Shame. Unbelievable, undeniable shame for my actions. What I have done to one I have called friend?

Or perhaps it is shame felt for myself, none to spare for the fair Hero?

I should feel terror or, at the very most, disgrace, for that one night as we danced in the windows, flouncing in front of the proud Claudio. Our tread being lead by the proud Borachio, he so gracefully held my hands and glided across the window panes, whispering Hero's name with no mention of my own. But oh, diary, I still cannot help but dream of that wonderous night, with no thought of the consequences it has brought upon my name and sweet Hero's. I have let my body be used many a time, and Borachio was no exception. But he was different, Diary. Many a man would use me to rid themselves of want and thereafter run off into the dead of night, leaving me behind with no flame to light my way home. These men seemed to find me themselves, and in their blackend hearts, there held no love for the poor lady in waiting; rather, I was just an object waiting to be used. But Borachio? He sought me out. He did not leave me once the deed was done, rather, he whispered and played with my hair until he confessed in me that he must go, and thus I bid him a thousand times goodbye. I made myself scarce (after Hero's clothes had been tidied and folded into her closet after their leave from my naked body, of course) from the tower in which we met and ran, ran into the servant's quarters and slammed the door to my room. Blissfully unaware of what was to happen, of course. Oh, soon the past was to catch up to me. Claudio would deny his love for Hero at the altar, questioning her heretofore unquestionable virginity. Cold realization being poured upon me as I fled the wedding with the rest of the already chittering crowd, already hearing bits and pieces of their painful conversations.

"...tarnished, she be..."

"Could it be held true, her untruths brought to God's light? Of course, of course..."

"...an unfortunate stain on Leonato's reputation, mind you."

Oh God! I had no suspicions of my actions, I held none! Borachio has left a hole on my heart, as he started the tiny tear when he denied to say my name, could only look at me if I wore a noble woman's clothes, felt no need for the real me. The memory of her wedding crashes down upon my own special night, and guilt washes over me like the mighty tides. It is true that I have many times bestowed a glance upon Hero, a look of envy. She was born into her title, her wealth, everything except the sun being handed to her on a golden platter. And I? I was merely brought into this world to be her playmate, a friend by birth. Though our friendship was bought (my mother was payed a fair amount of ducats to raise a noblewoman's daughter), it grew into something more than a mere staged relationship, and she trusted me with everything, secrets and all. I am prepared, in her name, to sacrfice it all to save her.

Even my reputation...

AN: Just a little something I cooked up for English homework, in which I was required to write an entry in Margaret's diary.