Ophelia
we're just two ghosts
swimming in a glass half empty
swimming in a glass half empty
The shrine itself is not unfamiliar to them. Aamu had brought them here, until they’d realized they had nothing to give and had set out to find an adequate offering. Only to be told anew by Sam that their presence alone would be enough. Ophelia still harbors doubts about that - they are not plagued by low self-esteem in the normal sense, but they do not find themself to be a worthy offering to a deity as pure as The Voice. They are sharp bones and thin skin, malnourished and petite. Certainly not the best clay to work with.
But after two Ascended insisting they would be accepted, Ophelia could no longer deny their own intense desires to see The Voice. To try.
Privacy is not a concern for Ophelia, though they appreciate the consideration shown. Nodding, feeling a little tongue tied and awed by what is about to transpire (they hope - there is still a fear that The Voice will not show for them), they kneel before the shrine and bow their head. It feels wrong to not hold ceremony as their parents had for their Old Gods. No candles, no collective prayer - though Ophelia had refused to participate in that particular tradition, consequences be damned. Still, it doesn’t mean they are without their best attribute; their words.
“I have prayed to you for many years,” they start, voice deceivingly soft-spoken despite the precise pronunciation and intensity of tone. “I waited, unable to come to you, until the last of my family died.” Here, they clutch the bloodstained bottom of their dress, and rip the hem with a sharp pull, the destruction of fabric loud in the underground. It flutters down to the ground with a careless flick of their fingers, the last remnant of a father they will not mourn. “I have seen and experienced firsthand what faith in the Old Gods receives; I have suffered enough at their arrogant hands.” It is obvious enough in their sallow face, the jut of bone beneath porcelain skin. Ignored by the gods their family desperately prayed to; even the death of their Abandoned sibling had not warranted visits or boons. “From my cage I have watched as you created life that would not suffer starvation or pain. Offered a family beyond those that our blood ties us to. And I have wanted.” Strange large eyes with their ghostlike pale blueness turn upward to the shrine, conviction written plain on their face. “I have waited patiently for this day. There is no doubt in my heart that you will find. Though I have nothing to offer you but myself, you have already had my devotion. I hope it will be enough.” That they have not made a mistake by coming empty handed and wanting.
But after two Ascended insisting they would be accepted, Ophelia could no longer deny their own intense desires to see The Voice. To try.
Privacy is not a concern for Ophelia, though they appreciate the consideration shown. Nodding, feeling a little tongue tied and awed by what is about to transpire (they hope - there is still a fear that The Voice will not show for them), they kneel before the shrine and bow their head. It feels wrong to not hold ceremony as their parents had for their Old Gods. No candles, no collective prayer - though Ophelia had refused to participate in that particular tradition, consequences be damned. Still, it doesn’t mean they are without their best attribute; their words.
“I have prayed to you for many years,” they start, voice deceivingly soft-spoken despite the precise pronunciation and intensity of tone. “I waited, unable to come to you, until the last of my family died.” Here, they clutch the bloodstained bottom of their dress, and rip the hem with a sharp pull, the destruction of fabric loud in the underground. It flutters down to the ground with a careless flick of their fingers, the last remnant of a father they will not mourn. “I have seen and experienced firsthand what faith in the Old Gods receives; I have suffered enough at their arrogant hands.” It is obvious enough in their sallow face, the jut of bone beneath porcelain skin. Ignored by the gods their family desperately prayed to; even the death of their Abandoned sibling had not warranted visits or boons. “From my cage I have watched as you created life that would not suffer starvation or pain. Offered a family beyond those that our blood ties us to. And I have wanted.” Strange large eyes with their ghostlike pale blueness turn upward to the shrine, conviction written plain on their face. “I have waited patiently for this day. There is no doubt in my heart that you will find. Though I have nothing to offer you but myself, you have already had my devotion. I hope it will be enough.” That they have not made a mistake by coming empty handed and wanting.
trying vainly to forget
the pain that came with heartbeats
the pain that came with heartbeats
