Dear Diary,
I'd heard through the grapevine the story of another young girl like me (mom says I'm an old maid but I don't believe her.. 14 isn't too old to be a maid, nyet?). She lived alone on an island with her father and the sprites of the woods for twelve years, and came back a Princess of Naples and Milan, because she fell in love with the King of Naples' son, though how he found her on a desert island nested in some of the roughest waters in the Mediterranean - I don't know.. I didn't ask her.
We, the Capulets, went to pay our respects to the Prince and the new Princess. Father said that Miranda (that's her name)'s father used to be the Duke of Milan once upon a time, but he shushed up about it real quick.
At any rate, I now have a new, if slightly strange, friend. She speaks poetry, not normal language, and is extremely sensitive - she nearly cried her eyes out when they served us re-dressed Peafowl for dinner - said that it was such a beautiful creature that she wished she could have met it alive rather than dead, imagine that.
Aside from her oddities, I find that she's quite nice, and rather well-read for someone sequestered on an island for twelve years - I'm going to ask her for help on my Geography. She also knows what all the trees and flowers are, and what they're good for. We had a great romp out in the palace gardens..and outside of them (don't tell my mother, for the love of Peace!) We walked out hand in hand under the pretext of being two ordinary Princesses going for a ladylike stroll (which mother highly approved of). Father kept that poor husband of hers engaged in all manner of conversation pertaining to hunting deer and arranging Masque balls.
The gardens are all a maze of hedges and lawns. For the most part, the mazes are fairly tame and the hedges not too high, and it opens out into a central clearing with a huge fountain all bordered with flowers. Miranda's handmaidens didn't take too kindly to us splashing water all over their beautiful dresses (and ours), so we stopped that and decided to lose them.
How exactly we managed to accomplish that I am still not quite certain of, and I begin to suspect that it had something to do with a sleight of hand and mild conjuring of illusions, but we slipped away and found ourselves in a deeper part of the gardens where the maze was real and the hedges quite a bit taller. From there, it was an easy escape outside the palace grounds and into the wildflower-meadows and young thickets that bordered the gardens. Here, the plants grew untended, and oh! what a sense of freedom! Miranda showed me all the different flowers that I thought I already knew, and told me their names in three different tongues. Some of them are edible, and some can be made into medicine. There was one that she said was effective against acne.. I have sent Nurse out with orders to come back with a whole basketful (which she complied to but not without a lot of muttering about witchcraft and old bones). In the woods, she showed me where the squirrels and the owls live, and how to sit still for long enough that starlings and robins would hop quite comfortably close.
Of course, she wasn't the only one doing the showing. We ran to the cliffs' edge, following a soaring hawk, and we lay belly-down on the grass, peeping over the ledge, from where I pointed out the buildings in the city and the people who milled about working in them. Milan isn't where I grew up, but I think it's a beautiful city with beautiful people. She had never-ending questions about how people actually lived their lives. Now I might be a castle-bound noble, but she was stuck on an island with trees and fairies and knows even less about people than I do, for all her learning.
I also found, to my surprise, that she has a spark of temper in her that flares up if she perceives injustice. We vowed that when we both were married (well, when I was, whenever I was) and our husbands came into power, that we would change the way our cities were run. In Miranda's case, I suspect that she might weild some power of her own, given that by rights, she's the daughter of the Duke of Milan, though she's a woman.
In my case -- oh, in my case - I don't know. I finally gave up on that vain peacock, Paris. He may look pretty, but a man with such a petty heart - his 'pretty' can't cover it up. His head is empty, and I wouldn't be surprised if his soul was too either.
I did get asked out on Valentine's by a shy young man with excellent manners, and I accepted. Poor Romeo decided to turn up later and ask, cos he couldn't find anyone to go with, and I had to turn him down, sadly. Turns out that Vici is some distant cousin to the Montagues.
Ah well, hope Romeo found someone. He's a nice guy, actually. Sort-of. In a needs-to-grow-up-and-be-less-irritating kinda way.
Oh, Nurse's back with my anti-acne flowers. Seeya!
-Jules
New friends
Springe
Dear Diary,
My attempt at Iambic.
How lovely is the day that turn'th to springe,
And brings the sun o'er wint'ry mountains tall;
And makes the ruddy-breasted robin singe
And the quaile emerge and strutting magpie call.
It calleth forth the yellow daffodil
And the crocuses and purple gladiol',
Brings the searching ants to my 'sil,
And now I have to leave 'cos mother calls.
-Jules
P.S: Actually, she didn't, but I didn't know how else to end it.
Flipped
Off the frying pan, into the fire.
The consequences of love are dire.
My heart's squelched in rotting mire.
Am I mouse or frikkin' squire?
No wonder that cheapskate Shakespeare never rhymed. Iambic meter sounds a whole lot better.
Much Ado About (Sweet) Nothings
Yo Diary,I'm back! Bet you've missed me. But really, what kinda man wastes his time clutching at a bird's feather and getting his fingers blue spilling his soul onto the pages of a diary, for God's sake? ...The kinds that needs his Mum to find him a date for Valentine's maybe.
The waitress thing didn't pan out, turns out she's not interested in any guy that doesn't cook. Women's lib, I tell you. Things are so desperate, I nearly asked Juliet out. Who am I kidding. I did ask Juliet out. She has a date already, some distant cousin of mine. She offered, very prettily, to stand him up... wretch!... but I don't feel up to dueling for her hand. Particularly given it may not be the effort it took to get it.
So there we are. Suggestions? Recommendations? Aw, what am I saying, you aren't like the evil possessed diary in Harry Potter. You're just a diary, and Valentine's is just a marketing scam Shakespeare invented to ensure his plays were watched.
#4
Dear Diary,
Mother says I must be coached in the arts of a lady. Mother says I have to learn how to embroider and cook and learn to look pretty. Mother says I must wear make-up and nice dresses. I don't mind the last part, but why oh why must I cook??
We went over to the Montagues' today, they had some kind of a feast thing. Something about auspicious stars and whatnot. At any rate, I had to look pleasant and smile while sitting next to Romeo at the table and enduring all the hints that they didn't bother to veil very heavily.
My only consolation is that he looked as uncomfortable about it as I felt. At least there's this one thing we seem to agree upon.
#3
I met the most beautiful girl in the world today. The only problem was, I was on a date with another girl, and I didn't think she'd appreciate being lurched for the waitress. Ah, the joys of being a gentleman.
#2
Dear Diary,
Sigggh I saw Paris again today and he is so absolutely dreamy. Would I but could touch one lock of that lustrous hair, lay but once, my hand on his cheek, look into his eyes and let him know..
Bah and you know what else happened? Romeo turned up. Said that mom said that she'd made him come over and take me out for sure. And he turned up late too, wearing a ridiculous clowny outfit. I mean, the guy could be a girl for all the colours he wears, he practically outshone my parrot green gown.
Then things started to look a little better because after all, he had finally turned up, and we were going to go eat, and life always looks better on a full tummy, right?
Wrong.
We went to this lovely new place around the corner called Romanesque. It's cozy, it's so well co-ordinated, and it's dreadfully expensive. Which was one good thing, because it was Montague gold that paid for it, ha.
We'd finally gotten down to civil conversation, actually it was kinda fun. 'Course, you'd think wearing jesters' clothes he'd have to be funny, and yes, he is. All went well until he convinced me to order the day's special, Escargot, and then politely declined his share, saying it was all for the lovely lady.
Let me tell you one thing, precious, and that is to immediately suspect any host that doesn't taste the food he offers you.. because I learnt a new French word today.. Escargot is snails.
Ew!
Somebody is going to have a VERY interesting christmas, if I have a hand in it!!
grr.
love,
Jules.