To die, to sleep…

In the light of the fickle moon, you could have been forgiven for mistaking the gaunt silhouette atop the cliff for a sapling swaying dangerously in the wind – but it was a man.

Noble in reason, infinite in faculties…

Not anymore. Now he was left with the tender, taunting memories of his days in the sun – the revered actor, the devoted husband; reduced to little more than a walking shadow.

One that loved not wisely but too well…

He knew he was nothing without Beatrice – his companion, his life; she alone had stayed constant as the northern star through the toils and troubles of success. Yet he was expected to stay calm, collected, dignified; to carry on, ignore his own heart.

That way madness lies…

Containing it wasn’t an easy job. All day he would wear a mask – but out here in the darkness, who could hear him roar into the night sky?

The fault is not in our stars…

As his body fell to oblivion, his thoughts flew up, finally at peace.

And the rest is silence…