(no subject)
Ophelia is sitting cross-legged in the soft ground beside the river. The waterfall is not far away nor is the place where she drifted aimlessly onto this vivid island. Nearly three full years has passed since she set foot in Denmark. A tiny lifetime. Full of little and big changes, things good and bad and throughout that she's seen and done.
The thoughts that are drifting through her head are not particularly heavy. There's a book with instructions and brightly color paper sitting propped against a stone as she studies the pictures and tries to mimic them. Little birds and balloons have come, a flower and a boat. A frog is slowly forming under her fingers, taking shape and she hopes that he is able to hop, hop, hop away after.
Her finger slides under the edge of the paper hitting to close and slicing gently. It stings and she curses slightly as she attempts to not upset her work into the river.
"Oh heaven, do not laugh at me," she says as she places in her finger into her mouth to temper it. It is childish and she knows it but it helps even in a small way. Her free hand extends upwards to shake a nagging finger at the sky. "Nay, not all."
The thoughts that are drifting through her head are not particularly heavy. There's a book with instructions and brightly color paper sitting propped against a stone as she studies the pictures and tries to mimic them. Little birds and balloons have come, a flower and a boat. A frog is slowly forming under her fingers, taking shape and she hopes that he is able to hop, hop, hop away after.
Her finger slides under the edge of the paper hitting to close and slicing gently. It stings and she curses slightly as she attempts to not upset her work into the river.
"Oh heaven, do not laugh at me," she says as she places in her finger into her mouth to temper it. It is childish and she knows it but it helps even in a small way. Her free hand extends upwards to shake a nagging finger at the sky. "Nay, not all."