By Any Other Word

"Thou didst learn at last,"

I'd won free of my nurse, and had come to stand before a small tomb, paying no mind to the rain as it seeped through the thin fabric of my dress. It had seemed wrong to inter them separately, after all events had been laid out, and so this sepulcher had been erected as the first tangible symbol of the newborn amity between our families.

Our families.

She was my cousin, daughter of my father's brother, and although we had not been close, we had passed more than one pleasant afternoon together. In truth I'd liked her: her vibrancy, her passion- she was always so much more unrestrained than I, who was often called indifferent. In public view it was her passing alone that I mourned, as was expected of me- but in the private chambers of my heart it was him. Always him. And there too, of course, did I also mourn the passing of what might have been.

I had been so young, when first our eyes had met- and I felt so ancient now, standing in this unrelenting drizzle, hand pressed firm to the cold marble carving of his face- although less than a year had passed. Less than a year since I had felt my heart rise up in my chest, felt my blooding singing out in response to the fire in his eyes.

Why did I rebuff his advances? Why did I tell him that I was sworn to live chaste? It was sin that brought such lies to my lips, a sin so much greater than mere lust-

It was pride. Pride because, young as I was, I knew he did not love me. Not truly. His eyes burned, as well as other parts, I'm sure- but not his heart. He was in love with the idea of love- and I wanted true love, or none at all.

And God had rewarded my sin by giving me what I wanted: none at all.

I had hoped that if I held him at arm's length he would in time learn to love in truth and not just in form. And truly he did learn true love- but not with me.

A movement behind me caused me to snatch away my hand, and I turned to face the intruder with the icy stare that has withered so many. The gaze that met my own was bereaved, and belonged to one whose name was known to me.

"Benvolio," I breathed, embarrassed that his kinsman should find me in such a state.

"My lady," his voice was stiff. "I meant no intrusion upon your private grief- I shall go."

"Stay! Stay, Benvolio; let us mourn our cousins together, for thou loved as well as I, and grief is often softened by the presence of a sympathetic heart."

"If you say you so, my lady, I shall stay." Still his voice was stiff, and I wondered at it- were not our families now reconciled? Had not Benvolio always been last amongst us to hold a grudge? Whence such bitterness?

"Have I wronged thee, sir Benvolio?"

"Not I, my lady, no."

"If not thee then who?"

"Lady it is unseemly to quarrel before the dead."

"Sir I have no quarrel- I merely seek to understand the loathing in thy tone."

"My tone cannot help but resonate to yours, my lady."

"My tone, good sir?"

"That false tone which presses gentle Romeo's face and weeps. You must admit, you never had such care for him in life!"

Rather he had stabbed me with his dagger than uttered such poisoned accusation!