ACT ONE, PART ONE
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—"Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."
Ozymandias, by Percy Bysshe Shelley
(Setting)
The sea is flat as left-out soda, the waves the color of blueberries as it sloshes up on the white shoreline sand and water was cold as ice at the Agincourt Grotto. The pines are dark as avocado flesh with deerskin bark and the thick briars around the Grotto have hick swathes of leaves, peppered with curled thorns the size of cat's claws. Along the porch of the Agincourt Mansion is a smeared lane of roses; all the sickly color of fresh blood and dollied up with patches of glass bright sweetgrass in the gaps.
The romantic Mansion is made of holly wood and dark brick, a ghastly Victorian sort of model with a tilting slope of a sharp roof to top it off, with an eerie, yet elegant air permating as deep as the wild perfume throughout the atmosphere. An endless downpour haunts the area; along with great claps of rolling thunder and white streaks of lighting.
Along the blue gravel path are two weary travelers. A young woman leads on her white and brown mare. Her hair is the color of chestnuts, long and wavy, but pulled back into a braid for her traveling, She is wearing black slacks, woolen socks with her leather riding boots and a riding jacket. Behind her is a young man with lighter brown locks, wild and tousled, wide green eyes and the same peach tanned skin as the young woman. They are LADY HATHAWAY, wealthy duchess and LUCAS STEINER, a wily botanist. LADY HATHAWAY motions for them to stop and guides her mare into a standstill.
LADY HATHAWAY
Ah, I see a charming vale!
Across the sky black as shale,
Tell the horses to halt their trot,
We'll spend the night along the green rot.
LUCAS STEINER
My fairest lady, I mean thee well,
But this land is ravaged like hell,
The vihear rain whips a fierce gale,
And the grass is bleached milk pale.
I suppose we should gander on,
To some cozy cottage vale pron.
Perhaps a field with golden wheat,
With little pretense for mortal defeat.
LADY HATHAWAY
Ha! Thou are meek as mouse!
Why I doubt there is even a louse,
Creeping through this lonely land.
Not even a widow along the sand.
LUCAS STEINER
Call thou what thou must, Hathaway,
But there is an air of foul play.
Do thee not see the wickedness among?
The dark boughs of pines high hung.
YOU ARE READING
Agincourt Grotto
Fantasy"You are presuming I am the type to joke, Miss Hathaway," Prince Agincourt said with a raised brow, "And I assure you, I am not," he leaned down to Penelope, the once ignored spark of that strange something, rolling thunder and winter ice, sparkling...
