She was a clever soul, and it was that vibrant force within her that both propelled his adoration of her through their shared darkness, but also caused the tension that she so obviously carried. Ignorance might be bliss, but Ophelia, who had been sheltered from herself seasons before had a very different take on whether or not that might be true. Yet Ophelia was still limited by her mortality, and the God could see this clearly. There was little he could do to open her eyes to the truth of her situation, the truth of her being, without breaking her mind entirely. He could see her for what and who she was, even when that identity was veiled to her.
Doubt and trust. Sighing, the God nodded as she spoke, her soliloquy of her own torment perhaps meant for her own ears rather than his. "To act requires knowledge. It would be foolish of you, for example, to lead a charge against an enemy if you did not know them to be deserving of your wrath. Or to lead your troops to an area in which you did not know them to be. If you did, you would be deserving of their criticism, citing your lack of knowledge as precisely the reason you are culpable. In that regard, your doubt serves to guide your words and actions. When you act in a way that is not sympathetic to doubts you harbor, you open yourself up to criticism and blame. You also potentially put others at risk. In this regard, your doubt is your greatest ally, for while all those around you might confidently espouse your plans and schemes, it is only the lingering voice in the back of your mind that dares to speak against you, when no one else will." He paused, sympathetic and golden gaze gently washing over her. "But trust ... Trust is ... enigmatic and paradoxical. It requires you to cast away the nagging need for justification and evidence. It is a leap of faith over a pit of vipers, with only the word or perhaps honest gaze of another as assurance that you will not perish."
Omniscience was a gift the God could not grant to Ophelia, although perhaps the new magic she held might aid her somewhat.
"The choice is yours. You might live with doubt resting always on your shoulders, where your decisions, because they are guided by the need to be sure, might always be free of criticism. Or ... you might let yourself fall. Open yourself to the accusations of others so that you might trust in them."
His body glowed gently in the twilight that fell upon them. His words were spoken in a tone reserved for only a few - possibly only his siblings and Ophelia. It was a tone that suggested he was not speaking down to her, or explaining something to someone below him. In intellect, he considered Ophelia an equal as far as any mortal could hold such a position, and so it was in this manner that he addressed her.
"Love does not ask for permission Ophelia." He continued. "Nor does it require perfection." It was impossible to tell if the God was reciting his own experiences (possibly with regards to her), or with her situation with Torleik. Perhaps it didn't matter.
But perhaps it did.
"One might justify pain in all sorts of ways. You might think that whatever pleasures love brings is worth the pain that might follow. Or you might think that love is itself an inherently valuable state to be in, such that whatever pain accompanies it is unimportant. Childbirth for example, is nearly always accompanied by both pain and love. Yet it would be strange to cite the causal necessity of pain as the reason to not have a child. The creation of life is in itself worthy of having, and so whatever pain might follow is merely an unhappy consequence, but should not serve as a reason to avoid it.
"No.." He murmured softly to her final question. It was not wrong to want love. His honey gaze searched her silently, as his own feelings fluttered uncertainly within himself. A certain paternal love was one that he could offer to the mortals, but the sort of love of which Ophelia spoke was not one that he could openly share. In this he felt conflicted. If selfishness was allowed to guide action he might have advised her to keep her icy walls high, to protect the sanctity of her soul and keep herself from others, but only so that she could remain as alone as He. And yet ... well. Love does make lovers do strange things...
"No it is not wrong. And it is worth the risk. It is not up to you to determine whether the pain you might cause to others is worth their sacrifices. That is for them to decide. And, should heartbreak be the outcome, it is upon their soul to bear the decisions they've have made, just as it is upon yours to bear yours."
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