FORTY-EIGHT | Ophelia

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YOU ARE MY HEIR

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YOU ARE MY HEIR.

You’re here to help us right?

We need you.

“Ophelia!”

You are the rightful queen.

Save us

With you, we can topple the gods

Stay in the shadows

Quiet!

I’m trying.

They’ll hear you.

They want to use you, Ophelia.

I can’t watch this.

“Hey!”

What are you doing?

Weak.

Stand up and fight!

You’re no match for her.

“I love demigods. I really do.”

None of us are

He’s trying!

Look! He’s trying!

It hurts! Get out! Get out!

"His."

Save us!

Look, Ophelia. Look.

“You never quit.”

No! Look away!

"Hers."

He’s weak.

He’s trying!

You’re just cowering here!

Oh no.

I can’t watch this.

“Lucky for me, there are no shortage of demigods.”

Ophelia, he needs you!

"Yours."

She killed him.

He’s dead.

No.

She killed him!

Look down.

"Theirs."

She killed him.

He’s not dead! Look down!

Ophelia opened her eyes. She heard nothing but voices, all the voices, everywhere at once and never ending. None of it made sense. Eternal choruses of the dead drowned out even the rushing of wind as shadows swirled around her. But as she opened her eyes and looked down, they stopped as one.

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