Hamlet was awakened by the sun's rays of the young autumn and the sleepy conversations of friends around the room. The carelessness that was happening everywhere was the ideal ground for his breasts to suddenly get a premonition: 'something will happen'. He smiled and started stretching, opening his arms to this invisible and powerful 'thing', though it was a little awkward at heart - some subtle trembling of the wings of the moth. But go away these thoughts! It’s because Horatio isn’t around, and he’s the only one who can share this moment in all its glory. Not that Hamlet was secretive with the others, but always a little distant. Almost like a prince. He was called The Prince because of his special, odd way of holding on, particularly to girls.

Hamlet thought of this, as he climbed the steps leading to the library, to distract himself and find the book that Horatio had so eagerly advised him to read. He need to meet a friend being fully prepared, to remind that their friendship is still strong.
Prince went to the bookshelves, but in the process, completely forgot what he was looking for. He stopped swiping headlines in alphabetical order and stepped back, trying to concentrate. It didn't help. Then he began to look for clues in the hall and saw the omnipresent Marian, who, like a spider, was already weaving her new victim into the web of intrigue and gossip. It would be less interesting if the beautiful creature didn't contrast with Marian so strongly. It’s like the girl fell off a... oh, Grazio would help me find the right epithet.
Maybe he wasn’t fully awake? And why does this beauty seem vaguely familiar to him? Like the strongest sense of déjà vu. What a strange, disturbing chill on the skin. What the hell is... It is necessary to sleep more and less philosophize with friends over a bottle of red wine, generously poured over tea cups.

But they saw eye-to-eye! And again. Hamlet didn't look away, unlike the girl.
Trepidation intensified and completely eclipsed his head for a while, at the same time, there was an irresistible desire to rush to meet this, as if life depended on it. He didn’t like it. He remembered how struggled with obsessive visions as a child, and at the same time convinced himself that it didn’t happen. In his life everything was fine. But even too fine. Excessive. He knew in his heart that one day he would pay for it. And what a good time this is a beautiful day.
And it’s a good thing Horatio isn’t here. He’d like to dig deeper, take books on esotericism and mysticism, revive them with psychology. God, what a clever and cautious man! With him Hamlet sometimes felt like in the lair of an ancient oracle. Or is it bad that his friend is not there?
It is necessary to stop this. The more interesting, that next to the girl sits a friend. To look at the reaction of both interlocutors. What will stranger do? What will he feel?

"Hi, Marian! Hello... what’s your friend’s name?"
Up close, it was a work of art, not a young lady, looked even more magical.
"She looks like a unicorn. You’re new here, right?" He said to the girl, "Hasn’t Marian strangled you yet? By the way, my name is Hamlet," he extended his hand gently towards she, appreciating with the edge of his eye what she was reading, "Oh! It’s Costantino D'Orazio, History of Art in Six Emotions? What do you think of this book?"

Last edited by Coffee table knight (2024-07-19 21:09:52)