#〳✧ « we reach for the stars / but the ones that shine brightly / rest well in your eyes » ( MITAMA. )

[duskroine]

"Ophelia!" Concern is carried in every line of Mitama's face as she knocks on the door to her dear friend's room. After her conversation with Rhajat, there had been enough on Mitama's mind that the passing remark regarding Ophelia's wellbeing had slipped her mind. It was only later when she did not see the boisterous woman in the dinning hall that evening did Rhajat's not-apology come roaring back to the forefront of her mind.

(She knew Rhajat enough to know that nothing that befell Ophelia would be permanent or fatal but. She also knew Rhajat well enough to know that some worry was warranted.)

"Rhajat mentioned an unfortunate encounter to me." Mitama tells her through the door. She shifts the bowl in her hands slightly so that the heat does not linger too long in a single spot. "Might you open the door so that I can assure myself she did not disembowel you for a ritual of some kind. I brought you soup."

          it’s with a long but soft that groan that ophelia exhales as the first knock echoes off the door.  the strength to lift herself off her mattress is... gone.  as if it never existed in the first place; as if she, the heroine of obnoxious exclamations and acts of honor, never experienced even the slightest inch of her former power.

          though she does, at least, manage to open her eyes at the sound of her name in the air, albeit resonating a bit muffled from behind the door.  ophelia blinks, slowly, attempting to recognize the voice through the mild drowsiness sticking to her mind.  though it only takes a minute for her to fully realize it; pushing the blanket off of her and sitting up slowly.

          rhajat was cruel!  so unfairly mean!  and all for a joke in terms of attempting a hand at mitama’s heart... who wouldn’t?  though, the reflection of the diviner’s wrath does cause a bit of confusion at the presence at her door.  mitama, she already knew, but hadn’t rhajat said that the shrine maiden was ‘ somewhere far far away ’ and ‘ she wouldn’t be able to save her now ’?

          the moment ophelia stands is the moment that the strength to stay standing immediately leaves her body.  fortunately, she manages to stumble towards the door and lean against it before her knees give out beneath her.  oh, rhajat was so mean for this!  how can ophelia be her grand bubbly self if that self didn’t have an ounce of energy in her?!  and not to mention this awful cold... no matter the short limit of time that the curse had on her.

          she laughs, the chirp of her voice interrupted by a slight cough and she opens the door   —   an action that takes quite too long for her liking.   “   it’s cool, ’m here.   ”   ophelia keeps the door open for mitama to come in, though she makes no move to lift herself from where she leans against the frame.   “   rhajat was kind enough to tell you, good.   ”   the spaces between her phrases drags for a beat too long; her voice even takes to a slightly lower tone!  nothing like her usual flare!

          (   part of her wishes that, when rhajat came tomorrow to lift the curse, she’d be able to challenge the diviner to a battle in an act of revenge but even she knows that some battles are already a lost cause.

          will ophelia still do it?  hell yeah she will!  to let rhajat live freely without consequence would be unfit of the Chosen One’s morals.   )

          “   i would greet you properly but... i can’t think of any big words right now.   ”   ophelia sighs, a sound that immediately shifts into a yawn.   “   mm, you wouldn’t mind me taking a nap, right?  good... good,   ”

          and with that she pulls herself off the frame, stumbles over to her bed, and falls face first onto the mattress.  she quickly curls up and pulls the blanket, angled wrong, back over her.  but before complete silence takes the room, ophelia’s hand peeks from beneath the blanket to point at the surprisingly cleaned off and empty dresser top near the side of her bed.

          “   the soup can go there.  good night,   ”

[duskroine]

[ SACRIFICE ]:     knowing that the circumstances only allow one of them to survive, the sender sacrifices their life in order to guarantee the receiver’s survival and safety.

settling dust   (   cw; death?   )

          ophelia’s never been scared of death, almost accepting of it, as fate would have proposed their fall long ago.  but now, as mitama speaks to them, a voice silent but unwavering, even with the thundering of footsteps behind them, ophelia cannot see past the darkened spots scattered over their vision.  it’s impossible to hear anything above the chaos that follows them; a game of cat and mouse, fate ever so unforgiving.

          they wonder, what could have been done to stop this?  not staying behind with mitama to scout the village?  would the innocents have been bested instantly against the horde of faceless?

          the world sways as ophelia’s body hits the ground, though any moment of rest that they hoped to gain is immediately halted by them being pulled back to their feet.  where their knees buckle once more and an arm comes around their waist.  their name   —   desperate, breathy, hurt   —   rings through their ears and maybe it’s that moment, the realization of the fate that the two have been given, that causes ophelia to break into a sob.  incoherency separating what they believe are to be wishes and cries of ‘ i don’t want to die ’ slipping from their lips.

          but despite their wish, despite the touch of bark against their back as mitama lowers them both to a kneel, they continue to cling onto the shrine maiden.   “   l-leave me, i... i’m slowing you down.  mitama, please,   ”

          though the army knows of their location, the exact land of where the village lies, it will be all too late with the pace they’ve been running at.  ophelia cannot stop the sob that falls when mitama refuses, holding a hand against the torn fabric of their mage robe.  there is a glow of warmth but it loses its grace the second they attempt to lean into it.

          it’s too easy to pry ophelia’s hands from mitama’s torn shirt; with every movement, mitama speaks, but the timbre of her voice is faint, light, ophelia can’t hear anything but a slight buzz underneath the crashing far behind them.  their hands close around something thin, paper - like.  ophelia's vision threatens to leave them in the dark when they attempt to stand up as mitama does.

          “   i... sorry.  i’m sorry, mitama, i...   ”   exhaustion tempts to cradle them; mitama shakes her head.  but whatever she says, an apology or praise or even a goodbye, falls on deaf ears.

          when the strength leaves them completely, they decide that it was fate’s doing.  making them helpless to watch mitama run out of their hiding spot behind the space of two close trees and into the open yet thin clearing far away.  it’s then that ophelia hears her voice.  not the words, but by the pitch, the expression she wears, ophelia knows it as a call.  a shout of direction.  but then... that could only mean....

          their tongue lies numb, almost mockingly, in ophelia’s mouth.  unable to stop nor cry out as the pattern of crashing footsteps changes pace; mitama, the target of the chase.  but the gaze they share with her is fleeting   —   her retreating footsteps are drowned out as fatigue closes ophelia’s eyes.

          (   when they awaken, it is with a rush of flailing arms and a deep, sudden flash of pain that doubles them over into rhajat’s arms.  a string of words falls from their lips, all incoherent, all desperate, all unable to be heard besides the constant mutter of mitama’s name.  but an attempt to run out the tent and search for the shrine maiden’s own is lost to the stutter of rhajat’s voice.  ophelia sits on the futon, watching as the sole audience of the diviner’s trembling shoulders and thumb that lies dangerously trapped between her teeth.

          an apology is given towards the shrine maiden’s disappearance, but ophelia has yet to decide whether or not it is she who should be forgiven.  has fate truly... lost its confidence in its best child warrior?   )

[duskroine]

💭 ((I Cannot remember if I sent you one before tbh))

hear my thoughts, for i am now you!

          “   the volcano erupts / pink billows of smoke eager to relieve / your time is now up, dear fiend!!   ”   ophelia frowns, shaking her head as she lowers the staff   —   borrowed from a fellow classmate of whom she kindly mixed up a half lie, half truth to become in complete possession of it.  either way, the staff is temporary for the both of them, but she needs it more!  the art of becoming another in the life of acting is... phenomenal!  something that she finds very difficult to do at this hour of day.  even dressing up the part took more time than she’d like to admit.

          wheaten blond curls are now brushed straighter   —   something that also took much struggle   —   and parted down the middle, pulled over her shoulders by thick bands.  finding a similar white ribbon the same length as mitama’s was a quest on its own, but no matter how much she tried, ophelia just couldn’t tie it the way mitama did hers!  and if she asked the shrine maiden for help?  oh no, an absolute no.  it would give away her secret!  she’d die from embarrassment   (   she’s already failed an impress of mitama once before, but to do it again...   )

          the dress she wears is also unfamiliar and nothing alike mitama’s but it was all she could find at the moment.  and it’s enough!

          “   five, ten, six.  no, wait.  five, ten, five?   ”   ophelia pauses, staring off into the empty space in front of her as her mind tries to pull up a memory of mitama speaking a haiku during their times together.  no, it can’t be ten, that’s too long.  six?  seven?  oh, seven!

          she clears her throat and quickly gets back into position; setting her staff down and sitting beside it with her back leaned against the tree behind her.  a quick check of her props; a notepad open with scribbles across the parchment, a bag of her usual attire and equipment, and a pen.  wait, where’s the... never mind, it’s right there.  ok, and SCENE!

          ophelia closes her eyes and allows herself to relax, thinking only of the steady rise and fall of her chest.  numbers count down within her head and once zero is reached, she clicks her tongue.   “   unfortunate once more / the volcano is displeased—   ”   her eyes open and a glare settles over her face.   “   — / the stars need a sacrifice!   ”   but any second thought of recounting her syllables and starting another scene immediately disappear at sight of a familiar face staring down at her.  ophelia’s expression of composure and faked irritation make way for something more bashful, more embarrassed.

          she fails to realize that the pen has snapped in her grip until a gaze moves towards it, then back at her.  slowly.  ophelia flushes but does not stutter.   “   mitama!  what a.. gracious surprise, haha.   ”   there is no response.  an unusually resigned silence overtakes the two of them as they stare at each other.  ophelia clears her throat, opening her fist to let the cracked pieces of the pen fall from her hand.

          “   ......twinsies?   ”

[duskroine]

[  LICK  ]  for  you  muse  to  lick  my  muse

that's a mood, meme

          ophelia’s out of it by the time that the bottle circles the group at least twice.  three times?  she isn’t sure, she must have forgotten.  the game of truth and dare has been moving along for quite some time now, not long enough for her to become affected by the drinks smuggled in earlier   —   just from the last few times they’ve done this, she’s sure that she’s not a lightweight.  so she deems this heaviness to her body and mind as exhaustion.

          her own truth is easy; how many weapons has she broken in this month?  and, of course, she answers with an exaggerated   (   and genuine; but no one can tell this by the click of her pitch, the punctuation of her act   )   gasp, holding a hand to her heart and shaking her head quickly.   “   as if i’d ever break a weapon of... fine, three.  we do not introduce the issue of this being the first week of the month.   ”

          the bottle is passed to her from soleil and ophelia throws out a wild dare to siegbert.  the next round is a blur to her, she finds herself dozing off by the time her name is called out.  but... no one’s looking at her.  all gazes are turned towards mitama, who sits a few spaces away from her in the uneven and horribly formed circle they’ve made.  ophelia arches an eyebrow, at mitama and then at the bottle that’s back in her right hand.

          hasn’t it just made its way to her?  ophelia shrugs and takes a sip, passing it to back to soleil and—

          a hand falls on her shoulder.  ophelia turns to face mitama, blinking up at her from where she now sits to her side.   “   issue?   ”   she asks, moving so she could face mitama properly.  but she shakes her head and leans forward; a whisper of something along the lines of ‘ a dare ’ falling from her lips.  it should be instinct for her to move back at the advance but her reactions seem to be delayed.  not by...

          she freezes entirely when mitama’s tongue presses against the corner of her lips.  her reation falls a few beats late when mitama licks her.  ophelia flinches, grabbing mitama’s shoulders and pushing her away while laughing.  there’s scattered reactions, really, but someone calls out,   “   the dare was two times!   ”   her laughter slightly dies down, narrowed eyes attempting to find the voice’s owner and yet ophelia remains confused.   (   it sounded like soleil but when the other had been looked at, she seemed as confused as her.  played like a fool, ophelia was.   )

          “   wait, two?!  do i gain the chance of revenge after?   ”   no response.   “   wow, the heroine has been betrayed, thanks.   ”   despite her protest of revenge and retribution, ophelia lets go of mitama’s shoulders and cocks her head to the side; the beginnings of a pout on her face.   “   if you wish to place your tongue upon my face again, you’ll be surely—  MITAMA!!   ”

[duskroine]

[ Embrace ] - The sender gets in closer, practically embracing the receiver as they dance.

          dusk mistakes the embrace for a moment of peaceful slumber, disguised within the looks of a dance.  but no matter if true or not, ophelia allows her arms to hang from mitama’s shoulders, aware of mitama and where her arms curl around her waist.  the partners around them, too, have adapted to the dropping pace of the orchestra’s melody and harmony; two lines of music that twist into each other until both are unrecognizable as individual pieces.

            ophelia slowly takes the crown from overtop of her head and gently sets it onto mitama’s head.  there had been a tease earlier in the night, where mentions of siegbert confusing mitama for ophelia only if the crown upon her hair meant an identity of passable standards.

            there are many differences between the two, but there is one of those that brings a similarity up: they were beyond beauty itself with the crown on.  it is a thought that brings soft laughter from ophelia’s lips, a noise that mitama moves in response to.

            “   has fatigue clung to your limbs, mitama?   ”   ophelia asks, voice quite too low to her own preference but she understands that outright screaming would be an annoyance to everyone including mitama.   “   hehe~!  you wouldn’t make your dear friend carry you through the corridors of darkness leading towards the arch of faith that lies your abode, correct?   ”   if purpose called for it, then it would most likely be claude to take mitama back to her room, or rhajat; ophelia cannot exclaim any further delight to being able to drag the gloomy sorceress into multiple photographic opportunities.

            as the two ladies step into a small spin, ophelia pulls back her arms and presses her hands against mitama’s face   —   contentment in the way she winks down at mitama.   “   do you require for the Chosen One to shake you awake?  a squeezing embrace or two will fit right well!   ”   playful as a joke but serious as a concept, for ophelia isn’t against having to lift someone and shake them until they wake up.  though it is clearly only an idea as ophelia moves to press her thumb against mitama’s nose, completely forgetting the prior question of fatigue and exasperation.

            the orchestra has yet to rise the pace of the song; ophelia lets go of mitama’s face and tilts her head, returning her arms to hang from mitama’s shoulders.   “   thank you for spending moments of the night by my side.  this was surely an experience that the stars will remember and look back on with glee.   ”

[duskroine]

[ Smooch ]

They both have their own dates, but Mitama sees little reason why, despite that, they cannot still enjoy each others' company on their own. Ophelia looks lovely. Mitama is expected to simply believe that Siegbert will make certain she is aware of that fact? Please.

Getting Opehlia into place for the so called photograph was easy, thankfully.

"Oh, Ophelia, hold still a moment, will you?" Gently turning the woman's head towards her, Mitama waited until she heard the countdown from the photographer before leaning in and pressing a kiss to her dear friend's lips. A flash went off as the photograph was taken and Mitama pulls away with a soft smile.

"Forgive me." She laughs sheepishly. "I thought it a shame to let the opportunity pass."

          heroine almost squeals in delight upon seeing mitama approach her, unassuming that this approach has a purpose behind it.  she rushes at mitama and embraces her, all too distracted by the joy of being within the shrine maiden’s presence on such a grand night to notice that she was being led into a certain direction.  or that she was being put into a proper position until the lens of the magic within the projectionist’s grasp sparked.  ophelia gasps, clapping her hands together as mitama steps beside her.

          “   what pose shall we take to stance?  will   —   oh!  oh!  i have an idea, what if we... hm?   ”   although interrupting herself was always a habit she had, it’s not her voice that separates her thoughts this time.  ophelia nods and immediately stops moving, though it only lasts for a second since she jumps slightly at the touch of mitama’s hand on her face.

          there is a pause between when her head is turned and when the countdown begins to slip from the projectionist’s lips.  it’s in those few moments that ophelia gathers an idea of the pose that mitama wishes to take for the photograph.  maybe that is the real reason why she does not protest the simplicity that will show within the photograph’s result.

          though whatever idea she had was completely and utterly wrong   —   pressing foreheads together or staring dreamingly into each other’s eyes as two would do within a romantic play   —   because the countdown brings out mitama’s response.

          ophelia is unable to contain her surprise into just the widening of her eyes when mitama presses a kiss to her lips.  she reacts, thankfully, in time by pressing back into the kiss as the flash of magic sounds off.  mitama pulls away and ophelia giggles, then moving her hand to dramatically fan herself.   “   the heroine has been bested by a mere kiss!  it’s as the stars suspected!   ”   though her laughter is still genuine, she stops fanning herself to reach forward and hold mitama’s face in her hands.

          “   the heroine of darkness is filled with praise to think that you’ve succeeding at grabbing an opportunity before it disappeared.  all is forgiven,   ”   a pause for ophelia to quickly kiss mitama on the tip of her nose, then she lets go of the shrine maiden’s face and happily turns to the working projectionist,   “   now, let’s take in the sight of this image!  oo, then we’ll take more of these!   ”