One night she came to me and said, "My name is Juliet. You want to worship me, don't you?
And I hated her for asking, so I told her to leave and not bother me again.
But I knew I couldn't fool her with that. She knew me way too well.
I remember that summer in Verona. The heat, the flies, the mosquitos, the friction of your blade on my throat.
The beautiful friction of your teeth on my throat....
And now I'm dying in your grave, my blade in your breast. Or is it the other way around?
If it is, please make it quick!
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