I watched the sun brake over the horizon, it was magnificent. I took a stroll after my nightly romp with the young Constance. She and I have been linked together by heavenly love for years now, but only recently by more earthly pleasures. It saddens me to say that our love may be short lived, that is of course, if our kinsmen have their way.

Our fathers have all ways been at odds but their display of hate in the market place this afternoon was unlawful. The sword fight between two apt men turned into warfare between our respective houses, my dear cousin Anthony lost sight in one of his eyes because of it. How I weep for the spilling of my lovers and mine own blood.

After the bought of which I took no part in, I sought refuge in the forest behind our palace.  The song birds filled my soul with such sorrow I bore my pain to the living trees hoping they would teach me how to stand proud as they do.  After what felt like a lifetime of desolate existence I was stricken with a marvelous thought, I would take my love Constance to the Abby and ask, no demand the fryer to bind our souls in front of the all mighty god. Regardless of the consequences I will be married to my dearest by the morrow.

When I returned home, resolute and filled with hope, my father summoned me into his chamber and forbade me from ever speaking to or of my Constance. How my mind reeled with new found depression, the song birds must have played a tune of rumor after hearing my story of love.  Now I sit in my bedroom, with a goblet filled to the brim with arsenic, writing of my last day on this plane of existence. I know that god will not take me in to the kingdom with open arms because of this. My only comfort is in knowing that when my Constance hears of my death she too will take her life, and together we may writhe in agony deep in the bowls hell for all of eternity.

Rodman son of Mantovani

William S.

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