𝐎𝐇 𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐀 ; lord tewkesbury

XIII.

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I used to dream about the outside world, everything that I've never seen before.

I convinced myself that there were dragons and vampires that lurched in the darkest of shadows, in places I had never heard of. I wanted to be the one to discover them. That was exciting for me, I had always been told that the world could be cruel. That the world was cruel. But how could I believe them when I've seen so little?

Leaving now, here, on this train, made all those thoughts come rushing back. Seeing the rolling hills, green and grey melting into each other.

I looked at the small houses of people that I would never meet, all on their own adventures alike.

I saw him, how the sun graced his face, leaving his skin to look golden. His eyes were just like the Earth, I couldn't help but notice, help but stare, even if it killed my pride. Then I was met with the realization of her, the warmth between them, the coldness between us.

They smiled at each other, telling stories that were faded to my ears, but I wanted to listen. Listen to what made him laugh, what made him smile.

I missed us, how we were in the treehouse. How we'd tell our secrets and share our dreams. It wasn't like I was jealous of her, I admired her, I just wished it was back to how it used to be for us. Maybe one day it would be again, or maybe it was just precious time that I selfishly wasted.

"Ophelia?" Tewksbury said to me, snapping me out of my daze.

"Sorry," I gulped, I took a moment of silence, trying to put my thoughts together. "I was thinking, about my mother. She never really mentioned my father, nothing good for that matter. It was almost like he disappeared from her world. Like everything disappeared."

I reopened the beaten journal, examining the words that lay on the page. "It just progressively gets bleaker, the paragraphs become shorter, but the sentences more detailed."

I handed the two the journal, my hand limp, I had handed them the most important possession I owned.

They both scanned the pages, heads leaning into each other, they were reading her words. It scared me that they now knew her just as much as I did.

"Your mother, she was a deep thinker," Enola said surprised. "This is filled with metaphors."

"You're a lot like her Ophelia, more than you think." Tewksbury sighed.

More than you think.

The words hit me hard.

I wanted to be beautiful and spirited like her, but being her, turning into her, I feared it.

"Your right Ophelia, they get deeper or she seemed more scared. Her intentions, they're confusing." Enola said, her voice filled with dread.

"I just wish that I had more, something that could tell me what happened exactly." I huffed out.

"We will figure it out, I promise." Tewksbury said quietly, as to comfort me.

It did some, enough to quiet the noise for awhile.

My mother seemed happy to have me, proud to have me. Aunt Brookings said that she never shut up about it, how her child would be remarkable.