"So, tell me, little suffragette, where did you learn this?"
The thirteen year old Ina was sitting on her chair behind her tiny desk utterly mute. It was a plain, sunny day of spring on the Island, full of numerous shades of green on the trees, morning dew upon the leaves of the wall's rosebush, a few occasional clouds and an almost nonexistent cold.
The girl moved her little finger just an inch -out of mere nervousness- and looked at Mrs. Brita with grit.
"I have simply read it," she answered her question. "Don't you have so many books in the library?" She soon added, her finger pointing up, at the upper levels of the estate.
"And you, by pure chance, out of dozens and dozens of books, chose to read this?" The greyish-haired woman with the slight hump pushed her a little. She had also raised her left brow as a denotation of disapproval and perhaps disappointment, yet that little one wouldn't cease impressing them all. She couldn't feel disappointment with her, not for a single moment.
"Yes," Ina replied and nodded her head firmly.
"Yes, but why this? Why this particular opus?"
'Why this?' Ina thought mockingly.
Shakespeare. The future masterpiece creator. The girl simply loved Shakespeare.
Brita and her family once lived in the Palace of Raysun, far away from the Island, maintaining notably good relations with the Royal Family. Brita herself was the prince's wet nurse, who later became King Dante the Second, the 'Erudite'. However, something had happened, leading to their exile. They were sent there, on the Hermit's Island, along with hundreds of books, most of them being spoils of the treks of the Great Time Traveller, that frabjous researcher who had achieved time travel and brought back to them various items, most of them books.
Hence, those were what Ina would read ever since she remembered herself, feeling the gift of knowledge pleasantly overwhelming her.
Yet, with Shakespeare, it was entirely unique, different. She could feel ever word infiltrating her brain, debouching and transuding her heart. She memorised entire opuses of his just by reading them twice.
This particular Shakespearean work though, evidently didn't excite Mrs. Brita, therefore she was on the mood of a good, long admonition, something Ina was completely used and immune to.
She had addressed her as a 'suffragette'. That was how the members of the Vigesimal Century feminist motion were called. Only the Gods knew how long in the future that would be. Anyway, every time Ina committed some daring or courageous, she would levy this specific typification; a suffragette.
"How many times should I tell you not to even touch anything relating to injustice, vengefulness, virulence or schizophrenia?" Mrs. Brita's reprehensive voice resonated in the gargantuan room's walls.
"You've already done it sufficiently," Ina responded curtly, her eyes focused her dress' cordon.
"This book is the definition of pure malice and aberration!" The elder woman shouted. "It has nothing to teach you apart from how to win a crown that is not destined for you! You will never read it again. It's of no use to you."
At once, she neared the girl, grasped her chin and raised it, in order to create eye contact with her.
"Tell me, where did you hide it?"
A machiavellian smirk quavered on the little brunette's lips. Oh, she knew her well. Every time when she detected some text or piece of work interdicted, she hid them as soon as she had read them. Never had Mrs. Brita succeeded in finding any of those books, since she had hidden them.
That time would be no exception.
"What if I don't tell you where I've hidden it? What will you do to me then?" Ina provoked her.
"You do not want to know," Mrs. Brita replied, seemingly undaunted.
Then, she let go of her chin, granting her a look of reprobation.
Ina didn't quail an inch.
"Return the book until sundown, otherwise prepare for the consequences."
"I am anxious to find out."
Mrs. Brita, upon the sound of her defiant voice, shook her head and left the room sloughily.
Ina was left alone, yet left after a while as well, made for the cuisine. That was where she found shelter and refuge when she needed to escape, evade.
She saw Grasen, one of Mrs. Brita's younger sisters, sitting on her bench, peeling and chopping off vegetables for lunch. She was always so calm, serene, tranquil, never having raised her voice tone, ever eager to listen and advice. She had stood by her throughout her life as the closest thing to a mother. Like the genuine mother she never had had.
Ina was told that her parents were executed and those people -who were well acquainted with them- had committed themselves on her upbringing. That was exactly what Mrs. Brita had said to her.
Even though she mostly thought otherwise, Ina knew deep inside that she adored that woman. That old lady had taught her calligraphy, elocution, graceful walking, wise thinking, and studiousness. She owed her a great lot indeed.
That was exactly what Grasen said to her, while discussing in the kitchen.
"Mrs. Brita loves you too much. Do not mind her. Let her quieten and the matter shall soon be forgotten."
Ina just nodded condescendingly and left the kitchen, after grabbing a piece of carrot predestined for cooking, to return to her bedroom.
Cora was doing some chores on the garden and she definitely didn't work to disturb her. Veren, has gone fishing on the seaside since daybreak. Mrs. Brita has disappeared.
It was still very early for lunch, hence the girl closed the wooden door behind her and sat tight upon her desk, utterly ignoring the chair in front of her.
She opened her esoteric cache, a locker she herself had whittled on the hollow part of her wardrobe, disclosing a pile of books in front of another and another and so forth.
On the first one, right in front of her, was the last Forbidden Book she had sequestrated. All she hid were strictly prohibited, Mrs. Brita wouldn't let her read any of those, so she impounded them.
She stared at her last addition, which was the causation for another wrangle with the King's wet nurse. Shakespeare's name was written in gold above the title.
"THE TRAGEDY OF KING RICHARD THE THIRD"
She couldn't understand why Mrs. Brita disallowed her so strongly to read such marvellous works. This particular one has enthralled her, as she studied the original version, writing down her own translation to the languages she was taught. Rendition had grown to be her favourite avocation and she felt honoured to translate such momentous texts -which hadn't even been written yet.
She didn't hesitate to open the book on the page she knew by heart for the umpteenth time and read her favourite verses.
'I do the wrong, and first begin to brawl. The secret mischiefs that I set abroach I lay unto the grievous charge of others. Then, I sigh; and, with a piece of Scripture, tell them that God bids us do good for evil. And thus, I clothe my naked villainy, with odd old ends stolen forth of the Holy Writ; and seem a saint when most I play the devil.'
As she read, her morning discussion with Mrs. Brita resurfaced on her mind.
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"You are completely witless, are you not? It is unbelievable; I have explained you the theoretical rules fifteen times already, and you still cannot practice them on a simple exercise."
In truth, Ina was incredibly bored of that morning's lesson. They were studying Latin and Lady Brita was explaining an odd syntax to her. If she ordered her to sleep, she would happily do so in an instant. No matter her ennui though, her jocular mien wasn't absent, and eventually laced her her answer.
"Blessed are the poor in mind, Lady Brita."
"How can you say you shall be blessed, since you are so simpleton?" The old wet nurse derided her.
"I do," Ina replied flatly.
Lady Brita sighed, murmured something abstruse, and turned back to the painted black board with pitch.
That was the moment when the young girl decided to recite -or rather halloo- her beloved lines.
'And thus, I clothe my naked villainy, with odd old ends stolen forth of the Holy Writ; and seem a saint when most I play the devil.''
Abruptly, Lady Brita turned and stared at her dumbfounded, as if ten thunderbolts had befallen on her head.
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