William Shakespeare put down the quill,
satisfied with a good day’s work. Three
scenes, all of which needed almost no revision.
A rare feat indeed. Shakespeare
glanced towards the open window and into the garden. Outside, Anne walked towards a rose bush and
picked a bloom. She held it to her nose
and breathed in its scent, smiling.
Shakespeare called out to her and raised a hand in a wave.
Anne smiled back and turned back towards the
cottage, rose in hand. Inside, she handed
it to Shakespeare. “For you my love,”
she said. Shakespeare took it from
her. “I shall write about it and how its
beauty is nothing beside you.” Anne
blushed, then brushed Shakespeare’s cheek with a light kiss.
Once the evening meal was eaten, it was their
habit to sit together and by the light of a candle Shakespeare would read the
day’s labours to Anne. She would always
listen, attentive, then indicate where she felt there could be amendments and
more often, reply that the words flowed so well that no improvements were possible.
They retired to their bedchamber and after
their lovemaking, Shakespeare held Anne close, caressing her tresses. “Imagine,” said Anne, “what your readers would
say if they knew a mere woman discussed scenes and plots with the great Shakespeare? Would you lose them, do you think?”
Shakespeare laughed then she replied, “They
would find it even more unlikely than if they were to unmask the real William Shakespeare
for the Wilhelmina she really is. One
woman playwright would be implausible, two a complete impossibility to be denied at
all costs.”
Inspiration: Who was Shakespeare really??
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