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12-12-2014, 07:03 PM
 Leaden weights sunk into her cloven toes, rooting her unwillingly to the ground when a figure from memories and dreams appeared in her sights. So many thoughts raced through her head, words unspoken, lost before she could grasp any sentence to say. Nothing could define how she felt, confused, abandoned, lost, betrayed but glad, at least, that he was alive. There were so many questions unanswered. Had he been taken prisoner by Midas? Why? Had he disappeared into the sea as Gaucho had claimed? With another? Why did Glacia, Sialia's child, bear such a marked resemblance to Mauja? What about he and Psyche? Ophelia had spoken with her aunt, known they ruled together. She should have asked Midas more probing questions on her visit, but what reason did she have to know? Other than her own curiosity, she had no other purpose to ask such minute details. Now, that knowledge would have been useful. Still, all of that faded, the urgency disappearing with time. After time, those questions seemed to matter less and less, but his revival sparked a sense of anger, and she narrowed her gaze, heart hardened. Soleil was dead. Her mother had died, and no tears had been shed. Phaedra was dead. Ailith was dead. She was the leader of the Basin now, promoted by the God of Time, and so much had changed. Torleik had arrived in a pushy, masculine way into her life, fitting comfortably by helping honor her mother in death, giving her a home. Mauja, though perfectly clear in her memories, had faded from her present, presence lost even in whispered secrets. Until now, and he stood, handsome cheekbones glistening in the daylight with tears - tears he shed and she could not. The pale princess drew a tense breath, delicately shaped ears flattened against her shapely neck when he asked to dance. After over a year he asked to dance? As if nothing happened? As if he had not disappeared and she had not had to survive on her own? Ophelia lifted her neck high on her shoulders, struggle hidden only inside. The sound of his hooves on the sand was a soft thud, and Tinek, circled overhead, spying the grouchy Irma and now another owl, a darker brown one. The dragon, older and wiser, cast a sideways glance at the snowy bird but gave her little else in terms of greeting. Ophelia's mood was faltering, her confidence wavering like a small ship in a big storm, and he flew on sky waves, stalwart. Urges to run gripped her long legs, wanting to carry her far away from this conflict. Instead, her strange, dual gaze turned, the beauty and emotion in her curious, seeking eyes dulled. Ophelia lunged forward, cloven toes gripping the sand tightly beneath her body and propelling her forward. She was here to battle, was she not? So be it if her opponent was a memory, a shared dream... anger. Too long had she waited for him to return. Too long had she been left with questions lingering, doubts. Roughly, she thundered toward Mauja, horn pointed lethally toward his chest - a heart for a heart. Any sense of control and power she had garnered from her previous win was shattered, falling in shaking pieces around her frayed nerves. She barely knew if she controlled her legs or something else, because she was moving as if possessed. Motion was jerky, halting, so unlike the casual grace she normally exuded with such ease. Ophelia was shaken, trying so hard to appear strong. Fate had given her tools in infant hands, didn't tell her how to hold them, and she watched as bloody, broken fingers desperately gripped at the crude pieces, fumbling to put them back together. [[[(1/3) || (630 words) || Summary: Ophelia lunged at Mauja, horn aimed at his heart ]]] |
 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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