered and all the breath from my lungs rushes out in a gust. They are as blue as the sky and as bright as the sun. Dark raven colored hair lays about his face in a messy but tame manner, a smattering of the ravens wing strands fall across the forehead of the mask into his intense gaze. His neck is pale and graceful but that is all that I can see of his skin. He’s dressed finely in royal blue dress clothes and holds himself with self-contained dignity.
What is this feeling? My heart quickens and there is a sweet ache in a knot beneath my breastbone. Oh what is this? We share gazes for a mere second or two, I am still dancing all the while, but it feels like a million moments in one. My hearts palpitations do not slow even as I am once again turned away from him. As I lose sight of him the ache burns and I catch my breath. What can this be?
As this song comes to an end the elder ladies of our party talk briefly to the musicians. Soon after the music changes to a group dance. My mother appears at my elbow and through her smile asks (demands) I join in with her and the other ladies. I nod graciously, trying to ignoring the faint feeling trying to take hold my limbs. It is just so hot in here. As the dance begins the ladies twirl and jingle, laughing pleasantly and catching the eyes of the males swirling outside our circle, ever wondering who would end up as their partner. Despite the sickness plaguing my limbs I find the joy in the air an inducement to enjoy myself.
My breath escapes, like birds winging away from a predator, as just for a moment the masked man passes me. He is among the gentlemen dancing. I can feel his eyes staring at me intensely. Even while unable to locate the owner. It would prove unseemly to crane ones neck to search for a specific partner with so many watching. My heart thuds in my veins. ‘Please let it be him’ After a final round among the circle the females turn to face each other swaying back and forth before taking a step backwards.
Two different male hands catch mine, the youth holding the right will be my partner. I move only my eyes to see who is beside me. On my left is the cousin that first danced with me, on my right….The fates are on my side. It is him-It is him. Blue eyes catch green as we step side to side hither and thither. It as if the world has narrowed down to two sparks of light and they rest in the fine eyes of the man holding my hand. Holding it as if it was made of precious glass and he was greatly afraid to break me. At the next upsweep of song the circle breaks up and the couple steps begin. I feel his reluctance to let my hand go, it responds to mine in the half second longer he holds on. However he severs the connection between us to stand face to face. As the dance dictates we step forward our fronts just barely brushing, he is a great deal taller than I. Even still our eyes never waver from each others.
We turn slowly in a circle my hand resting a safe distant above his hipbone, the other resting at my side. His large hand also rest at a decent level on my own waist, still blood infuses my cheeks with a rosy glow. That I’m sure isn’t at all attractive. Do I want to be attractive? Should I be? I am only 14, even if mother is sure that I am already on my way to become a spinster. I find I dearly do want this man. In every way possible and I have never even heard a single word from his lips. His lips, oh his lips.
Once the circle is complete we release each others hold and palms out turn once, right hand to meet his left, and another circle is completed. One more turn this time to the other side, now my left hand to his right, another circle around. Time seems to pass faster and slower as we move through the more complicated steps, it is unbearable when the time calls for partners to trade with others if only for a single circle. However each reunion revives my blood with heat and pleasure. If only time to could stop at this moment. It’s a shock when the final notes of the jig sing out through the hall. I lower my head dazedly unable to make my tongue obey me even for a simple thank you for the dance.
He opens his mouth to speak but the crowd convulses on us and we lose sight of each other. I find my self jostled so much I have to extricate myself from the onslaught before someone tramples over me. I find refuge by one of the decorative marble columns hiding behind the red silk hanging to catch my breath.
Casting my eyes for the blue eyed beautiful creature and also for others that might try to distract me from my exercise. Mother’s voice breaks over the tumult of noise, she urges our guest to the sides of the hall to leave room for the minstrel to stride forth. Her golden hair shines underneath the torchlight’s glow. She seems somewhat nervous but as soon as her harmonic voice begins to trill her face relaxes. The crowd releases breath together, smiles appearing across their faces. This woman has the ability to relieve tension, quite an ability and one to boast of.
I watch her with wide eyes pleasure buzzing in my veins. Without warning my hand is stolen with the speed and energy of lightening. Someone’s strong hands engulf my own, whoever it is, is hidden by the curtain. I resist the urge to jolt away, fear beating in my chest. This emotion flees the second a voice speaks, softly and reverently. Without knowing how I know, I am sure it is him.
“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.”
Plush lips graze the tops of my fingers. I jump in surprise before moving behind the cover of the drapery. At first I’m speechless; his mask no longer adorns his face. He straightens reluctantly releasing my hand a teasing almost mischievous smile on firm pale lips. Above is a straight angular nose, farther up those alluring eyes his eyelashes black and long. His raven hair still hangs across his forehead. Nerves thrum through me; however I gather my courage and speak. Raising my chin to meet his intense gaze.
“Good 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.” I raise my hand as if to demonstrate. He shocks me when his hand greets mine, palm to palm. My skin alights on fire. Who is this man.
“Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?“ He leans forwards smile radiant. My body is over excited, I flutter away a flurry of red and gold velvet my cheeks flush again. While I try to recover I speak, luckily my voice is steady.
“Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.” He comes around unguarded adoration in his gaze. His voice entreats me, sweetly intoxicating.
“ Oh, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.” My hands clench in my skirt my face aflame once more, butterflies brush my stomach in delicate excitement. My lips move of their own accord.
“Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.” He steps closer, I tilt my head upwards to continue to gaze into his eyes depths.
“Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.” Hands encompass my cheeks with the gentle touch of an angel. His lips touch mine in a chaste exchange. My world expands and centers on the gentle pressure. I am happiness and joy, love and devotion, passion and unguarded pleasure. Too soon he pulls back, my eyes open feeling the heat of his appendages even after their retreat. Far too soon. My voice is breathless when I speak.
“Then have my lips the sin that they have took.” His eyes widen, they are excited and sparkling once again.
“Sin from thy lips? Oh, trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.” Lips descend upon mine again with fever. This time our lips caress and move in unison, a touch of awkwardness but passionate none the less. Breathless again I whisper
“You kiss by the book.” He opens his mouth to answer, his cheeks are flushed now as well. However before he can utter a word the clanking footsteps of who can only be my nurse come followed with my named called. We spring apart my hands flutter trying to decide where to place them. I turn with an innocent smile on my face when nurse finally approaches. The boy is not nervous but instead seems smugly confident.
“Madam, your mother craves a word with you.” I nod and curtsy, with a single glance back to the boy, a quick one and instantly I crave more. However with the force of my will I dash away to find my mother. Count Paris stands beside her. My insides squirm. Before this night I’ve heard of Paris, and all the virtues he is said to possess. The few times I’ve seen him from afar I was struck with his handsome visage and courtly manners. He was interesting…I suppose, and for all I hoped it might not have been so bad. I thought perhaps after a word with him my feelings of indifference would change. However after the boy with the blue eyes how can I possibly even dream of loving another clearly lesser man.
I make nice with the count under my mothers watchful eyes. But my heart is still replaying the encounter. Nurse soon joins us, fawning and yapping her jaw at Paris. I find this amusing since it seems to scare him and mother away. After a kiss to the top of my hand he bids me farewell and is out of my sight. I watch as party goers leave, and my father drunkenly bids them farewell. As Nurse wets her mouth with wine I catch sight of the boy wading his way through the crowd his mask back to covering that ever so lovely face. My heart sputters erratically. I must know who this beautiful stranger is. I must.
“Come hither, nurse. What is yond gentleman? “ She waddles over, her nose and cheeks red with drink. Her eyes fasten on another youth as she answers.
“The son and heir of old Tiberio.” I try again quelling the urge to box her ears like she would have likely done in my place.
“What's he that now is going out of door?”
“Marry, that, I think, be young Petrucio.” Once again she does not see correctly.
“What's he that follows there, that would not dance?” For it is doubtful Nurse noticed much of anything after the 2nd jig.
“I know not.” She replies quite dumbly. My frustration rises higher. The blue eyed boy has almost completely been swallowed by the crowd.
“Go ask his name: if he be married. My grave is like to be my wedding bed.” Nurse gives me a strange look but totters off to talk to one of my cousins drinking deeply from a wine bottle. As she returns she looks rather odd.
“His name is Romeo, and a Montague. The only son of your great enemy.” Romeo?! My heart stops before thudding once more. I have heard of Romeo, that he was handsome and kind, that he was as good a man as any non-Montague. Even still a Montague…Montague?! My heart weeps as a petulant child.
“My 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.” The lines fall like lead from my lips without my knowledge of even speaking them.
“What’s this?! What’s this?!” Nurse cries in alarm. I glance at her feeling irritated that my sorrow should be interrupted by such a women. The old never understand the young, or the fire the inspires us. How can they be expected to after so long away from such passion.
“A rhyme I learn'd even now. Of one I danced withal.” My name is shortly called, my mother or one of her ladies needing of me.
“Anon, anon! Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone.” Nurse calls before bringing me tottering alongside her. Indeed they are gone, he is gone. Will I ever see the youth again. Romeo o’ Romeo our end could not be here, a passion such as this should not end with cold withdrawal. Fate could never be so unkind. A feeling of dread presses down on my limbs briefly before escaping. With a shake of my head I forget the misbegotten emotion my head once more filling with vision of him. My lord, my love, my light. Romeo.

I LOVED THIS! I really like how you took the original narration, third person omniscient, changed it to first person with Juliet. There were a lot of really great metaphors and similes in there as well. They made the writing so beautiful. Also, I love how you took the Pilgrim/Saint sonnet and made it so much more intense as you described how Juliet was feeling and what she observed in Romeo. That sonnet is my absolute favorite in the original play and you made it even better. I really can't tell you that there were any grammatical errors because a lot of it was in old English and I have no idea how that works haha. Anyway I thought it was great, and very creative. You should do more with Shakespeare’s writing.

-Kels

Hi you! Here to review you!!! wassup? I'm drama btw.

The house is a flutter of movement and excited whispers. Though tension from this days brawl still simmers below the surface of my family’s ancestral home. I pretend to be ignorant of it, and pull at the corset of my gown once more when my lady nurse is not looking. The dress my honorable mother had chosen for tonight’s mask is a shimmer of red and gold. The Capulet family’s formal colors. Though it is breathtakingly beautiful I am not quite sure I like it. Red is a color that has always been a bother to me. It reminds me of blood. Something my family has seen too much of late. Today’s brawl with the Montague’s, my family’s mortal foe, is the third to disturb Verona’s street. As some of the ladies had predicted this behavior will no longer be accepted. The sounds of our servants preparing for tonight brings my attention back to the present. I adjust my speed to be a little farther behind the procession of my family.

I love it! Its a pretty start, and has good description that doesn't feel as though your telling.

From the corner of my eye I see my father gossiping with one of my uncles his cheeks flushed already with drink. My attention is pulled back to my partner. I’m glad when this dance is finally closed. However, I have no respite. For a youth, I believe a close friend of my cousin Tybalt’s, steps up to take my hand next. I smile sweetly as best as I ought to and hide my internal discomfort. As the dance takes me to turn away from my partner I feel something quite strange. I am no stranger to the weighty feeling of eyes boring into ones skull. I receive it often enough when I’m out in public, though I don’t quite understand why. Anyhow I've felt it since entering. Being my fathers only daughter is ought to have such interest wrought. I was ignoring it, it can be quite distracting, but now this time is different.

I especially like this part.

the raven's wing

her smile asksdemands

Please let it be him After a final round among the circle the females turn to face each other swaying back and forth before taking a step backwards.

italic this please! Thoughts are better like that. Helps the flow.

Casting my eyes for the blue eyed beautiful creature and also for others that might try to distract me from my exercise. Mother’s voice breaks over the tumult of noise, she urges our guest to the sides of the hall to leave room for the minstrel to stride forth. Her golden hair shines underneath the torchlight’s glow. She seems somewhat nervous but as soon as her harmonic voice begins to trill her face relaxes. The crowd releases breath together, smiles appearing across their faces. This woman has the ability to relieve tension, quite an ability and one to boast of.

I wish you'd stick some dialogue in here. This is getting slightly tiring. Just a little.

The crowd releases breath together, smiles appearing across their faces. This woman has the ability to relieve tension, quite an ability and one to boast of.
~~~~~~~~~
I watch her with wide eyes pleasure buzzing in my veins.

“What's he that follows there, that would not dance?” For it is doubtful Nurse noticed much of anything after the 2nd secondjig.

This tis beautiful. Makes me want to re-do a Shakespeare classic. Good job.
~Drama