sweet ophelia.

Letting someone, anyone, root around in his mind was an uncomfortable thought. Even if Marshall were someone that was completely innocent, wasn’t this risky? Still, he had to know. He had to know everything. The fury touched his mind and slowly but surely everything that had been repressed or taken over by the wolf started to come flooding back, starting with the most recent events and moving backwards. There was this man who’d bumped into Marshall on the street, shouted some obscenity and caused the change. A group of people tormenting something defenceless that caused another, endless thrashing of chains as Marshall writhed and struggled under the light of the full moon. Reinforced metal bit into his skin and reflexively Marshall winced at the memory of the pain and the guttural sound of bones snapping over and over and over again. Months of agony came flooding back until at last Marshall came upon a night he spent with his boyfriend in his family’s cabin back in Maine. Self-assured laughter, warm breath on his skin, then the pull of the moon as Marshall was made to shift for the first time. All that the other man wanted to do was help him, and in response the wolf had torn him to shreds. Splattered the walls with blood. Further back still and the young man stood at the end of an alley, cello case in hand as a pair of yellow eyes watched him from the dark. Is someone there? Marshall called out, a low growl made him hesitate and take a step back, he tried to run but the wolf lunged at him. Teeth and claws tore into his skin, the origin of the long, jagged scar across Marshall’s thigh as the wolf tried to drag him into the dark. He got free - and he ran. 

Marshall collapsed on all fours in front of the fury, his skin a thick sheen of sweat as his haggard breathing came hard and fast. Tear-stained cheeks formed small pools in the earth as the man’s hands curled like fists into the dirt. He remembered everything, the face of every person he’d hurt, and every traumatic instance that surrounded their deaths. Marshall felt like he was going to be sick, and a moment later he was as the horrid sound of retching permeated the space around them. Hard sobs broke the night air as grief and self-loathing took the place of anything else. He wanted to be alone, he didn’t want to be a monster anymore. He needed to fix this, somehow Marshall needed to find a way. 

+

She sees it all. Everything that goes through the man’s head, plays out like a film reel for the fury. The horror and the pain, no longer shrouded to protect his mind, but pulled into daylight with no dark corners to hide within. It fills her with both a sense of pity and appall, her empathetic nature at war with the fervent pull of retribution that guides her life as a fury. It is clear he is going through pain, yet it’s weighed against the memories of all the pain he has caused others, unintentionally or not. In the end, her sympathy wins, as Ophelia carefully sinks to her knees beside the werewolf. She does not reach out, does not touch him, that is a line between people more familiar than them and she will not cross it. “I am sorry,” she says, dark eyes lingering upon the wretched look against his face. “The shift is a hard thing to control, particularly for those that have no guidance. But it can be learnt. I believe the Argos could assist you with such.” For him, a pack could be the difference between life or death. She rises to her feet, then, deciding her presence would likely offer him no more good in the moment. “My name is Ophelia. If we meet again, I hope it be under better circumstances.” For his sake, the words hang in the air, implied but not stated. Because next time, she will not stop short. It is with that, that the fury turns and walks away, out of the forest and back to the city. 

Instead of giving an actual yes, Eurydice chooses to give a slight nod of her head as she sips from the little straw in her glass. “It is very old magic.” Some of the first, if she were being picky, but she didn’t truly know. It occurs to her that the fury before her then must be on the younger side and that is incredibly interesting. “I’ve always admired your kind.” The smile she offers the other woman is soft. While her fellow dryads were not weak by any means, furies had always seemed closest to Artemis to her, hunters of sorts. “The trees told me there’s quite a few of you around here.”

+

She takes it for confirmation, then, that this woman is a dryad. Something she has been looking for, and yet the idea of having found one so easily seems almost too good to be true. Though convincing her to help may prove much more difficult. “I am afraid I am not old enough to have recognized such magic at first glance.” So many ancient species having recently returned to this world, all of them new to the fury. Now she knows what to look for, though. “I am honored to be held in such esteem, then. I have heard great things of the dryads.” Ophelia returns the smile with one of her own, a cant of her head forward. “There are not as many of us as I would like.” Not with the amount of chaos that happens within this city. There could be an army of furies within it’s walls and Ophelia would still not feel as if it were enough to contain everything. “It becomes more dangerous by the day, I fear. Particularly as of recently.”

It is a tender moment, one Medusa does not entirely thinks she deserves. But she stays there, practically nose to nose and chest to chest with the other woman and something deep within her aches. It’s no secret they mean a lot to one another, but it has gone on to be this unspoken thing. She thinks it began as admiration, loyalty, but it’s grown to be something more and Medusa truly doesn’t think she could be without the fury. She’s part of this new life, she’s kept her grounded, she’s shown her the greatest mercy she could ask for. She returns the kiss but the moment they part, her gloved hands are cradling Ophelia’s face, thumbs sliding along her cheekbones as she regards her fondly. “I could not have done any of this without you, you know.” She had come to Corinth full of rage, but there was something about Ophelia that seemed to soothe the monster within her, the person everyone thought she was. Without her, she might have delved more into it, might have continued to strike those who opposed her down directly. Perhaps she would have died for her cause already. “I can never thank you enough.” And then she tips her head, connecting their lips together once again.

+

It feels almost too good to be true, this quiet moment between them. Like the hammer could come down at any moment, shattering it to pieces and sending them back into the chaos that they’ve endured these last few months. But they’ve earned this — a small reprieve, sheltered together in the empty tea shop long past closing hours. A picture of what their life could be, maybe. Ophelia can see it, somewhere far away from this place and all the trouble that it brings. Somewhere where things can be simple. “You’re one of the strongest women I know. You would have found a way.” There’s not a doubt in Ophelia’s mind that the rift would’ve been capable of it, with or without her help. “I love you, Rhea.” The words come out gentle, barely a whisper, but it doesn’t need to be any louder to be heard. Her hand falls down to sit at Rhea’s waist, lingering nervously in the space between them as her confession hangs in the air, ignoring the impulse to hold the other woman close. It’s the first time the words have been spoken, even if not when they’ve past through Ophelia’s head, but she doesn’t know how they’ll be taken. 

“I met her early when I came to Corinth,” Laila said, and she paused to consider. When had she first come across the fury? Perhaps it had been at Tranquilitea, or at a bar— or even as she had begun to learn how to surf and the ocean did a better job of spitting her out than it had at carrying her: the blonde shook her head. “I think we understood each other right away,” the werewolf said, taking a mouthful of her beer as she got settled on the balcony in her usual spot, with Ophelia in Sofia’s place. “She is someone whom I wish I had for a sister, in another life I’m sure we shared blood.” Instead, the Renaud girls were the dead-end of a bloodline, with Adeline and Pearl lost to her.

+

Perhaps she would have to ask Sofia the story, later. It might be interesting, what about the werewolf she found so appealing to overlook the stain on her soul. Though it is not as if Ophelia has not made those judgment calls for herself before, a few friends with a questionable set of morals come to mind. And the fact that she has earned a place in the other fury’s affection means there must be something worthwhile to be found in Laila. “I felt much the same, when we first met.” And the feeling has never faded, there is nothing that Ophelia wouldn’t do for Sofia. “There is little that matters more to me in this world than Sofia.” Her eyes turn on Laila, her gaze isn’t hard but there is a seriousness to it. “She has a good heart, even if it is not put on display for everyone to see. The fact that you’ve been given a place in it is not something to be taken for granted.”

“I do. He has had every chance to harm me and he has chosen not to.” She’d perhaps wanted to harm him that first time she’d met him at the temple solely for his lineage, his connection to Perseus. He was the grandson of the man who had killed her and been hailed a hero for it. Medusa can see the suspicion there in her partner’s eyes and she understands it. Gloved fingers come to rest at the side of the fury’s neck, her thumb stroking across her jaw. They haven’t really talked about that night since it happened, the night by the river, the one where Anastasia Vidalis had exposed her. She’d fully expected to lose everyone she’d gained in this new life and instead, people had pledged allegiance to her, Ophelia and Hyacinth included. She smiles a little at the memory of Ophelia kneeling before her on the bank of the river. It’d been where whatever this was between them had really blossomed, she thought. “Helen’s here, too. I hope to befriend her as well. There will be more of us, women willing to aid one another here in Corinth. She owns Caffeine & Caffeine, that little place that overlooks the bay. She was excited to meet me.” It’s something she can’t even say without grinning. Her, someone had been excited to meet her.

+

He has not chosen to yet. But the pessimistic thoughts do not make it past Ophelia’s lips, and instead she simply nods her head. In truth, she knows it is likely an unfair opinion to have of Hyacinth, when she does not truly know the other rift. It is only her protective nature that leads her to such suspicions, the need to make sure that no harm befalls Rhea. She had meant it, the night of the masquerade when Ophelia swore she would defend the rift against all. Nothing else matters to her so much. The fury leans into Rhea’s touch, closing her eyes for a brief moment as she inhales softly. “I trust you,” she says softly, before brown eyes open to meet the other woman’s. “I only worry because I care.” More than care, this is something deeper, something that’s wrapped around her chest and burrowed in with hooks. To carve Rhea out would be to take Ophelia’s entire heart with her. “If something happened to you, I would not be able to withstand it.” She leans in, closing the gap between the pair to pull the rift into a kiss, a hand framing her face gently. Their foreheads press together when she pulls away, a soft smile upon her lips as she enjoys the quiet intimacy of the moment. “It is no less than you deserve. I hope they turn out to be everything you hope.”

“You- you can do that?” Marshall questioned, his blue eyes wide. He was afraid of what he’d see. Afraid that seeing through the eyes of the wolf would be no different than his own. If this fury had the power to reveal his memories to him than what else could she show him? The night he was attacked was a blur, but it felt selfish to ask such a thing given the circumstances. She was right though, knowing what he was capable of would keep him from removing himself from the scenario. Half the time the people he’d killed were featureless they’d been mauled so completely. Marshall nodded. “Do it.” He asked, “Please.” He furthered as his voice and body shook. “Show me what I did, I have to know. I have to see it.”

+

“Memory alteration is one of my gifts, as a fury. I can change them, or make them clear. Remove whatever altering someone else has done.” Or, in the werewolf’s case, the block that his own mind has put in place in an effort to protect him. It likely would not be kind, the return of such memories to him, but perhaps the weight of them will be helpful in his search to find control. “Hold still.” Ophelia instructs, putting away her blade as she moves towards the werewolf. She reaches out, pressing a hand lightly against the side of his temple, reaching inside of his mind for access into the things he cannot see. She does her best to be gentle with the matter, to not bring any further trauma upon the man, but in the end there is only so much she can do that is not simply yanking back the shroud, exposing the memories into the light — everything that had once been obscured. 

     Sofia wanted nothing more than to protest and stop Ophelia, but the problem was, she couldn’t deny the other fury anything. She would give her life for Ophelia, and so what did it matter that she let herself be pulled up into a standing position and towards the bedroom? She made a point to look annoyed at least. Even though the fury had to admit that once she was pushed down onto the bed, any of her defenses melted away. She sank into the pillows, before slowly resting her head against Ophelia’s shoulder. “I think you just want to sleep and need an excuse,” she mumbled. But once the cat joined them, a soft smile appeared on her lips, and she slightly shook her head. “I can’t believe this cat. He just follows you wherever you go, even the bed.”

“I have all the time in the world for the furies in Corinth.” The words are more hushed, but Eurydice smiles and she nods towards the building boasting music and laughter nearest them.

*

“You do not know what I am?” Eurydice’s head cants to the side just slightly as she sips at what is a ‘rum and coke’ in her hand. She wonders how old the fury is or if she has really been away that long, if they all had. It elicits a sadness within her, the idea that perhaps someone might not remember the old magic, that it was indeed lost. “We have been asleep for a very long time, I don’t think all that many of us are left.”

+

“Then I am fortunate to find myself in such company,” Ophelia says through a grin, following the woman inside the building. She settles into the small booth easily, allowing her gaze to linger on the creature across from her. Her open candor is appreciated, and so Ophelia chooses to respond in kind. “I have never encountered a magic such as yours before.” She does not have the years of experience that other furies do, though a hundred years is a lifetime to her, Ophelia knows that to others it is considered merely a blink of the eye. Perhaps she is one of them. Yet the pieces click into place, a puzzle inside of her head that fills with the information give, and perhaps it’s simply wishful thinking, but Ophelia sits up straighter in her seat in interest. “A dryad?”

“There’s a pack in town that said they could help me, they’ve tried. I don’t know they just said it’ll get easier eventually.” The guiltier he felt the worse things seemed to get, nothing was getting better, or easier, if anything it just felt like this was getting harder. Without any real tools to use things just felt like they were getting more out of control. “I promise I-” Marshall thought of the woman, Medusa who was helping him through the full moons. “I’ll do better.” Guilt alone wasn’t enough to keep the wolf at bay but it was eating him alive just the same. He didn’t know how to keep his emotions from getting out of control but he didn’t want to die, and he definitely didn’t want to hurt anybody. “I won’t hurt anyone else.”

+

It’s not a promise he can make, not really, but Ophelia wants to believe him anyways. Because she does not relish in the idea of removing this man from the world, when he is as much a victim of circumstance as the man that lost his life today. “I will make sure of it,” it’s as much of a promise as it is a warning, even though her tone is not hard. But Ophelia cannot allow him to continue causing harm, if he proves incapable of controlling himself. It is a sad twist of fate, but nonetheless part of the fury’s duty. She eyes the werewolf, wondering if there is more that can be done to assist him through this. “You said that you do not remember your actions, your shifting. I can remove that block within your mind. Perhaps that will give you better clarity to your control.”

    “We can try.” Admittedly, Sofia agreed with Ophelia in the sense that this woman would be a good ally to have on their side. The question was if she was someone who even took sides, or who would be on theirs. But that was something she could find out, if she managed to find her again and get a proper conversation going. If she could, she would go back out right now, but something about Ophelia’s tone told her she would be in trouble if she tried anything like that. A sigh escaped her lips, and her hand ran through her hair. “I don’t really need rest.” Which was a lie, so she corrected it. “I can’t remember the last time I tried to rest.” Which translated to ‘I don’t know how’.

     Emily had grown up in a generation in which the idea of meeting your soulmate in a café had been romanticized, and at the same time hardly anyone found dates outside of apps or social media. It was a hard contrast, and maybe one of the reasons why she had been so unlucky in that department even before she died. “That sounds too good to be true,” Emily admitted with a small smile. “I have read enough books in which these things happen, but real life seems harder than that.” She sighed then, fingertips brushing along a loose thread on her sleeve. “I will try, okay? That’s all I can offer you. I’m not exactly optimistic when it comes to my chances.”

She had no love for furies— Sofia was an exception to every rule that seemed to be put into place by herself and those around her, and to be this close to another one had her slightly on edge. But, not getting along with her roommate would make Sofia upset she imagined and Laila walked inside, looking around. She knew the apartment, but it was different now that she stood there with the other woman, looking down at the bottles. “I’ve never been much of a wine drinker, but I won’t feel offended if you drink yours and I just drink mine.” Laila paused, “You’re Ophelia, right?”

+

Ophelia cants her head in a slight nod, retreating to the kitchen momentarily to pour herself a glass of wine. She has a feeling that she will need it, and though the werewolf’s presence puts her a bit on edge, Ophelia thinks that their mutual affection for Sofia is enough to stay both their hands from violence. She returns with a wine glass in hand, taking a sip from the vintage as she joins Laila again. “That would be me,” she says, taking a seat across from her. “So how did you come to know Sofia?” Dark eyes watch the wolf in curiosity, wondering what appeal Sofia finds in her companionship. 

“He is dear to me, believe it or not. I would like to think those up there on Olympus would think the two of us are natural enemies.” His grandfather killed her, she’d wanted him dead at first but Hyacinth had proven to be a helpful and loyal ally. “I want him to have a life here, he deserves it.” The gods had wronged him too, she’d been cursed, he’d been killed. Medusa’s arms uncross and the gloved fingers of her free hand reach to brush a stray curl behind Ophelia’s ear. At just the mention of it, having a life untainted by the gods, she can’t help but look at her hand next to Ophelia’s face, her glove. She’d always be tainted, she thought, her power was still a curse when she couldn’t actually touch the woman she cared about. Her smile falters, slips back into something a bit more reserved as she brings up her cup of tea to take a sip. “Odyseuss’s wife, Helen’s cousin, the one known for being clever.” The woman known for drowning, for sitting around and waiting for her hero of a husband. She deserved a life, too. “She’s here, she was excited to meet me.” Such a thing is still strange, but she wasn’t complaining.

+

“Are you certain that he can be trusted?” It is not Ophelia’s place to question Rhea’s relationships, but she cannot help but feel concern regardless. The last thing that she wants is to see the rift hurt, even by someone she considers her own. Though they may have been on the same side of wishing to see the veil fall, that does not make him trustworthy, in Ophelia’s eyes. Perhaps even less so, due to her own personal bias in the matter. “If that is what you say,” she nods her head lightly. It is not a matter she wishes to fight Rhea on, the hill is not her own to stand on when her interactions with the other rift has only been once. If Rhea believes in the best of him, then perhaps Ophelia should as well. “She sounds wonderful,” the fury says, a smile crawling back upon her lips. The women of history are seldom ever treated fairly, remembered more for the men that they were attached to rather than their own merits. She thinks that she would like to meet this one for herself. “And like a good friend to have.” 

Tears stained his cheeks as he looked at the woman, a fury she’d called herself. This was her place in the world - putting down things like him, things that were dangerous, out of control. Maybe she was right, maybe he deserved to die. Marshall had thought as much more than once over the past few months, but that didn’t change the fact that he wanted to live. “I don’t-” He thought about what Kit had said about it being enough to not want to give in to the beast, to want to get better. “I didn’t ask for this.” panicked surged violently in his throat as his breath came in quick and rapid succession, even now he could feel his other half struggling to come through but if he turned now then there was no doubt that she’d put him down. “I have a family - parents, Allison and Greg Owens. I’m the youngest of five, I just… I just want to be able to go home again without hurting anyone. Please, I’m sorry I-” Marshall was desperate at this point, hardly coherent, blubbering as he realized that he was going to die with his parents and family probably thinking he was a murderer. And they’d be right. “I don’t want to die.”

+

Ophelia does not take joy in killing. She is a huntress by nature, not by choice. When she acts, it is for protection of those who cannot do so for themselves, not because she enjoys the feeling of holding another’s life in her hands. So she takes no pleasure in seeing the werewolf’s tears. She can piece together easily enough, what likely happened to him; bitten and left on his own by the one who turned him, no one to assist with his transitions or learning control. It’s a cruel fate that makes monsters of men, against their better nature, and he is merely unfortunate enough to be caught in the snare. Does that mean that he deserves death? It’s the thought that Ophelia wrestles with in her head, her grip on the knife in her hand as she looks at him plead. “You’ve been left alone to deal with this, haven’t you?” Her tone isn’t exactly gentle, but it does not carry the same bite as before. Perhaps he can be saved. She has spared creatures before, because she saw the potential for good inside them. He is young, and contrite, and has not learnt better. Perhaps death does not have to be the end for him. “This cannot continue. No more can die by your hand, or else the blood is upon both of us.”