I made sure that Horatio was sitting down before I told him anything. My heart beat like a drum in my chest and I was sure he could hear it. I didn't sit, I was too restless. I held my piece of paper tightly in my hand. Horatio looked concerned, and I didn't blame him. I probably looked crazed, afraid and worried.
I took a deep breath that didn't calm me in the least, but I couldn't wait until I was calm, or we'd be here forever. "Horatio, I'm not who you think I am. I do love you, more than anything, but after I tell you this, you might not love me, and I'll understand if you don't. I lied to you for months, why would you?" I rambled on, until he took my hand.
"Corrine, breathe. Whatever this is, I'm not going to stop loving you. It won't change your courage, or your kindness. Just tell me." He was calm, and it slowed my racing heart. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen.
I straightened out the paper. "I'm not from Denmark. I'm... I'm from America. The new land," I corrected. He blinked but didn't say anything. I knew him well enough that I knew he would let me finish before saying anything, despite it not making any sense.
"This... this world we live in, it's... it's not real for me. Well it is. But..." Oh boy. This was harder than I would have thought. How could I even make any of this make sense? I bit my lip and pulled away, going to the bookshelf. I picked up Romeo and Juliet and brought it back to him. Maybe this would help. I opened it to the copyright page and showed it to him. "This book, it's a play. And it was written in this time and look at it. It's old. Very old. This book was my father's. And this world, Hamlet, and everything that we've been trying to save, it's another play, written by the same man that wrote this play, Romeo and Juliet. I was born in 1993. Centuries from now, people will study Hamlet's story. My father, he was a professor, he loved this play, and all Shakespeare's stories. He did die, and he left me a note." I handed him the ripped out page, and could see that his hands were shaking, and now he did speak.
"You're saying I'm not real," he said quietly. His hands may have shook, but his voice was steady, and it was almost worse.
His was steady, but mine cracked as I answered him. "No. That's not what I'm saying. You're real. You're as real as anything to me." I knelt in front of him. "You were real to my father, real enough that he wanted me to save everyone. Just because you're part of a story doesn't mean you're not real. I promise."
He handed the paper back to me. "And what happens when this is over?" His voice was cold, and I had to keep tears from falling. I could feel myself losing him. Maybe it was for the better. If I didn't have him, then what reason would I have to stay here?
"I could go home," I murmured. "Or I could stay here, with you."
He slammed the book shut and I winced. I had never seen Horatio angry, but that was what this was. Anger. Rage. And it was at me. "Were you going to just leave without telling me? Make me fall in love with you and then just leave? If I'm so real, does that make you heartless?"
Did it? I had only just decided to tell him. I might have left him without a word. And if he was as real as I had just said, then yes. I was heartless. But if that were true, why did it feel as though my heart was breaking into pieces? "No. No, I'm not heartless, Horatio." I could barely hear my own voice. I was afraid to speak, to condemn myself further. "If I was heartless, my heart wouldn't feel like this."
He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before looking at me. I wished that he would look at me like he had the night before. With love. Instead, there was nothing. Just emptiness. He had never looked at me like the other courtiers had, with polite interest that they had grown up with. I had always been different with him. I swallowed past the lump in my throat.
"You... I'm not going to let anything happen to Hamlet, not if I can help it. But after we save him... I think you should go home," he replied quietly. This heartbreak was as real as it could be. I remembered one day when I was a child, when the temperature had been below zero. I had gone outside and forgotten my gloves. The cold felt as though it was burning my skin. That was how my heart felt now, and there was nothing else I could do.
"Doubt thou the stars are fire," I said softly, staring into his eyes. Just yesterday we had sworn our love to each other, body and soul. "Doubt that the sun doth move." He loved me; he had sworn it with his words and his hands. "Doubt truth to be a liar." I had held him in my arms and sworn to never let go. "But never doubt I love," I whispered.
