Sword Crossed Lovers

A Strange Attempt

Stunned and feeling his heart stop in his chest, Tybalt Capulet's eyes glare into that of his sweet younger cousin's.  "A Montague?  The Romeo Montague, Juliet?" he roars in disbelief.
"I knew you would be shocked, but yes, Romeo Montague," she assures him, gripping his red silk shirt collar with her hands, bringing him close.  "I love him."
"Love!  What does a child like you know about love?" Tybalt rebuttals, rejecting her arms around him.  He steps away from her, his anger rising into his chest.  He tightens his hands into fists.
"Tybalt, please!" whimpers Juliet, tears returning to her eyes.
"How can you love him?  Do you know what they have done to us, our family?" he stutters, the shock and pain of her words cutting deeply into his heart.  "Those Montagues killed my parents!"
"I know all too well, dear Tybalt.  It is not by my own choice I love this man.  The fates above have decided who I shall be bound to."
"And does this rascal Romeo love thee in return?  How do you know how such a man feels?  One night he shall take thee to his filthy bed and the next call upon another to grant him such mortal pleasures!  How dost thou know, gentle Juliet?" Tybalt roars, moving to pin her against the sandstone wall with his body, slamming his fist against the wall space above her head.

Frightened, Juliet jumps and her hand flies to her lips in shock at his outburst at her.  Seeing the fear in her eyes, Tybalt freezes.  The anger disperses immediately and he offers his arm towards her.  "Juliet, I'm sorry-"
"Enough.  I should not have told you."
"No, cousin-" begins Tybalt, the sadness in his eyes as she turns away from him.  She departs from his side without another word or even a look back at him.

Feeling empty and alone, Tybalt Capulet moves down the hallway with a newfound strength in his step.  He tugs at the dagger attached to his hip and draws.  He twirls it in his hands like an expert and slips it back into its sheath.  He breathes in a pattern, calming his rumbling feelings.  He furrows his brow and strides on, moving faster and faster towards the stables.

The Capulet Prince takes no extra time in preparing his black steed and strapping on his red leather saddle to its back.  He swings his legs over and kicks the horse hard in the sides.  With a whinny the steed moves on, picking up a brisk gallop out of the Capulet Estate and onto the night.

After some good time in the saddle, Tybalt slows his horse to a sitting-trot, surveying the scene.  His breath leaves his lips as mist in the cold air which pinches his lungs.  Sensing no one, he dismounts and ties his horse by the wall outside of the gate.  His fingers tap against the blue Montague crest on the front of the door and his face twists into a snarl.  The Capulet slams his fists into it and lets the crash echo in the night air.  It brings a slight smirk to his face.  "Pathetic Montagues," he breathes, watching his breath become smoke in the darkness.

With light feet, he climbs the height of the wall, his boots tapping against the uneven stone.  He throws his body over the upper half and lands artistically in the deep grass without a sound.  With haste he makes his way to the back of the estate as it comes into view.