artfvlly
the empress.
Ophelia had always been a sweet child since birth, her mother had always reminded her of that. She was the second youngest in a family of five and because of that she blended right in with the wallpaper. Quiet, sweet, simple, little Ophelia her mother had always said, never caused trouble or picked up a fuss. Her mother had always called her older brother her karma for the way she acted in her youth. Divine intervention, she said. Ophelia had begun to ponder over how many events that had affected her and her mothers lives were divine intervention? And if so, the universe or divine were cruel.
It all began on a humid Tuesday afternoon. The sweet summer heat had rolled over the mountains and farmland out to sea, clashing with the cold winds that had blown in on the northern gale. Ophelia had watched from her post in the hat-shop she worked in as the clouds had rolled in from the ocean, showering down upon the seaside town. She never really knew what drove her to step outside and enjoy the feeling of rain on her face, maybe it was divine intervention or fate itself weaving Ophelia into her spiralling webs. Regardless, Ophelias life changed from that point onwards. As she stood, watching the clouds above her head she made a mistake. What was that mistake? Well, Ophelia was never sure how she had managed it, what about her was so captivating or what compelled her to look. She make the mistake of looking down and matching the gaze of a pair of eyes that watched her from a darkened alleyway. Round and yellow, unmoving. Just watching. Ophelia had felt dread in the pit of her stomach, she didn't know exactly why but an almost primal feeling of fear kicked in her bones. It told her to run, it told her that this ancient force behind those yellow eyes was not friendly, nor was it a good thing she had caught such a creatures attention.
Ophelia had stood frozen, and maybe if she had stayed that way the creatures interest would've adverted somewhere else, or to someone else. Instead, young Ophelia moved, a wobbly step backwards as her lips parted in horror. The cat-like eyes watched, and then it's slits for pupils narrows. A witch. Ophelia had stumbled upon a witch, searching for it's new victim. One corrupted by her greed for power, knowledge and fortune to the point where no humanity was left. Just a husk of what she once was, looking to find victims to use her magic upon, for if a witch held onto that power for too long they might have gone even more mad. Magic and power was a finicky thing, too much power in a mortal body could destroy such a mortal from the inside out. As such, Ophelia was just another victim to the desperate witch that leapt upon her.
Ophelia had gone over the story and history of her fate many times, how she had ended up here. Never could she find a reason why, why was she being punished? It would've been easy if were just the simple things, dropping her needle or pricking her finger. Hell, even the pots smashing every time she walked by or her employer accidentally falling over a wet patch caused by her clumsiness. No, this clumsy curse had grown into a beast with it's own mind. Her family had suffered because of it. Her family had died because of it.
When she first got to the wastelands, home to the wizards and witches all she could do was weep. There was no home for her here, no salvation for her fate. She had stared down at her hands and arms, raw with blisters and burn marks from the fire. The rain had crashed down and threatened to drown her even as she stood on perfectly solid land, yet she could still taste the smoke and feel the burn of the flames. Even as she shook from being drenched and cold, crawling through the mud and glass she could still feel that fire. And she had screamed until her throat was raw, asking the universe why. Why her? And then she had screamed for help, and no one had come. That was, until she saw something past the flat mud and grass of the wastes. A shack, a small rundown shack. Salvation.
Shaking, drenched and covered in mud she had crawled to that shack. She didn't bother to knock, no one lived out this far unless they had magic. If this happened to be the house of another witch, she had accepted death. With trembling hands she tried the doorknob, which to her relief turned. She pulled herself into the house, pushing shut the door behind her. After a few moments of lying shell-shocked on the floor, she finally mustered the strength to move further into the house. It was much nicer inside, lived in obviously. She didn't spare time to look at the details, she was exhausted. Instead she pulled off her soaking cloak and sat quivering by the fireplace. If this were to be her death, so be it.
It all began on a humid Tuesday afternoon. The sweet summer heat had rolled over the mountains and farmland out to sea, clashing with the cold winds that had blown in on the northern gale. Ophelia had watched from her post in the hat-shop she worked in as the clouds had rolled in from the ocean, showering down upon the seaside town. She never really knew what drove her to step outside and enjoy the feeling of rain on her face, maybe it was divine intervention or fate itself weaving Ophelia into her spiralling webs. Regardless, Ophelias life changed from that point onwards. As she stood, watching the clouds above her head she made a mistake. What was that mistake? Well, Ophelia was never sure how she had managed it, what about her was so captivating or what compelled her to look. She make the mistake of looking down and matching the gaze of a pair of eyes that watched her from a darkened alleyway. Round and yellow, unmoving. Just watching. Ophelia had felt dread in the pit of her stomach, she didn't know exactly why but an almost primal feeling of fear kicked in her bones. It told her to run, it told her that this ancient force behind those yellow eyes was not friendly, nor was it a good thing she had caught such a creatures attention.
Ophelia had stood frozen, and maybe if she had stayed that way the creatures interest would've adverted somewhere else, or to someone else. Instead, young Ophelia moved, a wobbly step backwards as her lips parted in horror. The cat-like eyes watched, and then it's slits for pupils narrows. A witch. Ophelia had stumbled upon a witch, searching for it's new victim. One corrupted by her greed for power, knowledge and fortune to the point where no humanity was left. Just a husk of what she once was, looking to find victims to use her magic upon, for if a witch held onto that power for too long they might have gone even more mad. Magic and power was a finicky thing, too much power in a mortal body could destroy such a mortal from the inside out. As such, Ophelia was just another victim to the desperate witch that leapt upon her.
Ophelia had gone over the story and history of her fate many times, how she had ended up here. Never could she find a reason why, why was she being punished? It would've been easy if were just the simple things, dropping her needle or pricking her finger. Hell, even the pots smashing every time she walked by or her employer accidentally falling over a wet patch caused by her clumsiness. No, this clumsy curse had grown into a beast with it's own mind. Her family had suffered because of it. Her family had died because of it.
When she first got to the wastelands, home to the wizards and witches all she could do was weep. There was no home for her here, no salvation for her fate. She had stared down at her hands and arms, raw with blisters and burn marks from the fire. The rain had crashed down and threatened to drown her even as she stood on perfectly solid land, yet she could still taste the smoke and feel the burn of the flames. Even as she shook from being drenched and cold, crawling through the mud and glass she could still feel that fire. And she had screamed until her throat was raw, asking the universe why. Why her? And then she had screamed for help, and no one had come. That was, until she saw something past the flat mud and grass of the wastes. A shack, a small rundown shack. Salvation.
Shaking, drenched and covered in mud she had crawled to that shack. She didn't bother to knock, no one lived out this far unless they had magic. If this happened to be the house of another witch, she had accepted death. With trembling hands she tried the doorknob, which to her relief turned. She pulled herself into the house, pushing shut the door behind her. After a few moments of lying shell-shocked on the floor, she finally mustered the strength to move further into the house. It was much nicer inside, lived in obviously. She didn't spare time to look at the details, she was exhausted. Instead she pulled off her soaking cloak and sat quivering by the fireplace. If this were to be her death, so be it.
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