~MOUSE~
The first rays of dawn filtered through the small window, casting a gentle glow on the worn-out concrete room.
Ophelia stirred, her eyes sore and aching behind her eyelids.
The soft hues of sunrise seemed to trigger something within her, and she sprang up with a sudden burst of energy, her mind whirring and eyes still heavy from a sleepless night.
She hadn't slept at all.
The weight of silence clung to her, threatening to engulf her in quiet solitude.
It was a battle against the stillness that left her feeling like she was drowning in her own thoughts.
She needed to move, to break the oppressive hush that clung to her.
She needed noise. Voices. Sound.
Dropping to the ground, Ophelia retrieved her duffel.
In swift, deliberate motions, she extracted baggy black cargo pants and a matching sports bra adorned with the French Army symbol.
The urgency in her movements was palpable as she darted toward the bathroom with cat-like grace, a stark contrast to the quietude that enveloped her surroundings.
Unlike König, who lay undisturbed in his slumber, Ophelia's every step was a whisper.
He didn't stir once.
The bathroom door closed behind her, and she shed her sleeping clothes with a sense of urgency, trading them for the black attire.
In the mirror, she caught a glimpse of the slight grey shadows beneath her eyes, a testament to the night spent battling the encroaching silence.
Fucking Colonel. She seethed as she pushed her curls from her eyebrow.
Ignoring her fatigue, she emerged from the bathroom, only to be met by König sitting up in bed, his gaze fixed on the spot where she had been lying a few moments ago.
He turned when he noticed her standing near his bed, his eyes narrowed in confusion.
She moved past him without acknowledgment, her focus on the task at hand.
She needed to get out of the room.
Boots and socks adorned her feet with practised speed, laces pulled tight.
She felt the weight of his bewildered gaze on her, yet she pressed on, refusing to engage.
Blood was in her lungs and she needed it to leave.
If she didn't leave now she would likely have a panic attack, and she'd rather throw herself off the cliffs adorning the island than let him see that.
Ophelia jumped from her bed and ran towards the door, boots fastened on her feet.
She saw him flinch out of the corner of her eye and move forward as if to stop her.
She didn't stop.
The door opened, and Ophelia sprinted out into the hallway, her destination clear.
The mess hall and the small training room.
She ran the whole way, not slowing once as she sprinted through endless corridors.
A grin stretched across her face when she spotted Zero in the makeshift kitchen, a pot of coffee in hand.
YOU ARE READING
The Mouse and The Monarch
Fanfiction~She embodied the essence of his world, a captivating masterpiece sculpted with the strokes of both his fervent passion and haunting despair~ Ophelia Moreau. Otherwise known as Mouse. A French Sergeant turned KorTac Operative who has major temper i...
