Chapter Text
Two households, both alike in dignity
(In Neo Verona, where we lay our scene),
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life,
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
Doth with their death bury their parents' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-marked love
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their children’s end, naught could remove,
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage—
The which, if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.
----
Escalus was wilting.
Ophelia frowned as its branches turned towards the lake. Its leaves grew dull and brittle, eventually falling into the water. The wood was splintered, whittling away with time. The roots were twisted, broken. The rot was from within, seeping into the earth, her flesh, her blood, her bone.
Her frown deepened.
Escalus must not be allowed to die. It must be watered with blood, fed with flesh, and built with bone. These would have been supplied by a Capulet maiden, but they were all lost many years ago. Montague had ensured it.
Capulet blood still flowed, but only through the veins of men. The two scions were useless to Escalus.
The water shimmered, and, for a moment, the Gardner felt a stirring of something within her chest. The lake gleamed, dancing back and forth. It pulled up, forming a bubble in the air.
The surface of the bubble glowed, before revealing an image. It was a girl, a healthy girl. Rosaline Montague. A blooming flower in a field of thorns.
Rosaline Montague.
The seed of Escalus.
Montague's hatred towards his Capulet father blinded him to his own blood, as well as his daughter's. Montague had brought House Capulet to ruin, and he had cut Escalus at the roots. He had crushed the seeds underfoot and staunched the flow of life. He would pay for his sins.
Her frown abated at the thought.
It would be a very long wait. The seed must grow strong, and the Gardener must wait for the fruit to ripen. Once the fruit was ripe, it will be plucked.
A smile graced her lips.
One maiden, that would be enough.