Ophelia
Ophelia patiently waits out the youth’s wariness, unbothered by the tenacity and paranoia alike. Their parents had been far worse, and they’d had to live with them from birth. The question is forward and probing, a potential for needling that in others may inspire a rising of walls and reaction of defensiveness. Instead Ophelia smiles, revealing their own fangs to match the bared grimace of their unnamed companion. “Yes. Our Lady made me bright not long ago.” Though it explains the girl’s behavior now. Ophelia recalls their parents’ vitriol and stubborn, senseless faith in the Old Gods. They have to frequently remind themselves that others can feel that same way. That Ophelia may be at risk someday for their choice.
It’s a thought for another time. Patting the empty space again with a hopeful perk of pale eyebrows, they pull a book idly into their lap. “Perhaps we can rip out the bad pages together?” That might entice the girl, who seems more wolf than woman.
It’s a thought for another time. Patting the empty space again with a hopeful perk of pale eyebrows, they pull a book idly into their lap. “Perhaps we can rip out the bad pages together?” That might entice the girl, who seems more wolf than woman.
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?
