Time started to pass quickly after that. Things were going well for Hamlet and Ophelia, and I kept an eye on Claudius whenever I could. I hoped that my ideas were right, and that nothing would happen until Hamlet went off to school. I had to hope, anyway. Claudius wasn't acting any more suspicious than he had before. How would I know?
Things were going suspiciously well for the beginning of a tragedy, and I started getting worried. I felt myself getting paranoid. What if I missed a sign? What if things were happening while I was being happy with Horatio? It started to make me a bit miserable, but I couldn't tell Horatio what was going on. He would think I was insane, just about as insane as I felt after weeks of nothing.
Of course, in stories, it's only after you start to feel comfortable that things start to happen again. Which is what happened in this story within a story.
Hamlet decided he wanted to go to school. I'm not sure what prompted this decision. He had started to spend more time in his father's company than with either Horatio or Ophelia, so neither of them knew the reason either. But Hamlet decided we would go for a picnic, the four of us, so Ophelia packed a basket from the kitchens and we snuck out. It was really surprising just how easy it was. But I suppose if Hamlet and Ophelia could do it in the play, we could do it, no matter how strange it seemed. William Shakespeare was God here, and he had declared the pair could sneak out.
We went into the woods and sat. I was worried as Hamlet stood and began to pace. Was he going mad ahead of schedule? Did I mess things up so much that they couldn't be fixed? But no.
"I want to go to school," he said. "I need more education before I can rule a country, and my father agrees. So I'll go."
I glanced at Ophelia, worried as to what he reaction would be, but she was nodding along to what Hamlet said. "Okay. How long will you be gone?" she asked, way more calm than I would have thought. I didn't think soulmates could part that easily. But maybe it hadn't been long enough. I didn't know all the rules here.
"I'm not sure. Months, at least." Ophelia caught her breath. There, at least a normal reaction. I felt Horatio stiffen beside me, but he said nothing.
Ophelia nodded again, though I could see some emotion from her. "Alright. Where? You'll write, won't you?" she asked calmly.
Hamlet nodded, taking her hand. "Of course I'll write. My father and I haven't decided where I'll go yet, but I will tell you when I know." She nodded, and I could see the grip she had on his hand. He glanced away from her face to look at Horatio, and I knew a silent conversation was going on between them.
"Corrine, let's walk?" Horatio asked after a few more moments. I nodded and stood. This was it. The moment that I wanted to stop was going to happen soon, and I thought I would be alone for it. There was no way Horatio was going to let Hamlet go alone, or with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, and from what I remembered of them, I didn't want him to. Claudius may have asked them to kill Hamlet then, had Horatio not been there. Claudius knew the influence Horatio held, not just with the king, but with the other people in Elsinore. If he came back without Hamlet, the whole castle would riot. In case I failed, Horatio HAD to be with him.
"You'll go." I didn't even phrase it as a question. I wouldn't let myself be the reason Horatio stayed in Elsinore.
He nodded, running his thumb over the back of my hand. "I should. His father will ask me to. We've talked about me staying before, but Gertrude talked to the king about it, I think, because he changed his mind. Now he wants me to go where Hamlet goes. I don't take it out on Hamlet, but I would rather be here."
I sighed, looking around at the trees, listening to the wind. "I know. But Hamlet is the prince, and he's a good friend. I'd feel better, and I'm sure Ophelia would feel better, if you were with him. As a subject of Denmark, anyway. He needs you. He acts rashly sometimes, and you help calm him." It was something I had noticed in my two months in Denmark, and more so something I just remembered from the play. I had to hope it was true.
"I know. I know." I had definitely lucked out there. It could have been something the madness had brought out in Hamlet, but luckily for me, it was part of his personality as well. Thank God. I didn't have the energy to make up a reason for saying it. "I will miss you," he murmured, turning to face me. He pulled me close. It was something I appreciated every day. His warm arms around me made me feel safe in this very unsafe and still quite unfamiliar land. His arms were muscular, and that was something I appreciated in a very different way.
His arms weren't even the things I loved most about Horatio. He really had always been one of my favorite Shakespeare characters. So kind and understanding, he would try and save Hamlet from himself, and fail. But not this time, I hoped. I wanted Horatio to say the way he was, and I could only imagine how that would change when he lost everything. Now I had even more motivation to change things.
"I'll miss you too. But we can write. If Hamlet and Ophelia can do it, so can we. And I know how to dance now, so I'll be fine on my own," I joked. He laughed a little, holding me tighter. I leaned my head against his chest, listening to his heart beat. Why, in just two months, did it already sound so familiar to me? Was I crazy? I had never been in love before, but I was pretty sure it couldn't happen this fast. Not in real life anyway. But this wasn't real life.
Was that what was happening? Had I stayed in the story so long that I was really becoming a part of it? It didn't feel so bad. Maybe it was a good thing. It was hard to even imagine my real life anymore; it was hard to believe I hadn't always been here. Things were starting to slip away. I still knew why I was here, but I couldn't remember why I had to go back. Why did I? There wasn't anything important waiting for me, was there?
Maybe that was when I should have realized something was going wrong. But isn't that the nature of those kinds of things? Almost like a dream. You never start at the beginning. You realize you are in the dream somewhere in the middle of the action. And I didn't realize just how wrong things were until it was too late to fix. Maybe if I had had more time with my father, I would have known better. But all I had then was a letter only partially explaining what I was getting into.
And here I was, falling in love with a character from a Shakespeare play.
