Next-Gen

twelfth night

by apegler
Last updated 8 years ago

Discipline:
Language Arts
Subject:
Writing

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twelfth night

Journal, I despair. Yet again the day has been painful, more painful than I can almost bear to write. He does not love me; he cannot love me, the proud and noble Duke Orsino. Cannot, for so many reasons, and most of them my own doing, and thus my undoing too. The thoughts I once did feel which could then barely be named the merest trifling interest has unwittingly blossomed into some unknown flower. A flower that blooms with all the might and power of the strongest emotions ever felt in a body such as mine; emotions of love and jealousy, of lifted hearts and the greatest desperation. This flower which could yet be happily called a rose, were it not for this direst of disguises. This disguise chafes me, burns me and yet I refuse to let it quench me. My love will burn in undying lights, whatever my garments can say. Orsino cannot yet love me as any but a brother, but I shall not give up hope. I cannot, for I pray that there may be a time when I can yet be seen as Viola again, and give up the guise of Caesario. He has served me well and will continue to do so, but he cannot give me the desire of my heart, for what man could but love another man I love him. And what of Orsino, the noble Duke of Illyria. He, who in his passions for Olivia, doth wound me almost fatally, but knows not. How can I deny my lord his love for the fair Olivia, by refusing to act as the unfortunate messenger? If I truly love him, I must continue, though it pains me much to do so. To hear him speak in such tongues of love, infusing each phenomenal phrase with such passion. It turns my heart for wishing that it was but I, instead of the Countess Olivia, who was the subject of these wrenching avowals of undying love. Orsino is kind, and handsome, a rare feather among a thousand dusty ones. Olivia doth seem insane to refuse, but for sure she loves Caesario, which gives me yet another reason to yearn for the discarding of this fateful guise. And so journal, I must bid thee goodnight, for the candle doth wane and flicker, and my lord requires me to rise early on the morrow. As always, I pray my brother may be alive and Orsino may yet love me as Viola. As for my life, fate will yet decide.

Twelfth Night

Viola's Journal

By William Shakespeare


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