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Ophelia the Forsaken
Ophelia had never been close to her father, finding his power, eloquence and leadership unattainable. After getting fucked over by the gods on more than one occasion, leading a band of mercenaries and realizing that most hearts were black with selfish greed, she was naturally suspicious. Time and time again, her compassion would leave her broken, Forsaken, and the hardened side of her, the angry side, knew that it was better to be bitter and think all good deeds a trap than be hurt again. A broken vase, even when glued together, still has cracks and it will be easier to break again unless you stick it in an iron cage. So, she observed the symbol, trying to ignore the heat from his body as she concentrated on the task at hand. When he snorted, she looked up into his primitive eyes and waited on his response, wondering what he was thinking. Did he think in such simple words too? Or did he just have another language that he knew better than this one? When he suggested that she do what she thought was best, she was caught off guard. She had no idea what that even was! When she had been stuck without memories, she had gone to the gods and been royally fucked over, and maybe she would have been okay with that five minutes ago, but now Gaucho seemed to legitimately want her help. Putting him at the mercy of the Sun God, the same god who had told her never to call on him again, did not seem to be such a wonderful idea. However, the God of Time could shed some light on a few things, and he should owe her something for knocking her up with his kid, right? She thought bitterly, lips moving into a thin line. The introduction he gave was kind, and she nodded. "My name is Ophelia," she returned, quietly. That name used to mean something, once upon a time. Now, she was nothing, no one. Ophelia then began the careful task of unfolding his mind, and she was surprised to find that it was more complex than she had anticipated. "I am going to look inside your mind," she murmured, the stare of her eyes going blank as she was somewhere else - inside his head. When she removed whole chunks of memory from another, the lingering effect was a strange, foggy hole - like deja vu. But what was in his head was more like a dark covering, something that could possibly be lifted. The pale princess was not the type to go ripping and tearing through the delicacies of memories, so instead, she lightly picked at the edge of this covering, pulling it back only to get hit in the face, hard, with a memory of his. His mind was so vibrant! So full of color and life! Did he feel so significantly? So purely? "You were summoned by your people," she said, her voice in a trance as she lived what he had lived not so long ago. "You were given a task, the specifics of are foggy. I am not sure you remember that at all. Then, one of the herd members gave you a drug to alter your memories." Ophelia felt anger wash through her. Why did they entrust him to complete a task but not trust him to keep a secret? What a backward load of... Focus. "I think what they gave you worked too well. Your memories are all sort of... foggy, like you are looking underwater," she explained. The, she sighed, knowing that she could help no more. Ophelia released her hold on his mind and then gestured with her nose to travel at her side. "Come, we need to see the gods," she explained. |
 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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