Juana la Loca

Brigitte, Inés.
Brigitte, Inés! Come here!
The old folk say that
a lass pulls more than a rope.

But they forget one thing.
You have to adorn the lass.
Now, my princess,
take a little turn around.

Just a few steps.
If you don't close your legs,
the whole court will laugh.

Leave us.
Are all lovers like him, Aida?
No, my child, no.
Tonight I'll paint your nipples
and your lips with henna.

I want you to drive him mad.
October 1497.
Death has begun
to trace out its plans

by stealing the life ofJohn,
the firstborn of
the Catholic Monarchs.

Fate will still have to cut short
another four lives