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Whatever comes after this
I'll take it with pride…
There is a girl who loves him.
Romeo Montague has been...unfortunate in love, to say the least. Failure after failure after failure...but none of them matter now.
Juliet Capulet loves him. Any other man would say she is the worst in the world to love him, but to him she is the best, simply because she is herself. He's a new man, a confident man, and he won't let any force in the world destroy that, not even an army of Capulets, not even Tybalt, the worst threat of all.
Everything will be fine from now on.
Right?
Fires are appearing in the dawn sky
They urge me to defend the right cause
Tybalt didn't sleep at all last night. He's gotten whatever servants that were awake to make dawn come early with their torchlight, searching throughout the city for Romeo.
Romeo, Romeo, Romeo...
The one who stole the sun away, leaving Tybalt in darkness. The only man in all of Verona who's ever inflicted a serious injury upon him, without even using a sword. It's embarrassing. Humiliating. Painful, Tybalt thinks as he flinches his hand away from his own firelight.
He'll kill Romeo by any means necessary—even drag Mercutio down too, if he's annoying enough.
It's not like he'll lose.
Right?
From now on
Those who enter the fight
Also have to give their blood for real
Leave it to Mercutio to get into another tangle with Tybalt—and leave it to foolish people to continue to be surprised at that! What, do they think he’s going to stop dueling just because of a little edict? Stupid. What's more, do they think Tybalt is going to stop dueling just because of a little edict? Even more stupid!
Still, his two dearest friends are doing an awfully good job of ruining his fun. Physically dodging restraint is something, but looking into Benvolio's bitter eyes...
Do they really think Tybalt will—pssh, can—kill him? What complete nonsense!
Right?
This blood-red sky
This glowing horizon
Could be a sign
It could be death or life
Benvolio stares in silence as the blood-red dusk falls over the city.
Silence, because his only friends are gone.
Mercutio's body isn't even cold and this very dusk means that his champion must be fled or suffer the same fate. Lord Montague's heir is exiled, the Capulets' favorite attack dog is dead—both houses have been cursed, as was Mercutio's will. Though, with Paris' grief, his own house isn't exempt, either.
Even the breeze is hot against his skin, but a chill runs through Benvolio's body. Something about the color of the sky.
At least the violence is over.
Right?
Come and be prepared for anything
That may await you, on the great battlefield
Paris lays down flowers tonight, only able to see in this darkness due to the hours he has been out here.
One afternoon caused the tangled, delicate web of Verona's most promising youths to be ripped apart. Only he and Benvolio are left.
Because Juliet is dead now too, dead inside this tomb behind the flowers. His Juliet, killed with grief for her cousin.
Wait, who is that, someone else who's stumbling in the night? His drawn sword is justified when he sees who it is—the murderer. The one Juliet would hate most, here to disturb her grave.
Right?
…I have a dream for which
I would gladly die.
She is awake. Finally awake.
Too late.
The first thing Juliet sees, funnily enough, is Paris' body. That's enough to tell her something is wrong.
It's also enough to tell her that Romeo isn't just sleeping beside her. The empty vial is superfluous evidence.
She laughs, perhaps finally joining the legion of people broken under Verona's yoke. This city, this cruel, hateful city of ugly people, isn't worth living in without Romeo alive to balance it out on his own.
Right.
(The dagger sinks into her flesh, and somewhere, sometime, a chain breaks, each end finally touching after the fall.)