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Death.
A plague exhaled its rotten breath on Helovia, leaving in its wake a slew of bodies too damaged and broken to live again. The rest walked through the fog with bated breath, trying not to breath in the poison that had been leaking into their lungs all along. The dark fever was unstoppable and so was the fever boiling tensions in relationships and corporeal beings alike. Blood and battles were all that made sense now, lost between the heartbreak and tragedy. Words, so easily spoken without thought, bashed through walls, creating irreparable damage on a single exhale. What was done cannot be undone. What was spoken cannot be unspoken.
Forgiveness was weakness, a chink in armor necessary for living.
Her armor was ice, bolstered and fortified with every clash of her horn against another living being, with every strain of her muscles and every bloody gash on her otherwise flawless form. As she stood, shaking from exertion, muscles quivering with the workload, sweating, she felt power. The pale princess walked with purpose, a gigantic 'fuck you' to anyone daring to cross her path. She was over being the snowflake, gorgeous, unique and at the mercy of any wind blowing her around.
Ophelia saw hell gathered in the distance, and she forced herself to approach, like two similar ends of a magnet being shoved into each other as they fought desperately to separate. There she stared into the dead eyes of her aunt, lingering words from a crying girl sinking in to confirm suspicions she had ignored for so long.
And she felt nothing.
What could she feel now? Ailith. Phaedra. Psyche. All strong, powerful forces in her life which so deeply etched grooves in the bas relief of her story. All of them gone. Snake skin of such a unique color shed over her body, and the a slow burn billowed smoke through her heart, clouding any ache with rage. The entire world disappeared in a single exhale, and she lifted her eyes, orbs birthed in hatred, to settle on the only object in a reasonable emotional distance. He stood over her corpse as if he cared, as if his tears would earn him respect, his pain would bring him absolution.
It wouldn't.
She knew. Ophelia quickly glanced at Deimos before her gaze snapped back. The girl had called him daddy. This was momma. This was her aunt. And Mauja had left them all too.
The smile that curved her lips only darkened her eyes, bitter enough to leave a foul taste in your mouth. She said nothing. There were no words with greater meaning than the weight of her expression. Ophelia glanced down again at her dead aunt, and she brazenly brushed her whiskered muzzle to the mare's cheek. "Rest with our kin, aunt," she whispered, taking a single step back and then turning to the girl.
Shards of the lost stone, still trapped in the pale and crimson loops of her hair glittered and shone in the night, making her a true fallen star. Ophelia frowned, her expression genuine. Children did not deserve to carry the sins of their parents, and she knew that weight all too well. Paladin, Riekahn and Soleil still haunted her steps, their associations and enemies becoming hers. The very blood in her veins held the ghosts of thousands dead from the murders of the Crimson King.
"I know your pain all too well," she whispered, the loss of Soleil still so fresh in her perfect memories. "Honor her memories. She will live in every step you take." Ophelia spoke clearly, the dialogue to her niece heartfelt and honest; it was as open as she could be, given the circumstances.
She stepped away. She had someone to blame. Ophelia had a fight to start. A fight she would lose, but one she had to start for honor. Cold eyes rested on the Frostheart once more. Tears will not avenge the dead. Blood will. ""He will be brought to justice." The promise hung in the air, boldly spoken.
Unable to be unspoken.
[[SORRY!
Valhalla seekers]]
OPHELIA
Faith shattered and decays as frosted blood flows in my veins
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[RE] :: MURDER IN HELOVIA :: Clue VIII
