The Mouse and The Monarch

43

~MOUSE~

Ophelia's fingers traced the seams of her olive green duffle bag.

The fabric felt coarse under her touch, a stark contrast to the delicate memories she carefully folded and placed inside.

The worn combat gear, each crease telling a tale of survival, and the few casual clothes she owned formed a mosaic of her past.

As she scrutinized the olive green hoodie, she couldn't help but notice the frayed edges and the patches sewn onto it.

Floral patches she had replaced over holes and tears.

She never wore it unless she was going home.

This hoodie had been her shield, her sanctuary.

The clothes she was about to put on, the person she was outside the base, were different.

What if he hated it?

"I can't do it," she whispered to herself, the small words barely audible in the barrack.

Ophelia's chest tightened as an overwhelming sense of dread washed over her.

Her breaths became shallow and rapid as if her lungs were refusing to cooperate.

Why had she said yes?

She was such an idiot.

The world around her blurred, each noise and movement escalating into a cacophony of chaos.

It felt as though invisible hands were squeezing her heart, and an icy chill crept up her spine.

Ophelia's hands trembled, and she instinctively clutched at her chest, desperate for some anchor to reality.

The room seemed to close in on her, and the air thickened, making it difficult to draw in the oxygen.

They couldn't have a relationship, she knew that so what were they doing?

Sweat formed on her forehead as her body wrestled with an uncontrollable surge of anxiety.

Her thoughts spiralled into a chaotic whirlwind, a torrent of fears and worries colliding in her mind.

She was different outside.

Very different.

The once-familiar surroundings became distorted and menacing.

Ophelia's vision tunnelled, focusing on nothing but the suffocating weight in her chest.

Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the world even further.

She felt an acute sense of vulnerability as if she were unravelling, losing control over both her body and mind.

Her heart skipped a beat as the room welcomed the intrusion of the creaking door.

The sounds of a body in motion, the rustle of clothing and the thudding of footsteps reverberated through the air.

The distinct scent of sandalwood lingered, a fragrance she associated with him and him alone.

Despite the undeniable recognition, Ophelia couldn't bring herself to turn around.

If she looked at him she would break.

The rhythmic symphony of fabric being folded and items being carefully placed into bags wrapped around her, creating an oddly soothing ambience.

The panic that had gripped her began to loosen its hold as she immersed herself in the calming cadence.