The door to the hall burst open as servants, guards, and a singular man dressed in black walked into a sea of color. The very depths of Hades was in his eyes as the crowds all parted to make way. He was thinner than she expected, ghostly pale, and with pale blonde hair it only emphasized the white cream of his skin, the deep circles under his eyes. Had he slept at all? Claudius and Gertrude both rose from their seats, pure joy overwhelming the mother.
"Hamlet! What a surprise! Has the term ended so soon?" She quickly began to step down to meet him. She had eyes of the richest earth, hair of the finest ink, and her smile was famously the downfall of many a man.
"You sly lad! Not even a warning?"
"You need warning? How interesting, Mother. Am I not welcome in my own home?" Hamlet stopped, staring up at his uncle. It was him. She hardly realized she was now standing, drifting through the crowd, a spirit, trapped with no coin for Charon, unnoticed, trying to find the best view of him. He was here, now, after all these years. How long had it been again?
The queen laughed at this, as if it were some private joke between the two as she flung her arms around him. Today she wore a gown as blue as the dawning sky, with pearls and laces accenting her body beautifully, with a large fur wrapped between her arms. She was wearing blue. Hamlet flinched, and paused, clearly trying to process this outward sign of affection before wrapping his arms around her briefly and pulling away. Just a little further and perhaps she could catch Hamlets' eye.
"And not even the slightest hint to me in your last letter! Oh, I so vexed you could not venture sooner, yet here you stand! Did Claudius send you for me? Or perhaps the Good Lord has finally answered my prayers! It matters not, you are here! How was the journey? Quite easy I hope?" Just a little further, so if he turns, she will be at the very front of the crowd.
Hamlet stared up at his uncle, a dreaded silence echoing back against the sweet trills of the queen. "My travels were very easy, thank you, especially for time of year. Hello, Uncle. I hope you are in good health." He held his mother at his side, barely bowing his head towards the king.
"In good health, Hamlet! No need for such modesty! As you said, you are at home. Come, we shall retire for the present, but tonight we shall feast together and celebrate the return of our prince!" His gestures were large, his voice loud. Ophelia was sure that to Hamlet this was the most blatant declaration of war: a true flaunt of power and blunt statement of where the king stood. King Claudius descended as he spoke, his cloaks, and furs, his father's furs, dragging softly on the stone floor. His father's crown rested on his brow as he walked away from his father's place at table.
Ophelia longed to scream and have earth and sky tremble with the might her fury. She longed for Hamlet to simply turn his eyes, his clay earth eyes, and meet her. His uncle patted him firmly on the shoulder, and turned him, turned him away from her, and began retreating to the private sector. No, no! Please! By all the gods above, she would reverently honor and pledge by till the end of her days if Hamlet simply looked at her. She wanted him to see, to know, to understand the woman she had become. She was a woman now, this was her face, she was taller, older, she had outgrown dolls, dear Hamlet, she had replaced them for flowers and poetry and myths and rituals. Her mind unraveled with every step he made with his back to her. Ophelia had made it to the front, why would he not turn? Why had he not searched for her? Was not the other half of his soul in this sea of faces as well?
A loud crash sounded behind her, some plate or other dashed aside with pure violence. The sound of metal beating against stone was deafening and even Hamlet automatically turned toward the noise. His eyes meeting her. By Hera and Zeus and Eros himself, Hamlet was looking at her. He was gazing beyond her. No, he was searching behind her, then turned and kept walking.
Everything, every speck of dust seemed to still. He had not recognized her, or perhaps he had not cared to. As quickly as he had arrived, he had vanished again, and the whole court burst into excited gossip and chatter. She was silent, gripping so hard to her skirts she knew she may damage them. She turned to leave, exiting through the servant stair and quickly beginning to climb.
"Ophelia, wait!" She stopped dead, turning to stare at Horatio rush up to meet her. "Ophelia, please, I will talk to him, we will find some way for you to meet. You mustn't cry." She had not realized silent ghosts of tears stained her cheeks.
"He did not recognize me. He did not see me. He looked right at me, and he did not see me. I have waited so long for his return, I have dreamt of it, Horatio. I knew his face the moment I saw him, and yet he does not know me! He did not even turn to look at me until some servant dropped something in my direction and even then-" Gently, he held her wrists, holding them close to himself, forcing their eyes to meet, his wise eyes.
"I am glad you liked my parlor trick. Truely, I wish it had worked far better. You are out of a lunch, which is another topic I wish to discuss, but for now, please, please, Ophelia, do not worry. I shall meet him tonight; we will find some rendezvous for both you and your brother."
"No, Laertes will not wish to see him-" Softly, so very softly, he tugged at her wrists, and she let out a long-held breath. "Why are you doing this for me?" Even Ophelia could barely hear herself.
"I find it unfair that I know him less, for shorter time, with much less wait, and yet I may see him more, even in public if we chose. I loathe that you cannot have that. Now, please, go to your chambers, or some other place of refuge, and rest. I swear on my heart that I will find some way for you to see one another. Alright?"
She did not respond, merely nodded, kissed his brow, and ascended the stair, her skirts the only whisper of her ever being there.
