“It’s time,” they say. I’m shepherded along a gloomy corridor and pushed through a door, which closes behind me, so no escape there.
Trembling with fear, I try to hide, but a roaming spotlight seeks me out as if tracking down a prison camp fugitive. It fixes on me, inquisition-like, bright, blinding me from seeing the watchers. My throat goes so dry that I fear I will rasp, but I have to tell them what they want to hear.
A deep breath, and I speak: “Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene…..”