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chapter seven. ( hollowed hearts and torn-up friendships ) S1E7 — victor victrola.
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SILENCE. IT WAS SOMETHING OPHELIA loathed, and, as of recently, she was drowning in it. With her parents' absence, and the lack of people coming to stay with her, Ophelia had been suffocating in the ever-revolving amount of silence that was surrounding her. Distantly, she could hear Lucille cleaning, or the chefs cooking something for her to calm her hunger, yet, apart from that, the only source she heard was her own inner thoughts, a plethora of them circulating her mind.
A sliver of her knew it was her fault, though. If she hadn't been so stubborn — so prideful —and just heardAstoria out, and listened to what she had to say so desperately on the night of the masquerade ball, then perhaps things wouldn't be so sour now. Perhaps, her, Astoria and Enzo would be friends again, as if nothing had happened.
But she was so furious with Astoria, the feeling overwhelming her and taking over her senses. Ophelia had never felt such rage before, as every word that fell from Astoria's lips infuriated her, and she couldn't bear to hear another word, afraid she wouldn't be able to control her actions, and be able to justify them.
She felt empty in her loneliness. With the gap that her best friend's left, the quietness of her parents' absence, it was all rather daunting, and she felt as though she was losing her mind within the depths of her home, her only companion, really, was Lucille.
Sulking down to the kitchen for breakfast, she slid onto one of the stools beside the counter, head resting on her hand, blonde tendrils falling into unruly curls. Lucille offered her a deadpanned look as she passed over a plate of tasty, breakfast foods, a look that told her to get a grip.
