CHARLES
The Sun is merciless as it beats down on the small stores and houses of London. In this part of town, the respected merchants try to sell their goods while the swindlers attempt to scam the less educated commoners. Children in ragged clothes chase each other through the streets, and the occasional thief sneaks a quick finger into the opening of a passing lady's money purse.
“Charles,” calls a voice from among the throng of bustling citizens. I glance around to see my dearest friend, Richard, pushing his way towards me. His tousled, sandy hair appears as though he has just awakened from slumber but his eyes speak otherwise; his shining blue eyes say that he is filled with life and excitement.
“Charles,” he repeats, “you simply must pick up your feet. You will make us late to the play and I hope to arrive on time to at least one event in my life.”
He drags me through the mass, shoving past other happy people. I start to apologize but there seems no reason, for these people are as excited as we.
The Globe is surrounded by massive crowds and, although I have visited the enormous theater once before, it has always required me to stop and admire the entirety of it all. White walls stretch high, the open dome towering far above my head. The last time I came, I was but a child, attending a show with my mother. She’d saved up several years to afford admittance for two. This time, I have waited a year for a spare coin to reveal the majesty of the theater once more.
Richard and I each pay our penny and enter the theater. Surrounded by other Groundlings, we squeeze through the crowd to find a decent spot on the floor. As I glance around, searching for any familiar face, the nobles are filling in to their raised seats. Their sweeping skirts and ironed trousers spark my anger. Why should they receive the finer parts of life while the rest of us struggle to provide for ourselves? Their educated voices and sharp laughter make me feel as though they find our misfortune amusing. I try to convince myself that I’m being paranoid but I’ve always glowered at the nobles for their superiority, perhaps because I know there is nothing I can do to change it.
I don't realize that my fists are clenched until Richard smacks my arm and asks me what's wrong.
“Look at them,” I reply. “Look at the whole selfish lot of them. Watch how they laugh at our expense.”
“You, Charles, have an inferiority complex. Accept that what they have is theirs, and what we have is ours. Truly, you wouldn’t wish away all the good in your life to become one of those stuffy aristocrats? Now,” Richard places a comforting hand on my shoulder, “do not spoil a lovely afternoon by seeing what isn't there. Enjoy the show; it begins now.”

I scarcely manage to concentrate on the play at hand. It’s incredibly long, and highly unrealistic; something about a lad named Romeo and a lady named Juliet falling for each other when it is least appropriate. They never quite explain why they feel the way they do. And the priest was highly irresponsible for marrying them in the first place; he clearly did not think of the consequences. Still, love at first sight is a lovely theory.
When Richard and I rise from the ground to leave, I spy something worth attending the show. As she wanders from her seat, her blue skirts sweep around her, giving the illusion that she floats across the ground rather than walks, as if she were an angel sent to tempt me. She exits the theater and I follow, like a sleepwalker following a dream. Outside, the sunlight reflects off of her raven black braid, beautifully plaited with golden ribbons to match her gold jewelry. The twinkles in her eyes shine with laughter, like polished emeralds glistening in the light. She catches my eye and holds my gaze for a moment, then glances away, smiling at the ground.
The lady turns to some other women, laughing with them. Two of them appear about her age, probably close friends of hers. The third is older; a large woman with lips pursed in a disdainful expression as she watches the women giggling like children.
A tug of my arm jolts me back to reality. Richard is shaking me, attempting to capture my attention.
“What, Charles,” he says, “has caused such a change in your attitude?”
“The completion of my life,” I reply. “Richard, who is that woman?”
Richard searches for her. “The noble in blue?”
“Yes. Who is she?”
“I know not. Do you fancy her?”
“Fancy her? I love her.”
“Ah.” Eyebrows raised skeptically, Richard smirks. “Then let us discover her name.”
He begins pulling me towards the group of ladies. My heart is pounding, doubt creeping into my mind, suffocating my chest. She’s too far ahead and won’t speak to us even if we catch up. I watch as the two other women, a step ahead of my beauty in blue, push their way through the crowd, shoving past a staggering old woman. But my lady pauses to allow the old woman passage, smiling kindly as she gives a polite curtsey. Suddenly, I am hopeful; she is so kind, surely she can spare a few words for me.
Richard approaches her. “This devilishly charming fellow requests your identity, my lady,” he jokes.
The larger woman steps forward, puffing out her chest like a bird protecting its eggs. “You fools had best keep away from this lady. We won’t give you anything you desire. Leave, dirty peasants.”
Humiliation burning in my cheeks, I open my mouth to speak, but to my surprise, it is not I that comes to my own defense.
“Nurse, please,” my love says, her voice like silk, “they simply requested an answer.” She turns her eyes to us. “My name is Marie from the noble house of Dawson. Might I inquire your names?”
For this moment, I am speechless. Marie. Just knowing that it is her name changes the meaning of the name entirely. Suddenly, it is a new sound; as if all the beautiful sounds of the world have come together within one word.
“Richard is my name,” my dear friend answers, providing a mocking bow. “And this here is Charles.”
Marie turns her beautiful gaze onto me, smiling warmly. “Charles. How lovely to meet you.”
The nurse grabs her arm and begins tugging her away. “That's quite enough. Good day, peasants.”
The women walk away. Marie turns back and grants me one last pleasure of a smile.

MARIE
“Did you see him, Nurse?” I ask, sitting on a plush ottoman.
“See him? I spoke with him, didn't I?”
“But did you see him?”
The nurse studies my face. “My dear Marie, you can't tell me that you fancy that-that filth.”
“Do not call him filth! He seemed plenty kind in my opinion.”
“But his friend was quite rude.”
“They are not the same person. He is not his friend. He is himself alone.”
Smiling, I trace my toes through a dance, absentmindedly stroking the velvet furniture. The nurse gives me a glance of disapproval before storming out.
To think of him brings me pleasure. I can picture him clearly: his messy brown hair, calm blue eyes, and sweet smile. He loves me. He must, for I love him. Certainly he feels the same affection for me!
And suddenly, I realize that I can’t fathom why he strikes me this way. I lean over the sofa, brow furrowed in concentration. I must think of what is so intriguing about Charles. Then I can discover why I love him.
I run through the scene of our encounter. He approached me, led by his friend who introduced him as Charles. He looked upon me with those gentle blue eyes, bright as the sky on a clear day, and in them I saw true admiration. Admiration for me. He knows nothing of complexities of the noble life, of my life. And that’s when I realize what it is: his life is so clear, so simple. He sees everything as it is, sees me as I am, not who I should be.
His simplicity is beautiful.
This is why I love him.
“I must see him again!” I whisper aloud.
Opening my mouth to call for the nurse, I stand and move towards the door before stopping myself. The nurse doesn't approve of Charles and she certainly won't approve of my love for him. No, I must do this in secret. But how? We barely spoke together. I know almost nothing about him. Usually I would use my Nurse to track him but not this time.
A voice calls from the garden below my window, interrupting my thoughts.
“Giselle,” I call back, rushing to the window.
My dear friend stands below, long auburn hair thrown over her shoulder in a messy braid, her face flushed from running. “Dearest, Marie,” she replies, “I came to visit for a moment on my way into town but I thought to surprise you from the garden.”
“Thank you, Giselle” I say, leaning out through the window. “I have a favor I must ask of you.”
She steps forward placing a hand on the ledge and cocking her ear toward me.
“There is someone you must speak with for me,” I whisper, afraid to be overheard. “A boy in town. I want you to tell him to meet me here tonight.”
Giselle smiles. “A boy, you say? But what of your suitor, Sir Wyndell. Who is better than he? Count Sterling? Deveral?”
I shake my head. “Nay, friend. This boy is... a peasant.”
Giselle straightens up. “Lady Marie in love with a peasant?” She begins to giggle.
“Oh, please don't say anything, Giselle.”
She settles down. “Of course not. Do you know the name of this fellow? A description, perhaps?”
“Charles. He is—” I hesitate. How do I describe him? “He is tall with light brown hair. And his eyes, Giselle, they’re blue, bluer than the sky.”
She is giving me an amused look. “And what is so special about this peasant?”
“I would not expect you to understand. There is something about him, in his eyes, in his smile. His whole body radiates life.” I lower my voice. “He does not judge me. He is different.”
She ponders. “Charles. If there is such a man, I will find him for you.”
“Oh, thank you, Giselle! You are truly the greatest friend.”
Smiling, she replies, “I know,” and walks away.

CHARLES
“Charles, if I must hear one more word of this girl, I may kill you.”
“Richard, you clearly did not see her.”
“I saw her as I saw the truth. She was beautiful, but you cannot have her.”
“And why not?”
“She would never love you back. And even if she did, you still could not be with her because she is a noble and you are not.”
I shake my head. “She is different. She does not make me feel inferior.”
And as I say it, I see it’s true. She is a noble, but when I see her, I forget there is a difference between us. When we are together, there is no difference between us.
Before he can reply, a woman walks forward. She appears to be in a rush, her long coppery braid bouncing on her shoulder.
“Are you the peasant known as Charles?” she asks.
“That is I. May I help you, lady?”
“Finally! I was beginning to wonder if you really exist. I come with a message from Lady Marie. She wishes to see you this evening in her family's garden.”
“The house of Dawson. Where is that?”
“I can give you directions.” She retrieves a piece of parchment from her purse. As she begins to hand it to me, she stops for a moment. “You can read, correct?”
“Yes, I have learned,” I reply bitterly.
She nods and passes the directions to me. She studies me for a moment.
“I imagined you a bit more impressive. You do seem nice though. And she described your eyes perfectly.”
She purses her lips as if concentrating. Then she nods slightly, a gesture of acknowledgement, something I do not often expect from nobles. As she does so, she turns and walks away.
Richard leans over my shoulder, peering down at the directions. “Your lady has contacted you?”
“Yes. Yes she has.”
“And you are to see her this evening?”
“Yes, indeed.”

The House of Dawson is almost as magnificent as the Globe Theater, perhaps even more so for the fact that it is a home. The stone walls surrounding the brick mansion present a slight challenge but I manage to scale them. I leap down into the lush garden and search for any sign of my love. Night's cloak hides me for the moment but will not assist my tracking her.
“Charles!” a voice hisses from behind.
I whirl around to find my love approaching at a quickened pace.
“Marie,” I begin but she silences me with a wave of her hand.
“I should not have brought you here,” she whispers. “My suitor visits tonight.”
“Then I shall return another time.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t understand. He has requested my hand in marriage. And I have been promised to him. I ran away but he searches the grounds for me now. If he should see you-”
“Let him see me. If I cannot be with you, I would rather he cut me down.”
“No! I could not bear it. Please, Charles,” she grasps my hand, “you must leave. I will contact you at some other time. But now you must go.”
She begins tugging me towards the wall. I am heartbroken at her request for my departure but I sense her urgency and allow her to lead me away. I don’t know how I’ll get out and apparently, neither does she. We approach the wall I passed over upon my entrance and stop in front of it, seeing that there is no escape this way. Marie glances over both shoulders and begins pulling me to the front gate.
“Marie!” a deeper voice shouts from behind us.
We freeze, knowing we’ve been caught. She squeezes my hand in fear and I stroke her thumb reassuringly. Turning, we both see a nobleman approaching, his hand resting on a sword at his belt. Behind him, another, older man follows.
“Daughter!” the older man calls. “What is that doing in my garden? He is dangerous! Stay away from him, Marie! And you, keep away from my daughter.”
“Father, please,” Marie addresses him. “This is Charles.”
“He is a peasant. Why is he here?”
“I invited him, Father.”
“Invited him?” the other man says. “Why have you done this?”
“Because, Sir Wyndell, I needed to see him.”
“He ought to be killed for trespassing!” her father shouts.
“No, Father! Please, don't.”
“Why shouldn't I?”
“Because,” she glances up into my eyes, “because I love him.”
The following silence is filled with the breaking hearts of a loving father and hopeful suitor. I am shocked. The truth has surfaced. I knew she loved me. For a moment, all I feel is an overwhelming sense of pure joy. I glance into her green eyes and try to convey my emotion through just expression.
As if returning to his senses, Sir Wyndell draws his sword and, with a cry of rage, plunges the blade into my body. I scarcely realize what has happened and am vaguely aware that I've fallen to the ground as a searing pain overwhelms my mind. It ceases to a dull numb as Marie leans over me, calling my name. The rest of the world is blocked out as she becomes the center of my focus. The horrified expression blemishing her beautiful face is all I see.
“Marie,” I say hoarsely. “Marie, I love you.”
A cool peace comes over my body. The sharp colors of life begin to blur and fade as darkness overtakes. One last shuddering breath is all I have time for before my soul seeps into death.

MARIE
As my love falls into his eternal sleep, his eyes glaze over and his body becomes cold and still. His hand is still clasped in mine but the strength has abandoned it. My tears are absent, pressing against my eyelids yet refusing to fall as the shock settles. My chest heaves in silent, disbelieving sobs but my tears have hardened. There is a breath building in my chest, wishing to explode. I let it out in one heartbroken scream, until all that is left in my chest is an empty void.
Charles should not be dead and yet he is. He did not deserve this, and yet he received it.
He is gone, leaving only my shattered heart to remember him.
Sir Wyndell cleans his sword and sheaths it, as carelessly as if he has just killed his prey.
“Now, my lady,” he says, “will you marry me?” His tone mocks me. “What am I saying? Of course you’ll marry me. You must. I have been given your father’s blessing. And now that nothing stands in your way….”
Softly, I murmur, “Charles was a thousand times the man you are.”
Behind me, he scoffs. “He was a peasant. Don’t you know I’ve only done this to save you, because I care about you?”
I laugh bitterly, the tears finally beginning to stream down my face. “Care for me? If you cared for me, you’d want me to be happy. You don’t care about me. You did this because you felt insulted that I loved a poor man instead of you. You did this because you were jealous of a complete stranger.”
“I saved you from throwing your life away over a petty infatuation.”
“You ruined what is left of my life.”
He shakes his head. “Perhaps I was not clear. I feel that you are a beautiful lady, with a kind heart. You are a woman that deserves only the best.”
“Roses may bloom from your mouth, but their thorns pierce straight through your soul.” Then, standing slowly, I walk towards him until I am inches away. “Charles was the best that I could’ve had. None of your money can bring him back to me. You have slain my love. I would not marry you if you were the last man on this Earth. Now leave this place and never return lest I do to you what you have done to him.”
Sir Wyndell, paling at the thought, hurries quickly away. Father makes a move towards Charles but I leap in front of him, kneeling down to shield the body with myself.
“Don't touch him!” I scream, forgetting all composure. “You brought this upon him. Why must you have promised me to that fool of a man? If you had not, Charles would still be alive.”
“You would do this to your family? You would disgrace us this way?”
“I’m the disgrace? No, Father, it is you. You, who would marry me to a man I never wanted. You, who would forsake my love for reputation. You, who would entrust my life to a murderer. No, Father. I have known true love, true happiness, and I will never find it again, no matter what you do to me.”
Father, shaking his head, sighs. “Someday, Marie, you’ll realize how absurd you sound.”
Then turns on his heel and enters the house.
Charles is dead and with him dies my heart. I will never hear his voice again, but nor will I ever see Sir Wyndell. My suitor may have had roses in his mouth but Charles had a whole garden in his heart, a garden now exists only in my memory. A garden in my heart.
I cannot live without my love. But I must. I will be strong. I will survive on his last promise, his declaration of love for me. But I must remain true to him. I shall follow the path of our Virgin Queen, Elizabeth.
And I will never love again.