4
I find a copy of Shakespeare’s Hamlet on my pillow when I come back to my room one day. Monster has gone off somewhere, I know that much; the house staff always seems so much more relaxed when he’s not around.
The red leather-bound volume is small, the pages dog-eared, notes scribbled in the margins in some unknown language. It’s obviously a well-loved copy.
It’s also obviously very much a gift from Monster. Inside the front cover, there is a note scrawled under the title.
Fiore —
Enjoy this play, as I know you will. Pay special attention to the parts with Ophelia… she went mad after forsaking the affections of Hamlet, as I’m sure you know.
That’s all that his note says, but I get what he’s implying. In our situation, I’m Ophelia and he’s Hamlet. But surprisingly, given that I love
