Ophelia [a.m]

𝖞𝖚𝖑𝖊

  Bells were ringing, snow fell like ash to the ground and I cried into my tea.

  Tears being my sweetener.

  My thumb scrapes them away below my eye and it hurts but you're walking towards me and I smile and murmur my good morning.

  Merry Christmas, you say softly and the ice of your lips pressed hot to my forehead.

  I don't know why I'm crying.

  I never know why.

  You have something to do with it, you usually do.

  Usually I can piece it together, but you're a different riddle. One that I can't toy with.

  I hold my tea cup and let it burn my skin.

  You hold out your hand and I'm about to grasp it when I realize you're holding an offering.

  I sigh, I haven't gotten anything to give to you.

  I figured as much.

  That doesn't make me feel better.

  You smile and pick up the silver string, your ring hanging from the end like a corpse.

  I touch it and it's cold and my fingers flinch back.

  I can't-

  Take it.

  But-

  Please.

  So I do.

  It falls and curves along the collar of my bones and it fits snugly and it's so cold.

  It feels like you.

  I smile and I am in pain and you kiss me and the world is ending.

  Our days together are almost over.

  We'd be back at hogwarts soon, are you going to ignore me again?

  I knew we would be criminal conversation if we continued how we are at the castle. The scandal would paint the stones red like back in fifth year.

  The White Dragon and the Golden Harlot.

  You've ignored me for years and I've coped but now that I know you - if you ignore me again I might die.

  Your hands slide beneath my thighs, the serpent coiling around me, biting into me and making me feel numb and ditsy and I feel free for a moment and your poison sinks into my blood - then it's over.

  I sigh out and darkness creeps back in but I'm scared of it and I yank you closer.

  I tear and dig and preen and - yes - your dragon fire lights the room for the time being and the inky swell of black sinks back into the corners.

  I can't use you as a distraction, Abraxas.

  You don't deserve that.

  But I don't know any other way to keep the terrors at bay.

  Sex has always been the best way to take my mind off things, my only focus is you - the feeling - the heat - pain - you - and fire.

  I'm so lonely.

  Right now you're the cure to the nasty disease that's infected me for years.

  Brand me - own me - make me yours.

  I know I'm my own woman, but I'm so lonely.

  I want to belong to someone, I want my heart vulnerable and I want you to have a vice grip on it. I want you to drive your thorns into every vein of my being - I want you to end me.

  I don't know how else to put it.

  Existing is futile.

  I'm a hypocrite.

  I told you once your life isn't yours, and that's true.

  I should hold myself to the same standard but why bother.

  I want you to end me.

You'll be my method of suicide.

  Run your tongue sharply over my forearms - not sideways - straight up - cut into me and bleed me dry.

  If you will not allow me to drown in the waters I might as well do so in my own blood.

  Perhaps I'm truly Ophelia after all.