𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄|𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆

OPHELIA

  THE BOAT SWAYS beneath my feet, so much so that it knocks me off balance. I hear Andromeda being sick in her cabin, despite the closed door and Ascella's quiet knocks, pleading for our sister to let her in so that she may aid her.

  They call it Poseidon's curse — or so the captain says, truth be told like any man I do not trust him. Over the past three days aboard he's told many a tall tale — said he's seen ghost ships and fought off great sea beasts with nothing more than his bare hands and half a broken oar, among other things. And whilst his stories may spark wonder in Ascella's eyes or a rare smile for my eldest sister, my lips stay steady. I do not believe him one bit. He may lie for their favour, however, a lie is still a lie. I do not like liars.

  The waters are calm, barely a stir amidst the monotonous blue. Half an hour later Ascella enters, hair slightly dishevelled as she sighs, "She finally passed out."

"Good." I say, fixing a raven strand behind her ear. "It's better this way."  And she nods in agreement, sitting beside me before the small circular window that looks out into the blank canvas of a new world beyond.

  "Are you nervous?" I ask and she laughs, "Of course — I'd be mad not to be."

  "What about Andromeda?" Her name tastes sour on my tongue; like a bitter fruit.

  "Ophelia." Ascella laughs. "She's just as terrified as the rest of us, if not more so, she only hides it best."

  I'm not sure how to feel about that, I thought I would find the confirmation satisfying, but I don't. Even though I blame her partly for it, none of this is my eldest sister's fault. Her only crime was her silence, her impassiveness. But watching the world fall apart when you alone may be the aid is still a crime.

  "She should be," I say. "She's devoted her life to their Gods, and this is how they return her favour. When she needs them most they are nowhere to be found."

  My sister purses her lips, "Or maybe she knows the most of their Gods, which is why she's the most terrified of all."

  I know she is right. As for as long as I can remember my eldest sister has fawned over the histories of our lonely island, prayed to the pious, and pleaded with the stars in hope of some never-ending redemption. That is the life that her Gods dictate to us, forever in their debt, forever in fear.

  However, like in all things the North reins almighty. Nursemaids, many of which were born of those lands, tell tales, they say their Gods live among men, yet never as their equal. They say that the Nothern Kings are Gods. They say many monstrous things of the men of the North. I grew out of those stories many years ago, Andromeda did not.

  They say Zeus sent eight of his strongest sons and daughters down from Olympus to rule over the cities of Greece in his stead. At the foremost of which was the Spartan King; Zeus's firstborn son and the God of war himself, or so the stories said. Truth be told I'd always thought their mythologies were just another way to elicit fear within the Grecian people. For nobody would dare rise against a self-proclaimed king if they believed him the son of Zeus...

  Ascella places a warm hand on mine, "Ophelia, don't hate her for what she cannot control."

  The laugh that leaves my lips is hollow and fleeting, "I do not hate her for what she cannot control, I hate her for what she can." Then I stare down at my hands, ashamed of my own spite, "She stood by and said nothing as her mother tore me apart before her."

  "What good are words when nothing will change?"

  "That didn't stop you." I retort and she shakes her head sadly, "I never said that mother was right. My impulsion overcame me, but only for a moment,  you must control your emotions Ophelia — before they control you."