Ophelia
Ophelia has no real reason to be in the fields tonight, and it is glorious to be purposeless. They wander as they desire, attuned to the new hours their wakefulness occupies. Cavorting about the Grounds, exploring nooks and crannies unknown to them despite being born and raised upon her barren soil.
That is how they find Wessex, the noise of burlap ripping and wood creaking against heavy, muted blows an impossible thing to miss in the otherwise natural silence of evening. There is no hesitation as the maiden approaches, drifting in like a fog as they smile brightly. “Sister,” they call, a long-fingered hand rising in greeting as they near. Pale eyes flick to the battered dummy, face tilting in bird like curiosity. “Are you training or have you had a bad day?” Young, owlish face open and sincere, ready to be a listening ear.
That is how they find Wessex, the noise of burlap ripping and wood creaking against heavy, muted blows an impossible thing to miss in the otherwise natural silence of evening. There is no hesitation as the maiden approaches, drifting in like a fog as they smile brightly. “Sister,” they call, a long-fingered hand rising in greeting as they near. Pale eyes flick to the battered dummy, face tilting in bird like curiosity. “Are you training or have you had a bad day?” Young, owlish face open and sincere, ready to be a listening ear.
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?
