HOME | DD

Description
Ophelia

In a world of chaos and caste, my objective in life was clear from the moment I had been born. My father lived to serve the newly appointed King Claudius, and I lived to obey the orders of those around me, the men in particular. There was no other world I had ever known or desired passionately, for life was kind and safe. What more should a young woman of my age and status need?

*   *   *

The summer sun shone brightly as I walked the garden of Denmark's Elsinore Castle where I had lived for much of my life. The flowers, with their morning dew hanging lightly upon the petals, never failed to put my mind and body at ease. After a brief inspection of the garden to bring the reassurance of privacy, I began to hum a soft tune from long ago. My mother had passed giving birth to me, but my memory somehow serves loyal to keep various songs of old.

My eyes caught a line of rose bushes, and the lush aroma of their sweetness lured me aside. A smile played around the edges of my lips but just as quickly transformed into a tiny "o" of shock when I felt a cold touch upon my shoulder.

"Good heavens!" I cried carelessly.

"My sincerest apologies, fair maiden. I did not mean to frighten you."

At that moment, my eyes met a pair of intelligent brown ones. His brown hair ruffled with the summer's smooth breeze. His lips upturned into an apologetic yet mischievous smile. I had seen eyes, hair, and lips like his before, as did most, if not all, of Elsinore.

"Lord Hamlet," I stated bashfully and curtsied. "'Tis no trouble at all. I should apologize for not acting more observant of my surroundings.

"Indeed," he agreed teasingly, rubbing his chin in a mock of thought. "A beautiful young woman should take more care when walking alone. Perhaps she should inquire of an escort beforehand?"

"The other women lie in slumber, and it is not within my upbringing to ask of something so bold of a guard, much less a man."

"Well then," he said, offering his arm as I stepped back hesitantly. "Why not ask of something so bold of a friend?"

"My lord, please…" I repeatedly glanced around the garden, fearing someone would come upon such a scene. Surely, he knew as well as I that a man of his status, a prince no less, is nearly forbidden from engaging in casual conversation. To act so intimately would only bring about suspicion.

"Very well," he sighed, letting his arm drop to his side.

"Thank you, my l—"

"If you will not ask of me, then I will demand of you." In one swift movement, his arm entangled mine and began to pull me along the row of blossoms.

"Lord Hamlet," I trudged pitifully beside him. "I truly must advise against —"

"Soft you now," he whispered, stopping just as abruptly as he had started and placing a finger to my lips.  "Look there."

My eyes traveled to one of the rose bushes. There, at the end of the path, lay a single rose in full bloom, droplets dangling with an aesthetic air that would have set any artist's hands to work.

Lord Hamlet gently pulled me along, plucked the blossom from the root stem, and slowly removed all thorns. Once done, he tucked it gently behind my ear, pushing my golden locks away from my shoulders and replacing them with his hands.

A bird's sweet song reverberated throughout the fresh air, and when Lord Hamlet brought me closer, for the first time in my life I felt a sense of balance and equality.

*   *   *

Months passed. The death of King Hamlet shocked all of Elsinore, and even I felt the tremor of my love's loss. The prince had cherished his father dearly, and even as the snow began to fall and garden became encompassed in a blanket of white, he did not cease his mourning. Although my feelings of affection and gratitude towards my lord did not waver, no one could deny that the season was now, more than ever, a time of parting.

After receiving the new King Claudius's consent, it was my brother's time to leave for France. We had always been close; therefore it was inevitable that he would not leave to the university without lecturing me somehow. Unfortunately, I had not expected the topic to involve a specific man in question. It was inevitable that Lord Hamlet and I would be found out; after all, our secret romance that had begun in the summer lasted well into the bitter winter. We met constantly and his servants delivered trinkets of his affections to my room often. Having Laertes be the first to approach me on the subject, however, was not something I had come to expect.

"Dear sister, the convey is assistant, and I leave. Remember to let me hear from you," he reminded warmly, bringing me to an embrace.

"Do you doubt that?" I replied good-humoredly.

He answered with a smile and pulled back, turning to the door, but stopping quickly. "Ophelia…For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favor, hold it a fashion and a toy in blood…Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, the perfume and suppliance of a minute, no more."

"No more but so?" I smiled hopefully, awaiting a brotherly laugh followed by his encouragement to continue my relationship.

"Think it no more."

My mind shut down, though his words easily embedded themselves within my memory. He elaborated on my social status and Lord Hamlet's responsibility to Denmark, as well as his probable lust and greed.

"Be wary, then. Best safety lies in fear. Youth to itself rebels, though none else near," he concluded in a matter-of-factly tone.

"I shall the effect of this good lesson keep as watchman to my heart," I assured him after a few seconds of thoroughly soaking in all advice he had laid out. However, despite all his wisdom, Laertes was not a saint, and I could not help but remind him. "But, good my brother, do not, as some ungracious pastors do, show me the steep and thorny way to heaven whiles, like a puffed and reckless libertine, himself the primrose path of dalliance treads and recks not his own rede."

"O, fear me not," he laughed affectionately.

Before he could say a word more on the matter, our father arrived. Laertes's antics were not amiss in Father's eye either, and after a hearty discussion between the two, Father sent his son off with a goodbye. Regrettably, he did not leave the room before turning back to link his eyes with mine.

"Farewell, Ophelia, and remember well what I have said to you."

"'Tis in my memory locked, and you yourself shall keep the key of it," I assured him one last time.

With a smile and wave, he was gone.

"What is 't, Ophelia, he hath said to you?"

I had no choice but to inform him of my discussion with Laertes. His reaction mimicked my brother's, however he commanded all ties between Hamlet and I be severed. Although I longed for approval, his words were as much my law as a demand from the king. I turned, bit my lip for one moment, then turned again and curtsied respectfully.

"I shall obey, my lord."

*   *   *

Day after day, I denied any gifts from Hamlet. When one of his messengers came to see me, I either had one of my handmaids drive them away or ignored the knocking completely. Winter continued like this, and I feared nothing would change.

As I sat sewing alone in my room, a sudden noise resounded from the door. When I got up to inspect what the cause had been, a strong hand pulled me round the corner. What I collided with was a face as pale as snow, clothing as disheveled as a hurricane, muscles as tremulous as an earthquake, and eyes as frightened as they were frightening.

"Lord Hamlet?"

There was no reply. Instead, he held my wrist, and although it was painful, I did not dare interrupt with another word. Suddenly, he stepped back and examined me, so much that I felt uneasy as if he had caught me bathing or committing some cardinal sin. Before I could wrap my arms around myself, he approached me once more, this time holding my arm and shaking it as if I were the one in need of a recovered conscience. At last, his hands brought me close, and I thought he meant to bring his lips to mine. However, he sighed deeply, let me go, and walked backwards through the door, his eyes never leaving mine.

Such a scene would shake any sensible young woman. After regaining my breath, I walked cautiously out the door, and once the prince's figure did not lurk in sight, I ran to tell my father of what had taken place.

*   *   *

"Ophelia, walk you here."

Father and his majesty quickly pushed me aside. After reporting of my last meeting with the prince, their plan to unveil me as the cause of Lord Hamlet's madness was prepared.

"Read on this book that show of such an exercise may color your loneliness," my father instructed. The sound of footsteps thudded against the stone floor, and all heads turned to the source.

"I hear him coming. Quick, let's hide, my lord." The king and my father quickly stole away.

Lord Hamlet's voice echoed throughout the halls, but I could not make out the words. When he noticed me, his eyes glimmered with the soul of the man I met in summer's kind glow. Yet it was a moment short-lived, and he quickly turned his head with an expression of apathy.

"Good my lord, how does your honor for this many a day?"

"I humbly thank you. Well, well, well."

After a moment's silence, I swallowed my fear and walked to him. "My lord, I have remembrances of yours that I have longèd long to redeliver. I pray you now receive them." Carefully, I took out a few charms from over the months.

He took one glimpse at them and turned his head. "No, not I. I never gave you aught."

"My honored lord, you know right well you did, and with them, words of so sweet breath composed as made the things more rich," I spoke, then quickly but delicately revealed parchments written in his penmanship. "Their perfume lost, take these again, for to the noble mind rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind." I held out the gifts and letters to his chest. "There, my lord."

"Are you honest?" he laughed bitterly without touching the items.

"My lord?" I questioned, confused.

"Are you fair?"

"What means your lordship?"

"That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty."

"Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?" I asked, wounded that an intelligent man of his stature would even propose such a thing.

"Ay, truly, for the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd than the force of honesty can translate beauty into his likeness. This was sometime a paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I did love you once."

"Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so," I stated, standing my ground despite the tears than began to cloud my vision.

"You should not have believed me, for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it. I loved you not."

"I was the more deceived," I almost wept but did not succumb to the pain; I refused to in front of him.

"Go thy ways to a nunnery. Where's your father?"

"At home, my lord," I answered, my voice shaking. Whether anger or heartache controlled it, I know not.

"Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool no where but in 's own house," he scoffed and twisted his back to me. "Farewell."

"O, help him, you sweet heavens!" I could not help but cry out.

"If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry. Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to a nunnery, go. Farewell. Or, if thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool, for wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them," he spat. "To a nunnery, go, and quickly too. Farewell."

"Heavenly powers, restore him!" I begged again, sinking slowly to the floor with my hands to my chest as if an arrow had pierced the very core.

With one last request of me to the nunnery and a curse upon all future marriages, he walked out the door without one look back. My father and King Claudius emerged from their hiding place and began to talk amongst themselves, but my hearing was lost to silence. My knees gave way to the floor, and though no tears streamed down my face, my eyes stared straight ahead with only one word and one image resonating throughout my brain: the sight of Lord Hamlet's back, and his voice repeating, "Farewell."

*   *   *

I was in no mood to view The Murder of Gonzago. I suppose it was oddly comforting to have it called off so suddenly by is majesty, though I do wish I knew what ailed him to be affrighted so.

Nonetheless, the play been an exhausting event and baffled me entirely as to what Lord Hamlet's intentions towards me truly were. First he declared his love and showered me with praise and gifts, then wished my leave for the convent, and the next second he behaved without morals, his actions supporting my brother's claims that the prince is as fickle and unsteady as the changing sea. His words were the cause of my blush many times, and I was all but thankful of powder that hid the crimson of my cheeks.

*   *   *

A few days after the play, the last petal of the rose Lord Hamlet had given me fell to the wooden surface of the table with a soft crackle. It was to be expected; so many things in life are ephemeral in nature.

"Milady!" my handmaid cried, running through the door and collapsing at my heels.

"What is panic is this? Such behavior cannot be the result of trivial matters." Her weight was harsh on my frail body, but my arms reached to pull her so as to bring her eyes to equal level with mine. "I pray you, good lady, speak and deliver this news that burdens you so."

"Oh, dearest Lady Ophelia!" she sobbed. "The good Polonius, your father, ma'am…has…"

Every muscle in my body froze at this. "No. Speak no more. I'll not have it."

She shook her head, and as her tears brimmed over creating soft trails against her cheeks, the words her mouth began to sound escaped my mind. Only one word reached my consciousness before I plummeted into the deep recesses of despair.

Dead.

*   *   *

The days passed in hazy blurs of light and darkness. Walks among the trees, shrubs, and flowers no longer lifted my heavy heart. Anything related to the melody of music only brought about loss of memory, which supported the fleeting idea that a lack of sanity may have occurred as well. Yet every time I attempted to gain back reason and common sense, a sinister hand grabbed hold of my spirit and dragged me back down to the depths of madness. How long should the darkness last?

*   *   *

There was nothing left. My father was gone. My brother may have been saner than I, but he too had been lost to madness. My…love, first love's bittersweet and transient promise of happiness, disappeared. No…Did his love ever even exist? Was it somehow just an illusion that I created for my young mind? I could no longer observe the differences between reality and deceit.

I could not breathe and decided to venture outside. The soft melody of flowing water caught in my ears. Soothing…tranquil…inviting. The ground underneath began to move. It was not until the cool, damp liquid licked the toes of my feet that I realized it had been my own legs that carried me there.

The water sang a melody of comfort, like a mother's lullaby. The sunlight that reflected off of the clear blue urged me forward. For a brief second, I swore the image of my mother, my father, my brother, and my love flashed beyond the horizon, as if God were telling me they would meet me in paradise soon.

I closed my eyes for one final sign, and as a silent breeze playfully lifted the edges of my gown, a smile tugged at the edges of my lips, and my body moved, encasing itself in the silent promise of forever.

Description
Ophelia

In a world of chaos and caste, my objective in life was clear from the moment I had been born. My father lived to serve the newly appointed King Claudius, and I lived to obey the orders of those around me, the men in particular. There was no other world I had ever known or desired passionately, for life was kind and safe. What more should a young woman of my age and status need?

*   *   *

The summer sun shone brightly as I walked the garden of Denmark's Elsinore Castle where I had lived for much of my life. The flowers, with their morning dew hanging lightly upon the petals, never failed to put my mind and body at ease. After a brief inspection of the garden to bring the reassurance of privacy, I began to hum a soft tune from long ago. My mother had passed giving birth to me, but my memory somehow serves loyal to keep various songs of old.

My eyes caught a line of rose bushes, and the lush aroma of their sweetness lured me aside. A smile played around the edges of my lips but just as quickly transformed into a tiny "o" of shock when I felt a cold touch upon my shoulder.

"Good heavens!" I cried carelessly.

"My sincerest apologies, fair maiden. I did not mean to frighten you."

At that moment, my eyes met a pair of intelligent brown ones. His brown hair ruffled with the summer's smooth breeze. His lips upturned into an apologetic yet mischievous smile. I had seen eyes, hair, and lips like his before, as did most, if not all, of Elsinore.

"Lord Hamlet," I stated bashfully and curtsied. "'Tis no trouble at all. I should apologize for not acting more observant of my surroundings.

"Indeed," he agreed teasingly, rubbing his chin in a mock of thought. "A beautiful young woman should take more care when walking alone. Perhaps she should inquire of an escort beforehand?"

"The other women lie in slumber, and it is not within my upbringing to ask of something so bold of a guard, much less a man."

"Well then," he said, offering his arm as I stepped back hesitantly. "Why not ask of something so bold of a friend?"

"My lord, please…" I repeatedly glanced around the garden, fearing someone would come upon such a scene. Surely, he knew as well as I that a man of his status, a prince no less, is nearly forbidden from engaging in casual conversation. To act so intimately would only bring about suspicion.

"Very well," he sighed, letting his arm drop to his side.

"Thank you, my l—"

"If you will not ask of me, then I will demand of you." In one swift movement, his arm entangled mine and began to pull me along the row of blossoms.

"Lord Hamlet," I trudged pitifully beside him. "I truly must advise against —"

"Soft you now," he whispered, stopping just as abruptly as he had started and placing a finger to my lips.  "Look there."

My eyes traveled to one of the rose bushes. There, at the end of the path, lay a single rose in full bloom, droplets dangling with an aesthetic air that would have set any artist's hands to work.

Lord Hamlet gently pulled me along, plucked the blossom from the root stem, and slowly removed all thorns. Once done, he tucked it gently behind my ear, pushing my golden locks away from my shoulders and replacing them with his hands.

A bird's sweet song reverberated throughout the fresh air, and when Lord Hamlet brought me closer, for the first time in my life I felt a sense of balance and equality.

*   *   *

Months passed. The death of King Hamlet shocked all of Elsinore, and even I felt the tremor of my love's loss. The prince had cherished his father dearly, and even as the snow began to fall and garden became encompassed in a blanket of white, he did not cease his mourning. Although my feelings of affection and gratitude towards my lord did not waver, no one could deny that the season was now, more than ever, a time of parting.

After receiving the new King Claudius's consent, it was my brother's time to leave for France. We had always been close; therefore it was inevitable that he would not leave to the university without lecturing me somehow. Unfortunately, I had not expected the topic to involve a specific man in question. It was inevitable that Lord Hamlet and I would be found out; after all, our secret romance that had begun in the summer lasted well into the bitter winter. We met constantly and his servants delivered trinkets of his affections to my room often. Having Laertes be the first to approach me on the subject, however, was not something I had come to expect.

"Dear sister, the convey is assistant, and I leave. Remember to let me hear from you," he reminded warmly, bringing me to an embrace.

"Do you doubt that?" I replied good-humoredly.

He answered with a smile and pulled back, turning to the door, but stopping quickly. "Ophelia…For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favor, hold it a fashion and a toy in blood…Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting, the perfume and suppliance of a minute, no more."

"No more but so?" I smiled hopefully, awaiting a brotherly laugh followed by his encouragement to continue my relationship.

"Think it no more."

My mind shut down, though his words easily embedded themselves within my memory. He elaborated on my social status and Lord Hamlet's responsibility to Denmark, as well as his probable lust and greed.

"Be wary, then. Best safety lies in fear. Youth to itself rebels, though none else near," he concluded in a matter-of-factly tone.

"I shall the effect of this good lesson keep as watchman to my heart," I assured him after a few seconds of thoroughly soaking in all advice he had laid out. However, despite all his wisdom, Laertes was not a saint, and I could not help but remind him. "But, good my brother, do not, as some ungracious pastors do, show me the steep and thorny way to heaven whiles, like a puffed and reckless libertine, himself the primrose path of dalliance treads and recks not his own rede."

"O, fear me not," he laughed affectionately.

Before he could say a word more on the matter, our father arrived. Laertes's antics were not amiss in Father's eye either, and after a hearty discussion between the two, Father sent his son off with a goodbye. Regrettably, he did not leave the room before turning back to link his eyes with mine.

"Farewell, Ophelia, and remember well what I have said to you."

"'Tis in my memory locked, and you yourself shall keep the key of it," I assured him one last time.

With a smile and wave, he was gone.

"What is 't, Ophelia, he hath said to you?"

I had no choice but to inform him of my discussion with Laertes. His reaction mimicked my brother's, however he commanded all ties between Hamlet and I be severed. Although I longed for approval, his words were as much my law as a demand from the king. I turned, bit my lip for one moment, then turned again and curtsied respectfully.

"I shall obey, my lord."

*   *   *

Day after day, I denied any gifts from Hamlet. When one of his messengers came to see me, I either had one of my handmaids drive them away or ignored the knocking completely. Winter continued like this, and I feared nothing would change.

As I sat sewing alone in my room, a sudden noise resounded from the door. When I got up to inspect what the cause had been, a strong hand pulled me round the corner. What I collided with was a face as pale as snow, clothing as disheveled as a hurricane, muscles as tremulous as an earthquake, and eyes as frightened as they were frightening.

"Lord Hamlet?"

There was no reply. Instead, he held my wrist, and although it was painful, I did not dare interrupt with another word. Suddenly, he stepped back and examined me, so much that I felt uneasy as if he had caught me bathing or committing some cardinal sin. Before I could wrap my arms around myself, he approached me once more, this time holding my arm and shaking it as if I were the one in need of a recovered conscience. At last, his hands brought me close, and I thought he meant to bring his lips to mine. However, he sighed deeply, let me go, and walked backwards through the door, his eyes never leaving mine.

Such a scene would shake any sensible young woman. After regaining my breath, I walked cautiously out the door, and once the prince's figure did not lurk in sight, I ran to tell my father of what had taken place.

*   *   *

"Ophelia, walk you here."

Father and his majesty quickly pushed me aside. After reporting of my last meeting with the prince, their plan to unveil me as the cause of Lord Hamlet's madness was prepared.

"Read on this book that show of such an exercise may color your loneliness," my father instructed. The sound of footsteps thudded against the stone floor, and all heads turned to the source.

"I hear him coming. Quick, let's hide, my lord." The king and my father quickly stole away.

Lord Hamlet's voice echoed throughout the halls, but I could not make out the words. When he noticed me, his eyes glimmered with the soul of the man I met in summer's kind glow. Yet it was a moment short-lived, and he quickly turned his head with an expression of apathy.

"Good my lord, how does your honor for this many a day?"

"I humbly thank you. Well, well, well."

After a moment's silence, I swallowed my fear and walked to him. "My lord, I have remembrances of yours that I have longèd long to redeliver. I pray you now receive them." Carefully, I took out a few charms from over the months.

He took one glimpse at them and turned his head. "No, not I. I never gave you aught."

"My honored lord, you know right well you did, and with them, words of so sweet breath composed as made the things more rich," I spoke, then quickly but delicately revealed parchments written in his penmanship. "Their perfume lost, take these again, for to the noble mind rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind." I held out the gifts and letters to his chest. "There, my lord."

"Are you honest?" he laughed bitterly without touching the items.

"My lord?" I questioned, confused.

"Are you fair?"

"What means your lordship?"

"That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse to your beauty."

"Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty?" I asked, wounded that an intelligent man of his stature would even propose such a thing.

"Ay, truly, for the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty from what it is to a bawd than the force of honesty can translate beauty into his likeness. This was sometime a paradox, but now the time gives it proof. I did love you once."

"Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so," I stated, standing my ground despite the tears than began to cloud my vision.

"You should not have believed me, for virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it. I loved you not."

"I was the more deceived," I almost wept but did not succumb to the pain; I refused to in front of him.

"Go thy ways to a nunnery. Where's your father?"

"At home, my lord," I answered, my voice shaking. Whether anger or heartache controlled it, I know not.

"Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool no where but in 's own house," he scoffed and twisted his back to me. "Farewell."

"O, help him, you sweet heavens!" I could not help but cry out.

"If thou dost marry, I'll give thee this plague for thy dowry. Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get thee to a nunnery, go. Farewell. Or, if thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool, for wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them," he spat. "To a nunnery, go, and quickly too. Farewell."

"Heavenly powers, restore him!" I begged again, sinking slowly to the floor with my hands to my chest as if an arrow had pierced the very core.

With one last request of me to the nunnery and a curse upon all future marriages, he walked out the door without one look back. My father and King Claudius emerged from their hiding place and began to talk amongst themselves, but my hearing was lost to silence. My knees gave way to the floor, and though no tears streamed down my face, my eyes stared straight ahead with only one word and one image resonating throughout my brain: the sight of Lord Hamlet's back, and his voice repeating, "Farewell."

*   *   *

I was in no mood to view The Murder of Gonzago. I suppose it was oddly comforting to have it called off so suddenly by is majesty, though I do wish I knew what ailed him to be affrighted so.

Nonetheless, the play been an exhausting event and baffled me entirely as to what Lord Hamlet's intentions towards me truly were. First he declared his love and showered me with praise and gifts, then wished my leave for the convent, and the next second he behaved without morals, his actions supporting my brother's claims that the prince is as fickle and unsteady as the changing sea. His words were the cause of my blush many times, and I was all but thankful of powder that hid the crimson of my cheeks.

*   *   *

A few days after the play, the last petal of the rose Lord Hamlet had given me fell to the wooden surface of the table with a soft crackle. It was to be expected; so many things in life are ephemeral in nature.

"Milady!" my handmaid cried, running through the door and collapsing at my heels.

"What is panic is this? Such behavior cannot be the result of trivial matters." Her weight was harsh on my frail body, but my arms reached to pull her so as to bring her eyes to equal level with mine. "I pray you, good lady, speak and deliver this news that burdens you so."

"Oh, dearest Lady Ophelia!" she sobbed. "The good Polonius, your father, ma'am…has…"

Every muscle in my body froze at this. "No. Speak no more. I'll not have it."

She shook her head, and as her tears brimmed over creating soft trails against her cheeks, the words her mouth began to sound escaped my mind. Only one word reached my consciousness before I plummeted into the deep recesses of despair.

Dead.

*   *   *

The days passed in hazy blurs of light and darkness. Walks among the trees, shrubs, and flowers no longer lifted my heavy heart. Anything related to the melody of music only brought about loss of memory, which supported the fleeting idea that a lack of sanity may have occurred as well. Yet every time I attempted to gain back reason and common sense, a sinister hand grabbed hold of my spirit and dragged me back down to the depths of madness. How long should the darkness last?

*   *   *

There was nothing left. My father was gone. My brother may have been saner than I, but he too had been lost to madness. My…love, first love's bittersweet and transient promise of happiness, disappeared. No…Did his love ever even exist? Was it somehow just an illusion that I created for my young mind? I could no longer observe the differences between reality and deceit.

I could not breathe and decided to venture outside. The soft melody of flowing water caught in my ears. Soothing…tranquil…inviting. The ground underneath began to move. It was not until the cool, damp liquid licked the toes of my feet that I realized it had been my own legs that carried me there.

The water sang a melody of comfort, like a mother's lullaby. The sunlight that reflected off of the clear blue urged me forward. For a brief second, I swore the image of my mother, my father, my brother, and my love flashed beyond the horizon, as if God were telling me they would meet me in paradise soon.

I closed my eyes for one final sign, and as a silent breeze playfully lifted the edges of my gown, a smile tugged at the edges of my lips, and my body moved, encasing itself in the silent promise of forever.