He is dead. Dead. My father is dead.
I see nothing as tears stream down my face. I vaguely register the guards leaving my room. The letter in my hand starts to crease and wrinkle from my tight clench and the tears splattering against the page.
"Our deepest condolences…"
Fie! Just empty words! They mean nothing!
"No funeral will be held…"
This is madness! My father, the right hand man of the king, loyal to a fault, will be swept under the rug! How dare this be so! They blacken my father's memory!
"...You will always have a place in this court…"
Likely. They will throw me out as soon as they have cause to just as they did my father. This court is no place for me. I have nothing. Oh how I wish Laertes was here. He would not stand a moment for this. Or perhaps if Hamlet was not controlled by this madness , he would see this treachery… Oh but I am nothing. I am no man.
Oh Father forgive me. Please, I only wish to honor you.
I throw the offending letter away from me. I can't stand to see their false words. I can't believe he is dead. My eyes are raw and red, tears spilling over. Turning to the vanity mirror, I tug and yank at the pins holding up my hair.
Sleep. Perhaps this is all just a bad dream. If I just lay down this will all go away. It will be as it was before. Sleep.
Fueled by a single thought, I tear at my dress and the corset beneath, only barely undoing the ties before shoving everything off. In my shift, I bury my face in the pillows of my bed, making growing tear stains on them, willing myself to sleep.
Yes. It was all just a bad dream…
Morning comes too soon. Sickeningly sweet, larks chirp by my window, signaling the rising of the sun. Piercing light finds its way through the gaps in my curtains breaking my peaceful slumber.
If only it were yesterday. Yesterday my father was alive.
A sob heaves out of me. I scrub at my eyes pushing away any remaining tears. My body feels stiff and sore, as though I've been trampled by horses. In the mirror across from my bed, I can see my swollen eyes and crow's nest hair.
I look a mess.
Slowly, I make my way out of bed. Clothes are strewn across the floor from my haste to sleep last night. I step on several pins on my way to the vanity. Everything screams at me to stay in bed and wallow, to just continue to sleep, living in dreamland where my father is still alive, Laertes is here, and Hamlet still loves me. But dreaming is a fool's errand. Nothing will come from it.
Enough Ophelia. Is this how your father would want you to act? Is this how you will remember your father? Enough. Get up. Find purpose.
I wrangle with my hair, attempting to look presentable. I slip into a black, mourning gown and place a black veil over my head.
I will write to Laertes. I will find out the details of Father's murder and write to him. He will come home. He will return. My brother will know what to do.
Nothing feels right as I move through the castle. Conversations end as I enter a room. Whispers and swishing of skirts follow me everywhere. I receive sidelong glances from women who I have lived with since I was a child. I see pity on some women's faces, but mostly curiosity or disgust.
"What will she do with herself now?"
"Her brother and father gone and she has lost the favor of Hamlet."
"She has no place here anymore."
Anger blooms in my chest. I narrow my eyes to slits but plaster a neutral expression on my face. One woman has the audacity to ask how am doing while her friends crane their bodies towards us to hear my response.
Louder than necessary, "I must wait for my brother and honor my father."
The whispers crescendo.
This will drive me mad.
"I wish to request an audience with the Queen."
The guard at the door to the Queen chamber nods and enters the room. He comes back ushering me in.
"She will be a moment."
I take a seat and fold my hands in my lap to keep from fiddling. To calm myself, I look around the lush chamber. Tapestries adorn the walls with scenes of beautiful, serene maidens wandering through a meadow. I envy their happiness and carefree nature.
"Ophelia!"
I jump up from my chair to bow to the entering queen. Her ladies follow her, filling the surrounding chairs. The Queen takes my hands in hers.
"I am so sorry for your loss. Your father was a dear friend to us, and we will miss him dearly."
I bite back the words threatening to spill out demanding to know why no funeral would be held for a man of such stature as to be called a friend of the King and Queen.
"Thank you."
"Take a seat. What can I do for you?"
I sweep my eyes around the room counting six ladies in waiting, wishing we were alone.
"I am writing to Laertes of what has happened. I will implore him to return and settle Father's affairs and see to it his honor is preserved."
"All well and good."
"My request of you is to know the details of my father's murder. Have you caught the man who killed him?"
The Queen looked away.
"Ophelia, why do you concern yourself with such things. Let Laertes take care of such matters when he returns."
"Of course. I understand. I just wish to help him as best I can. I can't rest not knowing my father has been honored properly."
"If it will make you sleep easier, I will look into it for you. Do not worry. Write to Laertes. I will call you when I have news. Be well."
Bowing, I hurried out the door, hopeful.
Weeks and nothing. Nothing from the Queen, she no longer receives my calls and my messages return unopened. Laertes sent one letter promising to return soon, but nothing since. I am alone. I spend my time in my room or deserted gardens seeking respite from the whispers and hard looks. The court now speaks openly of having me removed or married off, as if I am some offending sight. I have seen nothing of Hamlet since the guard stormed in the night of the murder. The solitude eats at me. I've read all of the books in my possession, and there are only so many times a person can draw the same tree. I am tired of this inaction. I will go crazy if something is not done and feel like I am losing my chance to find the murderer.
Wandering one of the many hallways in the castle, I hear footsteps approach and duck into a nearby alcove.
"They say he has truly gone mad."
"After his outburst towards his mother there are rumors the King is sending him to England."
"Rumors! Ha! He killed an advisor. The King will never stand for it."
Killed an advisor? Few have died recently… Sir Thomas died in his house, nowhere near the castle… Christopher died in a sword fight that I saw myself… The only other death was… Father!
My sharp intake of breath halts the guards' conversation.
"Did you hear something?"
My heart races both with the realization and the threat of the guards finding me.
"No. Enough. You need to stop drinking before your shift."
I never thought I would thank God for a man's vices. Their voices recede down the hallway.
Hamlet? Hamlet is the murderer. He would never... He might not have enjoyed Polonius, but certainly Hamlet wouldn't have killed him... He has no hatred that runs so deep.
Confused, I make my way back to my room in a daze, my mind running a mile a minute trying to make sense of the news.
I know Hamlet… He is kind… He is rational… He… wouldn't… Does he hate me so much that he would hurt my father? Why? Why would he do this? There is something more that must be going on.
Slamming my door, I pace.
Enough. I am done with this court and its mind games and tricks, incestous queens and mad princes. Enough. This kingdom has come to ruin under this family. Nothing is right. My father will be avenged no matter the cost and our country will be better for it.
Knock. Knock. The pounding on my door startles me from my thoughts.
"Ophelia! Ophelia, please open up."
Taking a deep breath, "Yes. Who is it?"
"We have come with your father's effects."
I rush to open the door. Two guards stand with a parcel. Thanking them quickly I shut the door again.
Father.
Tears brim my eyes. My vision is watery as I open the parcel carefully. When I remove the cloth I find the clothes he wore the day of his murder. Our family ring is nestled between his doublet and plunderhose. I put it on. I finger the edge of the blood-encrusted hole where he was stabbed. Blood has soaked his linen shirt and dried. Blood flakes off and on to the floor. I carefully fold his cape and under which find his baldrick. My hand smooths over the worn fabric and find an odd lump. Turning the belt over I find an almost invisible seam. I pull the stitches apart to reveal shining silver dagger. It feels cool and weighty in my hands. Our family crest has been engraved into the handle. Testing it in my hand, I find it to be of relatively light weight.
How beautiful. If only it had helped save him.
The dagger feels good in my hands. I feel powerful. It gleams in the late afternoon light. Imagining a figure before me I thrust the blade forward. Again. Then, a shadowy Hamlet appears before me, mocking me.
"Get thee to a nunnery."
His eyes gleam with mischief.
"Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool no where but in 's own house."
He disappears. Whirling around I find him behind me laughing.
"If thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool, for wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them."
I want to wipe the smirk from his face.
"Let her not walk i' th' sun. Conception is a blessing, but, as your daughter may conceive—Friend, look to 't."
"Enough! Enough! Why do you plague me so? Die you murderer. May you suffer for your sins!"
With a cry I lunged forward, stabbing the shadowy Hamlet and meeting only air. Panting, I blinked the gathering tears from my eyes.
"AHH!"
I turn and slash the air, dropping to my knees. My breathing comes out in short burst.
I have waited. I have waited for others to do right by my father for long enough. I have waited for the Queen. I have waited for Laertes to do his duties. Both to no avail. Waiting will do my father no good. The time for action is now. If no one else will stand up against this bloody reign, I will.
Looking at the dagger clutched in my hands I decide.
Father I will avenge you.
At the back gate the castle I wait for the messenger to arrive with the mail. My feet nervously tap.
Oh please be good news.
"...arrangements have been made...Be careful…"
A voice startles me.
"You have been receiving quite a few letters. News from your brother? Does he plan to return?"
I look up to see the Queen standing before me.
With a bow of my head, I tighten my grip on the parchment.
"Yes he will be here in the spring when his classes end."
"Very good."
I watch her glide down the path, waiting until the last of her ladies is out of the courtyard to begin reading again.
By the light of my candle, I sit at my desk looking over scattered papers, tiny scribbles, and garbled drawings. A map of the castle is spread out across everything. My fingers trace several paths through the castle seeking the fastest.
This one has too many doors. That own goes past too many guards. I'm sure to get caught if I take these stairs…
I cross off path after path.
Everything must be arranged perfectly. People are counting on me. I cannot fail.
Before I lock the trunk, I check once more to make sure it has all of the essentials. Leaving my room, I carry it down the servants stairs to the kitchen. A hooded figure awaits me in the shadow of the door.
"Here its ready."
I pass the trunk to the man.
"Tomorrow. When the moon is full and risen to its full height. You strike then. We will be gathered by the back gate, open it and you will be guaranteed safe passage. Be swift and Godspeed."
"And you."
Walking down the corridors, I find myself smiling. My head held high, steps purposeful. The dagger is hidden in the folds of my skirt, carefully sewn into a small, yet accessible pocket near my right hip. Its weight brings power. The full moon shines through arched windows and the night breeze feels good against my face. As a set of guards draw near, I pull up the hood of my cape. My feet making not a sound against the stone floor. The guards barely notice me as the pass. I smirk.
Oh how you will wish you stopped me.
Using the master key I filched from a servant, I unlock the door at the end of the hallway. Slipping through, I silently press the door closed. The moon illuminates a bed and the slumbering figure within it.
Forgive me Father for I have sinned. Forgive me Father for I have sinned against you whom I should love above all things.
I creep forward taking care not to wake the man. He tosses and I freeze in my place waiting for his breathing to steady again. After what seems like hours, I finally stand by the left side of the bed. Looking down, Hamlet's locks of hair curl around his head and the light makes him look like a sleeping angel. I brush some of the hair out of his face and kiss his forehead.
"Oh Hamlet how I loved you."
Forgive me Father for I have sinned. Forgive me Father for I have sinned.
I slip the dagger from my pocket gripping it tightly in my right hand, with my other hand I cover his mouth with my handkerchief.
Like a viper, I shoot my hand out and plunge the knife in the center of his chest. His eye fly open and he lets out a muffled cry.
"This is for my father you bastard."
Forgive me Father for I have sinned.
I hold the cloth to his mouth until I see the light leave his eyes. Blood has covered his chest and night gown. With all my might I pull the dagger out, cleaning it on my skirt -no sense wasting a good handkerchief- , and returning it to my pocket.
Forgive me Father for I have sinned.
I cover Hamlet's body with his quilt and quietly leave the room. I feel a weight lift off my chest and I breath deeply.
Rushing past the windows, the moon winks at me, reminding me I have one more job to do.
Using the servants' passages and stairways, I make my way through the sleeping castle. Finally, I reach the kitchens where I go out the back door. I hurry out to the back gate, the only other opening in the wall surrounding the castle. A sleeping guard leans against the lever. Clapping my hand over his mouth, I reach for my dagger once again and stab him in between the plates of his armor. His body sags and I push him away from the wall. I grab the lever and push down with all of my body. Creaking, the gate slowly lowers to reveal Fortinbras and his army of men.
"Is it done?"
"Yes."
He claps my shoulder.
"Good work. Now go. Your trunk, horse, and guide are waiting for you around the bend. Be safe, I will send for you soon."
"Thank you."
Looking back at the place I once called home, I step through the gate.
I am free.
