10Okay, I am going to be writing a story involving quite a bit of romance, plot twists, suspense, supernatural stuff...and this is just a one-shot practice of one - or you could say two of some of the characters the stroy is involved with. Ophelia is a "full-blooded"(actually she is human/vampire with vampire blood being more dominant after puberty set in) vampire, who is the eldest child of the vampire lord Godfry of Feardorcha castle. He is using her, setting her up to marry Reginald Ethelbert, the sole heir of Ethelbert castle, the castle belonging to his step-brother. So this is sort of about after her first meeting with Reginald and Godfry's reaction.
I may do a series of one-shot POVs of each important character. Truly, I'm beginning to really like Ophelia's character and am quite sad about not making her such an involved character for the story. The story mainly focuses on the Ethelbert family. Anyway, enjoy.
Broken Doll
~Ophelia POV~
My fingers numbly trace the marble-white keys as I begin to ponder on what I should be playing. He is watching me, as always. I turn my head, smiling kindly towards him. He does not look in my direction; instead, he is staring out the window.
My calm reserve threatens to break. There is only one reason why he is not looking at me - he is upset with something I have done. I slowly place my hands on my lap, head bowed as I turn to face the front of the piano. When he is like this, I cannot stare.
"You spoke to him, when you should not have." He's speaking to me now. I flinch at the coldness in his tone. Have I ever heard love in his words, even when he spoke of such love?
"What are you talking about, father?" I ask, afraid to lift my head and look at him. I know he is looking at me now. Before that would have been fine, but now - now it kills me inside. The look I know he is giving me is not the gaze a father should have for his only daughter.
"You know very well of what I speak," he hisses. I hear him shifting. He must have stood up from his seat. I fight the will to shudder, knowing he's moving closer towards me.
Hands are now clutched on both of my thin shoulders, his nails digging into the silk fabric of my gown. "You will ruin our plans if you distance him from us. I can already tell he dislikes such conversations you bring up."
"What could I have said, Father?" I ask, my head still bowed. The light colored tendrils of my hair tickle my face, but I dare not flinch - not even when I feel the slight trickle of blood down my shoulders where he has pierced me with his touch.
"Nothing. He only cares for silence. As does any man." His voice is at my ear, his breath touching my skin like an unwanted lover. From this, I mistakenly shudder in his grasp. "You are more lovely as a doll, my child."
He removes his hands, and I hold in a gasp of pain. The tears so forcefully begging to be free cause my aching chest to tighten. "I am sorry, Father…" Again, I make the mistake of lifting my head and looking directly at his face - but thankfully not at his eyes. "But…I do not wish to use him-"
His eyes lock with mine, and I feel my will slowly ebb away into the subconscious of my mind. I stare blankly at him, my lips pressed in a thin line.
"My dear Ophelia," he whispers, cupping my chin in his cold, death chilled hands. "You are not using him. Oh, no, my little doll…" His fingers trace my face, trailing gently across my lips. "You will be his precious ornament, while I work behind the scenes. But, alas," he says at last, wrapping his free arm across my waist, freeing me of the bench I had placed myself firmly on. He moves me away from the piano, keeping me in a dancer's stance - close to him. "You will never quite be his, will you?"
I am still staring lifelessly through him, although he knows I can still hear his mastering voice. "No, no, my dear," he coos softly. "You have already been broken…
Ophelia…
my porcelain doll."