I do not know for sure how long Rosaline stood with Romeo’s knife poised above Juliet’s chest. But in the end, she made no cut. She broke no bone. She simply placed the dagger carefully alongside her cousin’s body and knelt beside the bier, in the bloody puddle on the floor.
And now I recognize that, along with the odor of bodies long dead, the airless tomb reeks also of fresh blood. A sound comes from my belly, then from my throat.
O, I will not swoon. Nay, I will not faint. I will not …
… O, ’tis no use.
Last I recall is Rosaline looking at me o’er her shoulder—does she smile? Aye, she does, just a bit, a smile filled with heartache, and then …
Darkness.