"Ophelia"

Disclaimer: I neither own Suikoden nor Hamlet. Good thing I'm not Shakespeare, or I'd have to deal with daily mailbombs from upset teens who were forced to read my stuff.

Spoilers: Some, for Suikoden III and Hamlet. You probably want to play ALL of Suiko III and get the 6th POV before reading this. It'll also help if you've read Hamlet, since I use a LOT of references here. They're explained at the end, but the full effect is lost if you're not familiar with it. Ophelia dies, incase you didn't know, especially with all the art commemorating this. Hell, they even made a Simpsons episode parodying this.

Context: This is a little piece about Sarah, because there just aren't enough sappy angsty fics on FF.net as it is, and I feel compelled to waste their bandwidth by posting this up. It would help a bit if you were familiar with Shakespeare's Ophelia from the play Hamlet. If you're not, Ophelia's a subservient girl who eventually drowns herself after she turns insane because her father, brother, and lover all have used her. I have a special fondness for her, and she was my favorite character in the play. There's supposed to be some kind of parallel between Luc and Hamlet and Sarah and Ophelia here. I really noticed that the two were quite similar when I was playing the game. I wrote this fic to apply at least part way to both of them.

…

Always smiling, prim and proper. Hands folded in white silk gloves. Hair pinned just so, with small, delicate curls framing her perfectly powdered face. Back rigid and straight, with proper posture.  A lovely white dress trimmed with indigo embroidery, with the sash tied tightly in a shiny bow.  She was a doll, a pale porcelain china doll. No child would play with her, give her the love and attention that she would have craved had she known it to exist. She was fragile and would break into a million sharp shards of glass that would cause flesh to rip and bleed crimson blood. Better to leave her on her dusty shelf, neglected. She spent her days sitting and obeying. A thought of her own never crossed her mind. After all, she was not supposed think, act, speak. Others did this for her. It was improper, sacrilegious, almost, for her to ever wish for anything of her own. She would have spent her entire life like this, hidden away, servile to the world. She was meant for others. She was a treasure, too good for anyone, but also used by everyone. This paradox did not bother her, however. She did not know loneliness. To understand that she was lonely, she would have had to experience happiness in her life. But she did not know what it was to laugh, to run, to breathe for herself, so she only waited, hoping futilely for something she could not see, touch, describe.

And her life continued. She lived in the shadows of others. She was just a girl, a young girl at that. No one respected girls. They were there just to serve and be dominated. She would grow up under the rule of her father and others who controlled her, then be married off to someone else that would have command over her will. She accepted her fate wordlessly. What could she have done? There was no prince to save her from her father's neglect. He only used her for his own schemes. To him, the girl was just a pawn in his scheme to gain power. He never loved her. Why would he? She was just a doll, a silly little plaything a child throws in a forgotten corner after a few minutes of playtime. And so she proceeded to wither away, slowly.

Her life felt empty, but she didn't know what emptiness was. She merely thought that everyone felt the way she did. She understood that her only purpose for being in this cruel world was for others. She would never live for herself. On times, she would sit by the river, touch the cool water, and watch it flow beneath her fingertips. She wondered what it would be like to step in, fall, and sink slowly to the muddy silt below the rippling surface of the water. It would be so easy. The flowers would remember her. All the columbines and daisies scattered throughout the water would bear witness to her end. At times, she would sit and see their petals flow by on the surface of the water. So beautiful, quite like her. They were all perfectly formed, and accentuated the river nicely with their bright spots of color. Only the violets were wilted and torn. She noticed this, but never questioned why. She was never allowed to question the world around her.

Time passed. She was starting to grow into a lovely young woman that boys would have flirted with, and would have wanted to kiss. Except, she was kept away from people, away from human interaction. Why reveal such a treasure to the world, especially when the treasure could prove to be so valuable? She did not mind being kept away. Why would she? She did not know love, mirth, happiness. She could not wish for something she had never known. By now, it was decreed she would never marry. She was much too valuable in her king's plans. Who would want her anyway? She may as well be a corpse; she was close enough to dead anyway, for she had never really existed.

Then, her life changed. She met a prince, her prince, and was born. He came, swept her away, and saved her from her horrible life. He wiped away her tears, and for the first time in her life, she smiled. She was no longer a doll, but a person. She shed her gloves, her dress. They were shackles that only kept her bound in slavery. It would have ended happily here, a Cinderella going to the pretty crystal palace with Prince Charming on a majestic white stallion, but she had no such luck. Her life had treated her poorly so far; why should it change now for her? He only used her, just like everyone else she had known. This time, she didn't mind. She found a sort of love in her prince. She needed him. He needed her too, but for a different purpose. This time, she didn't mind slowly killing a part of her soul for someone else. She would continue on for as long as he needed her. No matter what, she stood by his side, at his beck and call. She could never leave him. He was now part of her.

But all through this, she could feel herself slowly fading away. She would have worn away long ago, but this time, she was motivated by her own free will to exist. That was enough to keep her going for her prince. She did not fully understand his actions, nor approve of them, but she loved him, so she stayed by his side. And so she continued to suffer and die. She would have died anyway, so what did her sacrifices matter? Maybe he did notice the troubles she went for him. Maybe he didn't. Maybe he would only appreciate her and the trouble she went to for him after she was gone. She never would know.

One day, she returned back to the river. This time, the violets were not just wilted, but completely brown, dead. They sunk beneath the surface of the water, and were eventually buried underneath the worn stones and mud in the bed of the river. She understood why now. She had always known, on some level. It was her fate, her destiny in life, and she accepted it. What else was she to do?

And so she died, with her prince. Was she first, or he? It didn't really matter now, did it? Quickly, slowly, time seemed to blur, then stop. She felt the life slipping away from her body, her breath leaving her lungs and then ceasing. Her eyes closed. And finally, the doll shattered, never to be put back together.

She was forgotten by history, by all, except for the decayed violets that witnessed her demise.

…

AN: Alrighty, here are some explanations for the Hamlet allusions in this fic. I know that Sarah doesn't have a father (as far as we know), but Polonius (Ophelia's father) using Ophelia to spy on Hamlet is an integral part of the play, so I threw it in. Another thing is the reference to the flowers. Columbines and daisies symbolize unfaithfulness and falseness, both which Sarah and Ophelia have experienced in their lives. Throughout Hamlet, Ophelia is symbolized by violets, which represent faithfulness. Hence, I also made Sarah to be represented by violets. When Ophelia goes crazy, she says that her violets wilted when her father died. Basically, she wilted herself. When Sarah goes to the river and sees the dead violets, she realizes that she too, is dead inside. Luc and Hamlet are also supposed to parallel each other. In Hamlet, Hamlet supposedly loves Ophelia, but uses her in his own plans. Luc loves Sarah, but also uses her. They both die in the end; how fitting. Hikusaak and Claudius are also supposed to parallel each other here. Claudius deems Ophelia to be important to killing Hamlet; and Hikusaak probably thinks that Sarah is important in his Grand Scheme of Evil Things because she's a powerful magician.

Anyway, I really love Hamlet, and I could see so many similarities between Ophelia and Sarah that I had to type this thing out. This fic is short, but I like it nonetheless. It's also quite odd, but that's all right. I think. Anyway, comment, por favor!