Ophelia
Their face crumpled slightly, the equivalent of anguish for someone like Ophelia. Were they wrong all over again? It is a stinging strike, and they sway on their feet, emotion and hunger alike turning the earth to a roiling wave beneath them. Leaning against the wall beside them, Ophelia breathes through their nose and blinks away sparks behind her eyes and wetness from icy lashes.
“But how will I prove I am worthy of her? I have nothing.” Not even a fit body for her to work with. “Maybe I should not,” they whisper, soft voice descending deeper into scarcely heard depths, musing aloud more than engaging. “Or wait, until...” Until what? Ophelia has no trades to offer, no skill sets outside of the farm. They are eerie, abrasive, and not the type to inspire a sense of compassion in others the moment they open their mouth. They will be dead by summer. And is that not proof they are unworthy of receiving anything from their chosen patron?
“But how will I prove I am worthy of her? I have nothing.” Not even a fit body for her to work with. “Maybe I should not,” they whisper, soft voice descending deeper into scarcely heard depths, musing aloud more than engaging. “Or wait, until...” Until what? Ophelia has no trades to offer, no skill sets outside of the farm. They are eerie, abrasive, and not the type to inspire a sense of compassion in others the moment they open their mouth. They will be dead by summer. And is that not proof they are unworthy of receiving anything from their chosen patron?
it's peaceful in the deep, either way you cannot breathe
no need to pray - no need to speak
no need to pray - no need to speak
