Ophelia [a.m]

𝖊𝖝𝖕𝖑𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

  Perhaps Matthias Lestrange was my Yorick.

  I could always seek refuge in him, always talk to him, though he'd never say anything back. He knew his presence was enough and I owe him a great debt for that.

  Clouds formed a home over the castle, a comforting blanket. The sun was a nuisance to me, for it hurt my eyes with its blinding optimism and false promises of joy. I never wanted it to shine again. I wanted it to implode, die, and fade. I wanted it to shrivel up and cower in the face of the thunder that shook the skies.

  Perhaps I was being dramatic, ever since I met you I've tended to romanticize my life.

  The depth of it is exhausting Ophelia, and I do not want it anymore.

  The thought occurred to me again as I stood at the edge of the astronomy tower, the front of my feet off the ledge. The danger was sweet on my tongue, the cool air and promise of rain kissing me softly.

  I pretended it was you.

  Funny how nature always finds a way to mock humanity and its tribulations. Especially those as petty as matters of the heart.

  I am exhausted.

  You look happy, and I'm glad your heart has warmed again. However heat can be searing and it might just burn through your chest and kill you. Riddle had that effect on people. Don't let your heart be your ruin. 

  Ophelia why can't you see it?

  He's using you to get to me, and by all the stars it worked. It worked to its full force the moment I saw that damn scarf curled around your neck like a python.

  God I hate him for what he's doing to you.

  I leaned forward, my balance about to give and I smiled at the ground hundreds of feet below. Oh the earth, what an unforgiving beast it was.

  Human nature was such an odd thing for me to confront. To accept.

  The real trial was to understand it. I never would. And that's how we as a species are divided. Those who are unknowing and those who are knowledgeable of that great wound that tears through our very beings.

  No one truly knows anything other than what they have understood.

  Pedagogy, that's what it was referred to as. A world split into the knowing minds and the ignorant ones.

  Ophelia I think the scholars are dying out.

  Just as well as love and remorse... they died with the sun.

  You though, with your witty tongue and soft eyes, could save us. The true goal of a master is to successfully pass on their knowledge with patience and understanding. You my darling, well, you're salvation I suppose.

  Yes.

  It has a ring to it.

  Abraxas!

  Lestrange screamed and my body reacted instinctively.

  Ophelia I'm flying.

  It's exhilerating. 

  Oh, perhaps not. 

  I think I'm dying. 

  Is there really a difference?