Dear Reader;

Buckle up, darlings, for a tale of love, deception, and madness that’s as twisted and thrilling as a ride through Coney Island’s most notorious rollercoaster. The tea I’m aobut to spill involves none other than Denmark’s most eligible bachelor, Hamlet, and his turbulent affair with the fair Ophelia, a saga that has set the halls of Elsinore Castle ablaze with scandalous whispers. Is there trouble in paradise?

In a plot twist that could only be concocted deep within the depths of a royal court, Hamlet, our brooding babe with the chiseled jawline and the tortured soul, has embarked on a performance worthy of an Academy Award. Pretending to be touched by madness, he weaves a web of deception so intricate that it’s as if he’s the master puppeteer of a grand, shadowy theater.

The reason for this charade, my dears, is as dark and stormy as Hamlet’s own disposition. Apparently, the ghost of his deceased father has whispered secrets from beyond the grave, making an accusation that chills the blood. You see, he reveals to his son that Claudius, Hamlet’s uncle, is sitting pretty on the throne, like he’s at a spa day, having snagged Hamlet’s mother as his new trophy wife, after offing his own brother. Naturally, the prince is beside himself.

But what’s a prince without his princess? Enter Ophelia, the embodiment of grace and innocence, whose heart beats only for our troubled protagonist. Ophelia, daughter of the new king’s right hand man, finds herself caught in the eye of the storm, an unwitting pawn in Hamlet’s high-stakes game. One moment, she’s the apple of his eye, showered with sonnets and declarations of love that would make even the most stoic of debutantes swoon. The next, she’s thrust into a sea of cold shoulders and cryptic rebukes, her beloved prince’s affections as fickle as her hair on a humid day- one minute it’s perfect and then BAM, it’s a frizzy mess.

The gossip mills are working overtime, darlings, churning out theories and conjectures about the prince’s bizarre antics. Is his lunacy genuine, a tragic descent into the abyss following his father’s death? Or is it a smokescreen to obscure Hamlet’s knowledge of how his uncle truly came into power, and protect his desire for revenge from the prying eyes of the court? But most importantly, if Lady O is really his ride or die, why can he not trust her with the truth?

Word on the street has it, behind closed doors, both her father, Polonius, and her brother, Laertes, are urging Ophelia to break it off with Prince Charming. It’s their intention to team up with Claudius, close ranks, and ice Hamlet out of the monarchy all together. Who’s side is she on, they ask.

As the facade deepens, so too does the intrigue. The hysteria of Hamlet, a double-edged sword that cuts right through the fabric of their love. The plans of Polonius, a knife to the heart that pins her back against the wall. And Ophelia, lost in the maze of deception, finds herself adrift, her once-steady world turned upside down by the men she loves. The melodrama of a would-be princess with its ups and downs and all-around messiness, is the ultimate playbook of love and lies.

While we revel in the gossip, Hamlet directs the show. The real question is, are we watching a RomCon or a Horror Film? Stay tuned. Bye Bye Now.

Day 3

Wednesday: March 12, 1603

Dear Reader;

Hushed voices and the sound of clutched pearls echo through the golden halls of high society this week, as news of a shocking incident at Elsinore Castle sent ripples of disbelief among the elite. In a twist that could rival the most dramatic of Upper East Side dramas, our brooding prince, Hamlet, has committed an act so daring that it has the entire kingdom whispering behind gilded fans.

Polonius, the king’s trusted advisor and the esteemed father of our dear, troubled Ophelia, has met a most untimely and dramatic demise. The scene of the crime? None other than the queen’s very own bed chamber, a place where secrets are as plentiful as the jewels in her tiara.

Picture this: the queen, in a state of distress over her son’s erratic behavior, and the prince, utterly distraught over her hasty marriage to his uncle, locked in a heated exchange. The fever pitch of their clash interrupted by a subtle gasp from the corner of the room.

Cue Polonius, ever the watchful guardian, hidden behind the heavy drapery, eavesdropping on this most private of conversations. In a moment fraught with tension, his presence betrayed by a mere whisper of sound, Hamlet, in a fit of rage and mistaking the advisor for his usurping uncle, thrusts his weapon through the curtain, sealing the fate of Polonius for good.

The fallout, my dears, has been nothing short of spectacular. The castle is in an uproar, the gossip mills churning at full speed. Questions abound – was it truly an accident, or is there more to Hamlet’s derangement than meets the eye? And what of Ophelia, sweet, innocent Ophelia, now robbed of her father by the very hand of her beloved?

For Lady O, the blow is both personal and profound, her grief for her father’s untimely demise compounded by the bewildering actions of her once-cherished Hamlet. This disaster has left her floating in a no-man’s land, caught up in this crazy tornado of sadness and losing her sanity. Kind of like a tragic prom queen that everyone feels sorry for, but also can’t stop gossiping about.

In the end, darlings, this incident serves as a stark reminder of the thin veil that separates the public façade from the private turmoil that bubbles beneath. As we sip our smoothies and muse over the latest rumors, let us not forget the unfortunate tale of Polonius, a cautionary story of ambition, eavesdropping, and the unforeseen consequences that can arise from the best-laid plans of mice and men.

What will become of this hot mess of haughty pomp and circumstance? Only time will tell. Stay tuned. Bye Bye Now.

Day 11

Thursday: March 20, 1603

Dear Reader;

Tea is spilling all through out the corridors of the castle today, and what I’m about to divulge might just overshadow every gala scandal we’ve relished this season. It’s a story of heartbreak, despair, and a descent into madness that culminates in the devastating death of our beloved Ophelia.

Reeling from the loss of her father, Ophelia, whose beauty and grace were the envy of many, found herself ensnared in a web of sorrow from which she could not escape. Her once bright eyes, brimming with the promise of youth, grew dim, her spirits shattered by the cruel hand of fate.

So, as the days wore on, everyone started whispering about how Ophelia was basically losing her marbles, and each story was more pitiful than the one before. Then, on an afternoon as somber as her spirits, tragedy struck. Envision if you will, Ophelia, in total meltdown mode, decides to go all DIY and make a floral tribute in a tree near her father’s grave. But, in true Ophelia fashion, the very branch she entrusts with her sorrow betrays her, sending our ill-fated maiden cascading into the embrace of the lake below.

For a fleeting moment, suspended in time, her garments billow around her, transforming her into a vision of ethereal beauty, a tragic water nymph ensnared in a dance with near death. But then- reality check, her gown starts guzzling liquid like it’s happy hour, getting all clingy and draggy. And what does our girl do? Absolutely nothing.

She surrenders to the melancholy, spaced out and singing some gloomy tune like she’s the lead in a sad music video, completely ignoring the fact that she’s sinking.  Ophelia, it seems, becomes a willing participant in her own demise and descends into the watery abyss, not with the resilience of a majestic mermaid, but with the resignation of a debutante who’s just realized she’s been wearing last season’s shoes to the biggest party of the year.

The news of Ophelia’s final exit spread like wildfire, igniting a blaze of speculation and mourning amongst the crème de la crème of the upper class. Was it an accident, they whispered, or had the weight of her grief proved too much to bear? The mystery of her death became a topic of fervent discussion, her story immortalized in the minds of Denmark’s high society, and talked about like the juiciest piece of gossip at a table of Plastics during lunch.

In the wake of her passing, Elsinore was cloaked in black, the glittering lights of nobility dimmed by the loss of one so young, so beautiful. Ophelia’s memory, like a delicate flower pressed between the pages of a book, remains a poignant reminder of the fragility of the human heart and the volatile nature of life.

Her funeral, scheduled for tomorrow, will be attended by an assembly of the elite and celebrated—a congregation where names sparkle with the luster of notoriety and fortune. One might envision a ceremony of elegance, a solemn tribute shrouded in dignity. Yet, to presume the day shall pass without incident is a flight of fancy not entertained by the informed observer. And as we wait with baited breathe, the only thing to do now is… stay tuned. Bye Bye Now.

Day 13

Saturday: March 22, 1603

Dear Reader;

In an episode that’s sure to be the talk of the town for generations, the final farewell to the tragically departed Ophelia took a turn for the scandalous, eclipsing even the most outrageous of our Upper East Side soirées.

Imagine, if you will, the scene: a somber gathering under the weeping willows, the air heavy with anguish and the scent of fresh earth. The whole thing was low-key, which is totally not what you’d expect for someone from the royal squad, all because people can’t decide if she accidentally fell in or was like, “I’m out.”

Still, the aristocrats of Denmark, draped in their finest blacks, came to pay their respects to the ill-fated Ophelia, whose life, as delicate and fleeting as a spring blossom, had come to an appalling end. The atmosphere was laden with the sort of raw display of emotion that tugs at the heartstrings, prompting even the most stoic among them to dab discreetly at their eyes.

But as the final words were spoken and the first clods of dirt were cast upon her coffin, an unexpected guest made his appearance. Hamlet, the prince of indecision, the subject of a thousand whispers, arrived, wild-eyed and disheveled, as if he’d just stepped out of a wind tunnel he’d mistaken for a soul-searching retreat. The air was electric with anticipation, and, darling, it did not disappoint.

Laertes, overcome with a mix of melancholy and rage, leapt into the grave. And Hamlet, never one to back down from a confrontation, answered in kind. Before the assembled could even gasp, the prince launched into a tirade of grief and guilt, proclaiming his love for Ophelia with the fervor of a man possessed. Everyone looking at him like, can you not? But, dear readers, as if this display weren’t scandalous enough, Laertes, Ophelia’s hot-headed brother, already knee-deep in sorrow and grave soil, took offense at Hamlet’s declarations.

What followed was nothing short of a brawl that would have made the rowdiest of mean girl cat fights look like a tea party. There, amidst the stateliness of Ophelia’s final resting place, Hamlet and Laertes grappled, trading blows and accusations with the reckless abandon of schoolboys, rather than the dignified charm of noblemen.

The onlookers were awe struck, darlings. In the aftermath of the melee, as the dust settled and the combatants were parted, the courtliness of the occasion lay in ruins, much like the peace of the grave that had been so rudely shattered. The funeral of Ophelia, a tragic figure whose life was marked by sorrow and heartache, was transformed into a spectacle that none in attendance would soon forget. It was a scene that has had every society columnists scrambling for their pens, a juicy scandal served up on a silver platter.

Elsinore, has set tongues wagging, with speculation rife about the true nature of Hamlet’s madness, the depth of his and Laertes’ grievances, and the implications for the already out of control power dynamics within the court.

One things for sure, when it comes to these two brutes, the first round may be over, my dear reader, but I fear this fight is far from over. The only prediction we can make with certainty is… cooler heads will not prevail. Stay tuned. Bye Bye Now.

Day 15

Monday: March 24, 1603

Dear Reader;

Ophelia, our tragic nymph, has departed from this earthly stage, leaving in her wake a storm of vengeance that swells in the hearts of the men she’s left behind. It’s a thirst, my dears, that clamors for the bitter taste of retribution, a craving that Claudius, our duplicitous monarch, manipulates with the deftness of a seasoned puppeteer. He proposes a fencing match, a gentleman’s duel between Hamlet and Laertes, cloaked in the veneer of civility—may the best man emerge triumphant.

But, darlings, our king plays a game as crooked as a snake’s back, drenching Laertes’ blade with a venom so potent, a mere scratch promises a swift journey to the great beyond. And as if that weren’t enough skulduggery for one occasion, he conjures a backup with a chalice brimming with the kiss of death, to toast Hamlet’s ‘victory’ should he escape the event unscathed. Thus, ensuring the of our prince, come hell or high water.

Yet, as with all plans laid in the shadows, this one unravels at the seams, beginning with the duel that sees Laertes land a venomous blow on his opponent, only for fortune’s fickle hand to turn, leaving the men with switched blades and Hamlet delivering the coup de grâce. Amidst this chaos, Queen Gertrude, in an attempt to quench the flames of drama, partakes from the cursed goblet, unknowingly sealing her fate alongside the men.

As the poison claims its victims, Laertes, in a moment of clarity, confesses the nefarious plot to Hamlet, a revelation that ignites a fury within our prince, propelling him towards his uncle. With the strength of righteous indignation, Hamlet confronts Claudius, forcing the king to take a taste of his own medicine, both from the blade and the chalice.

With that, the curtain falls on this sordid saga, the stage littered with the bodies of our main players. It’s a tale that will be whispered from the lips of those who seek to untangle the complex tapestry of human folly and ambition. In the end, the boys got to play their game of thrones and reap their precious revenge. But never forget, dear readers, the only one who chose not participate in all the high school antics… was Ophelia. Bye Bye Now.

Curtain Call: The Conclusion of a Catastrophe

Well, that’ all the tea Shakespeare served up on Lady O. They say all press is good press, but is it? Let’s all take a lesson from this total chaos of bad luck and move forward with hearts full of love, minds wide open, and an absolutely perfect plan for steering clear of those no-good, very bad relationships—because, honestly, winding up like Ophelia? That’s like, totally the opposite of fabulous.