Before The Storm

Act One Scene Two

I don't understand half of these notes, my love," Prospero called to Sycorax from halfway across the empty library.

"Read them over again, my heart, they will become clear," Sycorax called back. In the five years they had been together she had morphed from a thirteen-year-old beggar girl to am eighteen-year-old elegant woman of the court. Their courtship had been a long one, and it had taken much convincing on Prosperos part to solidify their marriage, which would occur next year. With Prospero at twenty-four, the two were very excited.

"Could you just come and explain them to me?"

The two of them and fallen deep into the realms of magic, sycorax having introduced Prospero. While he had been afraid at first, he had come to accept the delicate arts and flourished in them. As of late, his father had fallen ill, and he was using his newfound expertise with Sycorax to find a cure in magic, as it seemed no other cure would work.

There was a pause before Sycorax responded, then a frightened gasp. Prospero perked up, laying down the notes she had made for him and stood. "My love?"

"I'm alright, Prospero, just fine," she responded. She poked her head around a bookshelf, her ebony hair falling over her face. "I'm just going out for some air, it's so stuffy in this library."

"Alright," said Prospero suspiciously, "don't be long, I need your help."

"I'll be back in before you know it," she said with a nervous smile. She whipped out of the room in a way that Prospero couldn't help but notice was odd. He wlaked to where she had vanished and watched her go.

"That's strange," he murmurered, retreating back to her notes. "It was probably nothing."

That was the last he saw of her for several months. During that time he earned the dukedom, and he spent days using the power to search for her. She seemed to have vanished from the face of the earth, however, for he could not find her until she came for him.

It was a morning in the middle of the week, and Prospero was standing at the gates of the palace. He had lost everything one by one in the past few months. His love and future wife, his father, and, for whatever reason, the love and trust of his brother. All he had gained was the title of Duke of Milan, which was hardly a position when he had no family to rule with.

He lowered his eyes at the apparent exact wrong moment, for when he did he heard a familiar female voice shout "Prospero!" from what seemed to be a distance. he looked up to see a woman running towards him with her hands on her shoulders, and it was not until she was a few metres away that he realized who she was.

"Sycorax!" he yelled, running to meet her and embracing her. Quite suddenly, he stiffened, his fleeting joy at seeing her vanishing instantly. Over her shoulder he saw the head of an infant. "Who's this?" he asked, backing away and gesturing over her shoulder. his worst fears had come to mind at once.

Sycorax opened her mouth, then closed it. She made a swift decision to come outright and tell him the truth. She pulled the child out of its pouch and held it lovingly in her arms. "This is my son, Caliban. He's- he's my son."

Prospero backed away, his jaw dropping. His breath got fast and uneven, there was no way he was the father. His vision blurred, and he felt light-headed. His eyes teared up, and with shaking hands he stumbled to the wall of the gates, unsure of exactly how to react.

"Prospero, I can-"

"No. Don't. Even. Try," Prosper cut her off, he's voice hardly above a whisper, though it carried easily across to Sycorax. "I don't want to hear explainations, I don't want attempts for sympathy, just, just..." he trailed off, lifting his head and examining her and the boy. "Come with me- dear heart."

Those were the five final words he said to her. He took her and her son, put them on a boat and banished them. Their boat floated out with the child filling the air with sobs and Sycorax begging for forgivness of the ultimate sin. Prospero considered himself merciful, even allowing her to live was pur kindness. He turned his back on the boat as she faded into the mist, abandoning the woman he had once held so dear. On that day, he leanred to truely hate.