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l a b y r i n t h
7
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"You wanna be the one and only; doesn't it get lonely?"


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March, 1939
New York, America









SHE awoke to the sound of running footsteps echoing from her door to the hall. She was unsurprised by the fact. Children were often inquisitive and curious little things that sparked sympathy from old hearts all because they harbored something no one else could; innocence. Innocence was lost to those who witnessed what they could not forget—and these two demigods were yet to understand the hardships and battles they were to face in the future.

Not that Ophelia knew their destiny or their future.

She pulled herself out of bed, listening lightly to the hesitant footsteps moving about the hall. They wanted to draw close—to ask her questions of her origin, or perhaps their own. But Ophelia was slow-moving in the morning.

Tired, just as any other mortal being.

Her father might have, perhaps—that is, know their destinies—but that would only be certain after he rose to his full form. When that would occur, Ophelia wasn't sure. Nor was she particularly certain about truly experiencing the annihilation of mortals. But she did miss the father she once sought to please in an attempt to gain his love—she wanted him to rise just so she might see him in a mortal-like state.

Yet though he did love her in some certain way, she no longer had that child-like innocence.

And her father's kindness had morphed as she grew into adulthood. She was capable of many things; except for an ultimate betrayal against her father. She would lack the desire to do so. She had the courage, the strength, the ambition and determination—

But nothing called her to stray from her father.

Not when her life would be destroyed in response.

Her father was not kind, not merciful (nor merciless), and refused to give her a freedom that all mortals had. Why? Some part of him desired to protect her; another part simply despised the thought of her ever rising up against him, just as her half-siblings had.

But Ophelia knew, deep in her heart, that she was unable to leave her father. Her father was, well, mortal-like in the beginning. He loved and cherished her—carried her on his hip when he was strong enough to do so.

Permanence | james b. barnes Where stories live. Discover now