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Trust who she was, she says. As if there is anything left of what she was. Not in the eyes of the Sun God, at least. Ophelia had come to him desperate and sad, weak and willing to harm others for her own benefit. That was not the Ophelia he had known; not the Ophelia that had so captured his attention and left him wanting to know more. Now she is a cold mortal with more herself in mind than any other being. She wishes to live in misery and make others forget, even after all of this. She is truly foolish indeed.
But still he wears her flowers in his hair.
For he had designed her task with her in mind. He had hoped that she might learn something, see the horror of her request first hand, and forget it. He had offered her a chance at a new life free of what haunted her; devoid of pain with the opportunity to start anew. He envies the gift, and he gives it to few. But she can not accept it, after all that he has done to bring her happiness. She has to return today and ask for what he he has tried to keep from her.
He cannot bring himself to deny a addict their drug. She will get what she wants, even if it means he will not. But if she is to be selfish, so is he.
"Take your magic, take your memories!" The God of the Sun replies, his voice a quiet roar, his wings turning to flame. The fire creeps up along his mane and threatens the delicate petals kept eternally fresh. "But if you must live with your magic, you cannot live with me. This is the last time we will see each other," he declares selfishly, whipping his tail behind him and letting it sting across his muscular thighs. A copy of himself appears, made of light. It lacks solidity and the same sculpted features; has no emotion in the eyes. It is nothing but a shell of the god, a robotic imitation without memory or mind. "Should you ever again need the services of light or fire, my emissary will meet you in my stead," the god says now with a quieter tone and a dying fire. It whirls away from the petals in smoke, leaving them clean and fresh as they were when he first received them. Perhaps he is being harsh; perhaps the punishment is too severe.
But she has been cruel, and she has been unkind. As light advances on her form, falling from his sky in blinding beams and restoring her memories as well as preserving those made anew, he lets himself fade away. He slips into the fire as it falls over the edge, lets his body tumble and meld into the lava below. The emissary stands as it was, still and cold, lacking the fire that makes the God of the Sun so alive. The light fades and all that is left of the God of the Sun is his bright shadow. It tilts its head, looks upon Ophelia with glowing, empty eyes. Into silence, the vestige speaks:"Your task is complete, mortal. You are free to go."
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Backfiring, Worth the Price? [Sun God]
