Ophelia
Ophelia gives a small smile out of the corner of their mouth as Mabel joins them on the floor. There is no stiffness in their joints to be felt, nor the coolness of the floor. Only the joy of companionship. Two years sounds less like an eternity now that their life is effectively endless. Only weeks ago, two years had seemed like a mountain before them, incapable of being summited. Waiting in vain for their father's life to end and free them from their chains.
Those thoughts - and whatever ones furrow and coil amidst the girl's brow - are shattered and discarded in the wake of the sound of the page ripping beneath their hand. All measures of human weakness erased and eradicated, leaving a hand that does not tremor with feebleness as the desecration takes place. Mabel's gasp is met with a serene smile that does nothing to hide the foxlike glitter of vindictive glee in Ophelia's pale blue gaze. A gleam that only brightens as Mabel mimics their actions, the sound of rending pages filling the air once more.
"About the importance of invention, and the inherent weakness of human vessels," they reply easily, as if this is a thought they have fostered for many years. "We crafted and honed medical talents to lengthen natural expectancy, and yet frown upon the totality of escape The Voice offers. Humans are fickle, confusing things." Spoken as if they had not been human themself mere weeks ago. Then again, Ophelia had never been quite right from the moment they'd been born. "I would pen the histories of human suffering, endured and accepted, and contrast it to the near-eternity of painless existence we've been awarded." Calmly they strip another page out of the book, this time shredding it with their nails before letting it drift to the floor. The savagery is tempered by their genuinely curious glance towards Mabel. "What would you write?"
Those thoughts - and whatever ones furrow and coil amidst the girl's brow - are shattered and discarded in the wake of the sound of the page ripping beneath their hand. All measures of human weakness erased and eradicated, leaving a hand that does not tremor with feebleness as the desecration takes place. Mabel's gasp is met with a serene smile that does nothing to hide the foxlike glitter of vindictive glee in Ophelia's pale blue gaze. A gleam that only brightens as Mabel mimics their actions, the sound of rending pages filling the air once more.
"About the importance of invention, and the inherent weakness of human vessels," they reply easily, as if this is a thought they have fostered for many years. "We crafted and honed medical talents to lengthen natural expectancy, and yet frown upon the totality of escape The Voice offers. Humans are fickle, confusing things." Spoken as if they had not been human themself mere weeks ago. Then again, Ophelia had never been quite right from the moment they'd been born. "I would pen the histories of human suffering, endured and accepted, and contrast it to the near-eternity of painless existence we've been awarded." Calmly they strip another page out of the book, this time shredding it with their nails before letting it drift to the floor. The savagery is tempered by their genuinely curious glance towards Mabel. "What would you write?"
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?
