Ophelia
we're just two ghosts
swimming in a glass half empty
swimming in a glass half empty
It's somehow endearing to fight alongside this strange woman while holding a conversation like erstwhile sisters. Delight and recognition light up their white-blue eyes, fang-filled smile emerging in perfect counter to Maea's. "Valair! The cider suppliers!" They had lived in the same area, for all that mattered when there was so much acreage between neighbors. Old names like theirs have died and dwindled, or otherwise disappeared as droves moved out of the Grounds in the wake of the barrier's collapse. Ophelia hadn't been freed from their family's strangling hold until years after that, and by then the few people she'd ever met on rare days delivering goods when their siblings were ill had vanished. Spinning on their feet, they flick away a few spiders with their ivory prehensile tail and take a page from Maea's book to crush a few beneath the soles of their boots.
"Ophelia Athanasia - we farmed cattle and we were weavers." Their land had been filled with poplar and birch, reeds and tough ferns. Perfect for cattle and baskets, but inhospitable to any other kind of animal. They'd made it work - Ophelia had been urged to stay inside all the more, because that's where the work was done; the eternal creation of baskets, purses, parasols, anything. If anyone remembered or even knew of the youngest Athanasia child, it was only through the items they made.
Crows in the Grounds have always been wily, but something like panic grips Ophelia's usually unflappable heart when Maea cries out in dismay. Without a second thought, the running ribbon of fire Ophelia had been controlling sharply rises into the air, chasing after the crow until its feathers alight and combust all at once. It hits the ground already dead, and Ophelia runs toward it - slicing a wide arc with her scythe to clear the area to give them the time to bend over and retrieve it. They bring the bird with them, holding both out to Maea with an expression like an eager dog awaiting praise, hopeful despite having been kicked each time in the past. "Here you go. You can have the crow if you want!" Their bloodlust will catch up to them eventually, but for now they are fine, and maybe the gift of food will win them Maea's affection.
"Ophelia Athanasia - we farmed cattle and we were weavers." Their land had been filled with poplar and birch, reeds and tough ferns. Perfect for cattle and baskets, but inhospitable to any other kind of animal. They'd made it work - Ophelia had been urged to stay inside all the more, because that's where the work was done; the eternal creation of baskets, purses, parasols, anything. If anyone remembered or even knew of the youngest Athanasia child, it was only through the items they made.
Crows in the Grounds have always been wily, but something like panic grips Ophelia's usually unflappable heart when Maea cries out in dismay. Without a second thought, the running ribbon of fire Ophelia had been controlling sharply rises into the air, chasing after the crow until its feathers alight and combust all at once. It hits the ground already dead, and Ophelia runs toward it - slicing a wide arc with her scythe to clear the area to give them the time to bend over and retrieve it. They bring the bird with them, holding both out to Maea with an expression like an eager dog awaiting praise, hopeful despite having been kicked each time in the past. "Here you go. You can have the crow if you want!" Their bloodlust will catch up to them eventually, but for now they are fine, and maybe the gift of food will win them Maea's affection.
trying vainly to forget
the pain that came with heartbeats
the pain that came with heartbeats
