Ophelia
His voice is chorus and melody to their own, soft and unassuming. Kindred spirits finding each other in the lonely hours of twilight. “Aamu,” they repeat wondrously, committing each curve and shape of syllable and intonation to memory as if it is scripture. “I am honored to meet you.” The first of their new brethren, and the golden string that forms between them is all the more beautiful and inimitable for it.
Remarkable. It seems so small a word, but even Aamu seems incapable of defining her. It’s far from a dissuasion - aren’t all the greatest things incapable of being bound to paltry things like words? Expanding beyond the boundaries of human expression. What Aamu is capable of transcribing for their ears is assurance enough of that which they have already held private and precious in their chest. A guarded chest that opens as if never locked the moment his gentle inquiry stirs her flaxen hair. There are no secrets Ophelia intends to keep from their new family. Their life of hiding and silence is over even while their heart still beats.
“Humanity is a beautifully flawed concept,” their serene voice starts instead, more a spinner of tales than a conversationalist. “We are capable of such emotional extremes. We are unique down to our bones, capable of incredible adaptability and perseverance. Famine, drought, injury, heartbreak, evolution...there is little we cannot overcome.” Their fingers idly drift to the wiry mane of their mount, beginning to braid as their crooning tones cocoon around the two wandering souls. “And yet...we are also capable of great feats of cruelty. And our lives are so short, our suffering so great. We may break in ways no creature should recover from, and yet live onward in our anguish. Cruelty is a human invention, one of many vices no other animal is capable of. And we were made that way intentionally by the Gods who bid us to worship them.”
Turning slightly so they can twist their head to gaze at the corner of Aamu’s face, Ophelia lays a hand overtop the cold, smooth skin of his own. “They were trapped here with us for hundreds of years. Us and them alone in our prison, no distractions, no alternate plans. And they let us suffer as we crawled pitifully on our knees for their love, their gifts and powers that could have saved us. We suffered the weight of their scorn for being born in the faded image of an enemy they only continued to foster with their distrust. Yet our souls were claimed all the same, proprietary in death and heedless of the abandonment we faced in life. As the crops withered, the animals ceased to birth, the families grew desperate in their prayers...we were never spared. Never saved.” Their eyes go distant for all Aamu cannot see it, a tide of memories overtaking them in distant, lulling waves. “The Voice...she saw that the Old Gods has created us with inherent flaws meant to make us malleable. She found a way to live free, independent. To never hurt again, never feel the pang of starvation or the furious hand of a desperate father. She offered us all a key to our shackles, but never forced it into our hands.” Ophelia finishes the braid in their fingertips, and tilts their head to the moonlit Sky. Smiles and closes their eyes as if they can feel the light caressing their skin. “I have seen the worst of the world she seeks to fix. Experienced all that she has promised an escape from, that the Old Gods never could. I have heard of her love, her acceptance of our inherent uniqueness. How can I not be devoted to her?” Even with their long winded answer, their voice never goes hoarse, soft and measured the whole way through. An inherent gift perhaps considering their near muteness growing up on the farm.
Remarkable. It seems so small a word, but even Aamu seems incapable of defining her. It’s far from a dissuasion - aren’t all the greatest things incapable of being bound to paltry things like words? Expanding beyond the boundaries of human expression. What Aamu is capable of transcribing for their ears is assurance enough of that which they have already held private and precious in their chest. A guarded chest that opens as if never locked the moment his gentle inquiry stirs her flaxen hair. There are no secrets Ophelia intends to keep from their new family. Their life of hiding and silence is over even while their heart still beats.
“Humanity is a beautifully flawed concept,” their serene voice starts instead, more a spinner of tales than a conversationalist. “We are capable of such emotional extremes. We are unique down to our bones, capable of incredible adaptability and perseverance. Famine, drought, injury, heartbreak, evolution...there is little we cannot overcome.” Their fingers idly drift to the wiry mane of their mount, beginning to braid as their crooning tones cocoon around the two wandering souls. “And yet...we are also capable of great feats of cruelty. And our lives are so short, our suffering so great. We may break in ways no creature should recover from, and yet live onward in our anguish. Cruelty is a human invention, one of many vices no other animal is capable of. And we were made that way intentionally by the Gods who bid us to worship them.”
Turning slightly so they can twist their head to gaze at the corner of Aamu’s face, Ophelia lays a hand overtop the cold, smooth skin of his own. “They were trapped here with us for hundreds of years. Us and them alone in our prison, no distractions, no alternate plans. And they let us suffer as we crawled pitifully on our knees for their love, their gifts and powers that could have saved us. We suffered the weight of their scorn for being born in the faded image of an enemy they only continued to foster with their distrust. Yet our souls were claimed all the same, proprietary in death and heedless of the abandonment we faced in life. As the crops withered, the animals ceased to birth, the families grew desperate in their prayers...we were never spared. Never saved.” Their eyes go distant for all Aamu cannot see it, a tide of memories overtaking them in distant, lulling waves. “The Voice...she saw that the Old Gods has created us with inherent flaws meant to make us malleable. She found a way to live free, independent. To never hurt again, never feel the pang of starvation or the furious hand of a desperate father. She offered us all a key to our shackles, but never forced it into our hands.” Ophelia finishes the braid in their fingertips, and tilts their head to the moonlit Sky. Smiles and closes their eyes as if they can feel the light caressing their skin. “I have seen the worst of the world she seeks to fix. Experienced all that she has promised an escape from, that the Old Gods never could. I have heard of her love, her acceptance of our inherent uniqueness. How can I not be devoted to her?” Even with their long winded answer, their voice never goes hoarse, soft and measured the whole way through. An inherent gift perhaps considering their near muteness growing up on the farm.
With your naive heart you praise God above
But how's it working for you honey? Do you feel loved?
But how's it working for you honey? Do you feel loved?
