Disclaimer: I do not own Hamlet
Ophelia
She looks into the glimmering water, as it dances playfully. She is a woman of cunning, clarity and a solid readiness to except reality. The contrast of her character to this is evident in her mind as the water slowly laps against the grassy shore. The smooth pebbles feel gritty and wet under her bare toes. Yet, with a slightly musing smile, she thinks to herself, "This is not who she portrays, is it?" With a deep breath she looks up to the clear blue sky and finds peace in the moment and contentment from her once disputative soul. Action is something known to her patient mind, but this time, the patience will not cover a multitude of sins. She played her cards, and she failed.
Madness, it seems is contagious. This thought brings a slightly bitter and sickly ironic smile on her face as she fingers the petals of a freshly picked daisy. The petals fade in the dying light of the day. The idea was so simple. Hamlet, her love, would play the fool, but slip further downwards with grief. The madness consumed him. The mantle of this allusion was easily played and slipped onto the shoulders of a much clearer mind, especially given the circumstances. Grief thus far, was to new, too much of a young and unknown emotion to fully have sunk its icy blade into the depths of her heart. And as such, the play, the fool and the act were easy, as she carried on the mantle of a dying man. The mantle of his insanity would carry Ophelia to safety, and be the last tribute to her doomed lover.
The cards, like in any game had been played. She may have even truly loved him some day, but in her position, to grab so much, then to lose so much and then fall so far from glory. Alone, inexperienced and with all options around her falling to the dust, there were no more cards to play, and no more dice to roll. She had played it all on one single try. Hamlet had been her ace, her trump and her wild chance at a better life. But with great horror and slight hesitation, she watched as a priceless dream slipped from her fingers like sand, or water.
And so here she sat. The water lingers beneath her toes, and ripples under her touch. With a gleeful giggle, she shrieks and draws her foot back as it shocks her, harsh, cold and unsettling. Nausea runs over her in another wave, as she lays a hand against the gravel to steady herself. Another price for her sins. She remembers her brother's warning face and the gentle but firm reminders of Hamlets lack of choice towards his own future. She remembers her father' s infuriating demands, and she remembers the witless look on Hamlet's face, marking it as the instant that she realized Hamlet's true death. There was so much death, so much confusion, madness, and in it all a chance for new life.
The water is cold, but it sparkles like the enticement of winter's ice and her soothing but frozen breath. To love winter is to pay a price, as she lulls you to sleep with her icy chill. Ophelia loved winter, and now she will pay for their sins. She will pay for the sins of them all, and condemn a child for a short lifetime of useless mistakes.
"Never play a game that you aren't able to lose", comes the last whispering thought as she leans forward and plunges into the icy blackness.