This letter conveys the event of when Claudio hurt Hero, during a wedding, from the play: Much Ado About Nothing, written by William Shakespeare. This was written from the perspective of a worker eavesdropping on the occurences.
Dear Elizabeth,
What a marvel would’ve dawned if you frolicked amongst these blood-pounced fields, Alas, it all commenced when spellbounding Hero sauntered into the grandiose rays of her marriage, as it mimicked inside of her. Crystal clear, it was, that every speck of twining spring took over her veins, so scintillate that it looked as if she was a star of honey and had just pirouetted with heaven of such unthinkable pulchritude. Oh, and her dress! Her resplendent dress vibrated with laughter of bouquets upon rose pearls: Every stitch crooned with felicity, whilst her eyes irradiated every lingering, sombre rasp, within her clutch.
Thou shan’t believe this, but Leonato stroke the mirthful wedding with sudden gusts of haste; He would not, even, allow dear Claudio enunciate his responses to Friar Francis. Away with my endearing daughter’s marriage, the acts of him seemed to echo of. With these passing ticks of time, I have, indeed, grasped the realization of that Leonato has no intimacy for for his only offspring and neither does the misread Claudio. This notice shan’t have touched me, if only Claudio dwindled his slashes of rebellion upon Hero. He, even, claimed that angelic Hero knew the heat of a luxurious bed, he did, and for that, every simmering slander, solely gouged wounds into her pulchritude and dignity. The murders in Claudios rage assassinated the croons and very dawn of Hero’s mirth, whilst the beast battered her cascade of heaven. As his claws grazed further into her spring-seeped veins, that day, she fell into a slumber upon an ominous and inky sleep, like no other.
No ambiguity tempted to pounce, for I knew that only a lady with such defiance could’ve seethed her overwhelm into the very roots of pearled laughter. Thou well know that it is me, who clayed and shattered thoughts for twenty years in these rose beds, and heard the very ticking of the blood red clock sitting next to me; And it is me who saw the innocence and purity germinate inside of Hero, hence I shan’t warp my mind into Claudio’s.
Oh Elizabeth, come, my friend, for the stars seem to perish with Hero, as she abides the newcomer of spring grime, whilst enchantment mourns her decease. Patent, it is that she cries in her death of honey and it is, only, Claudio that may awaken her and the rest of my kind. Alas, it is not to be, so thou shall come soon?
From, Anna
