Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

2 - Songbird (OM)

COVEN - 2

The degrading murmurs that swept past Ophelia's ears whenever she went on an occasional stroll through town usually weren't so distracting. But there was something about the tone in their voices that made her wary, something about the way their eyes darted from her and back to whoever they were talking to. It wasn't an uncommon occasion for rumours about her to spread from mouth to mouth. It wasn't uncommon for the townsfolk to rush away from her presence, as if breathing in the same air of someone so despicable as herself would give them disease. Nor was it uncommon for them to hold a variety of faces, from anger, to disgust, to just pure annoyance.

Never fear. Now that was uncommon. Ophelia was not a scary person, she knew that about herself better than anyone. Never had she struck a man, woman, or child. Never had she screamed and hollered at anyone, as she rarely felt anger strong enough to pull something like that free of her. She may have been a rather frisky widow, but she kept her head. Did I go too far last night? Did Barnabas quit ignoring me and come back for my love?

She couldn't help chuckling to herself, and for a moment she forgot the street she walked was near abandoned, progressively so as she journeyed further down. It was a steep street, paved by dirt, and thriving vegetation brushed her dress as she ventured. She cared not that dirt was collecting at the hem; she'd never cared for the state of her attire. Her youthful face was enough, no need to worry herself about something that could wash out. Surely, she thought, whatever rumour was roaming around would wash out.

Because she held the benefit of a vantage point from where she stood, she could see the market already in full swing at the bottom of the path. Rows of rickety houses led into rows of rickety stands, where rickety venders tried to sell their rickety goods. The whole town was rickety, standing only because of a few wooden foundations that could collapse at the slightest breath. Still, Ophelia stayed. It was the sea air she loved. It cleared her mind of worry in a way that alcohol wasn't needed.

It swept away her concerns in a matter of moments, and even when she saw Thales bustling about between venders she continued on, a light smile thrust upon her lips. Probably just picking up flour and other necessary bread-stuff. Business is falling, so I hope today he has a little fun with baking. It's best on the good days.

Her son would deny Ophelia ever knowing him like the back of her hand, but it was the truth. She knew more about that boy than anyone, maybe even himself. Sometimes, when she was sober like this, she wondered how he would've turned out had his father not died. Would he have been happier? Found a better job, a wife, even? Ophelia desperately wished for grandchildren, but at the rate things were going at the time, the thought was deemed impossible.

And that is when an idea occurred to her. Maybe we can pull a few strings, arrange a few meetings...yes, it'll be perfect. Perhaps we can convince a girl's family to marry her off. And if the gal comes from a wealthy family... Thoughts of pulling themselves out of the rubble of Port Notales put a spring in her step, and soon she had hopped right into the hustle of the market, ready to become Lady Morvone and let her words make magic.

She certainly didn't expect the venders and shoppers alike to turn to her in dread and anguish, and shout words that would be enough to burn her at the stake. "Murderer!"

If she hadn't known any better, she may have said she already felt the flames licking at her feet, the tongues of demons straight from Hell.

Women pushed their children behind them, men pushed back their wives, and the accusatory comments came from those without family to care about protecting. One of them, a lanky fellow with a hooked nose, stepped free of the crowd and took Ophelia's arm before she could react. His nails dug into her skin, and she bit into her lip to keep from crying out. It wasn't so much the pain, she could deal with that. It was the way everyone stared at her - as if she were a monster. The man turned back to the collecting crowd, snarling at them. "C'mon! We don't need murderers in this town - we've got enough sinners as it is. One less would do us all good!"

The audience seemed wary to say anything, but a few of the more passionate members gave their sounds of approval. Ophelia only gave a curt nod. Keep your cool, or they'll think you're getting defensive, which will make them think you really did it...whatever it is. "I have done nothing you've just accused me of. I'm no murderer."

"Really, woman?" a voice hollered. "One of our own found evidence that you were the one to kill your husband - and more along with him."

Ophelia wasn't ready for a blow like that. She keeled over, holding a hand to her head, the other getting its circulation cut off by an iron grip. Killed my own husband? My child's father? What are they all blabbering on about?!

"Yeah!" another called out. "Someone went into that bakery you've got, came runnin' back screamin' about remains in the oven. We all went in and ravaged the damned place, found bones under the floorboards!"

Another man stepped out to meet the other, cracking his knuckles as he towered over her. "I say we throw her in the ovens, just like her victims." Something glinted in his eye, something unidentifiable. "My sister went missing months ago. Her locket was under your bakery."

Keep calm, don't lose your head. Clearing her throat, Ophelia opened her mouth in reply. She needed to defend her stance.

However, she never got the chance, as the clang of metal rang out and the hands restraining her disappeared. Immediately she leapt back, the other man's fingers only skimming her collar. New hands found her, and soon she was running, stumbling away at the command of another.

She looked up to see Thales lugging her away from the crowd at breakneck speeds. In his other hand was a pan. Her primary question was why he had gotten her away from the crowd. However, that could wait, as the question of why she'd been on the verge of being beaten to death was much more important. She meant to ask it, but something else entirely came out. "They said there are bodies under our home." Saying it made everything settle in much easier. Fear dragged its finger up her spine, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. "There are bodies under our home. Thales! Why are there bodies under our home?!"

"I have no clue. I checked the floorboards yesterday, the only thing there was an empty money jar. I barely made it out the back window when they all barged in." He dragged her into an alley, looking both ways to make sure no one was listening in. "We need to hide until your name is cleared."

It was a serious matter, Ophelia was certain. But somehow she managed to say, "As long as I get my drink."

~

Score - 11 (-3) = 8