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08-11-2014, 12:34 PM
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Ophelia the Forsaken
Ophelia listened patiently, hearing that she did not know a name. However, the description was enough. She was talking about Mauja. A tumultuous ocean of emotions churned in her soul, emotions she was not sure she was eager to work out right now. The image of her mother's half-decayed corpse still haunted behind her eyelids, and the emptiness of her soul consumed everything that threatened to break the surface. Did she even want to feel this? No. So, she shut down, locking up any hint of emotion that pushed against the walls. Her expression did not change. "You speak of Mauja," she said, the tone of her voice beautiful and frosty. Where had he been? Where had he been when she was attacked - for him? Where had he been when he had threatened Midas? Where had he been after he escaped into the sea? Ophelia had seen these things in Gaucho's mind. She knew they were true. Memories rarely ever lied - they were just tainted by personal bias and faulty biochemistry. He had left her at the Veins with barely a word, and she had not seen him for nearly a year since. The fact that he still felt something for her was touching, but what did it mean? With quicksand of crimes under his hooves, where did he stand? Ophelia knew that following now, seeing him like this, would not be right. In her state, she could never give him the benefit of the doubt. She would yell, scream, cry, break down and all of that just seemed like... well... too much work. All she wanted to do was silently slip beneath the surface and down. "I don't. I can't. Not now." Ophelia watched as she turned to leave, her hooves carrying her away. "But know that this was not a failure on your part," she offered, the small modicum of comfort the only light in this drama. "Time is the only true healer." A lifeless face that you'll soon forget
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 Undertow has come to take me. Guided by the blazing sun. Look at everything around us. Look at everything we've done. Please. Anyone. I don't think I can save myself. I'm drowning. |
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