we are just two ghosts swimming in a glass half empty
Names are powerful, especially when Ophelia has only ventured beyond the borders of the Grounds once. Titled spread faster than names most times, so the ghost recites them in their own mind to commit them to memory. Enemies that are outlined on the sparse board in her mind, colorful string connecting relationships in a slowly budding web of connections. “It is always those who speak loudest who drown out the more plentiful voices,” they agree with a disgruntled little frown, skin wrinkling between their brows. But what can they do, singularly, against godlike beings such as them? Nothing. And so it is better to consider these other efforts and plans, to chase away the grief and the feeling of being useless with things that bring joy and expectation to the horizon of their days.
Their laugh is like the creak of branches, or a child’s giggle inside a decrepit building, but it’s sincere all the same. “Yes!” they agree gleefully. “I do not want us to stop living merely because others say we must. We deserve to be happy, even in times of war.” Even if only for a moment.
Their laugh is like the creak of branches, or a child’s giggle inside a decrepit building, but it’s sincere all the same. “Yes!” they agree gleefully. “I do not want us to stop living merely because others say we must. We deserve to be happy, even in times of war.” Even if only for a moment.
