The Sunspire Act One, Melodrama

    Love does not exist. Simple words—so cynical and world-weary, and yet they rang against her consciousness with the bright, harsh knell of truth. “No,” she murmured, though more to herself than to this wretched little apparition of a pup, and the words were not ones of denial but of agreement: “No, no longer. Once, perhaps, what seems now long ago, but… Love does not exist anymore for me. Not in this world.” She felt her heart cracking open wider yet as she spoke those words, and again the sorrowful droop of her head was not entirely a trick. No, it was only a little feigned, which many who’d known her better would have to admit was something of an improvement over her usual style.

    An explosively dramatic sigh, the forcefully loud exhalation of air from her lungs that would have seemed a tornado in miniature to any unfortunate insect caught up within it, and she dropped bonelessly to the earth like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Numbly, she let the others’ words flow over her, in one ear and out the other. She was no longer entirely certain what was real and what was imagined of the sensations her senses were offering her, if the younger wolf or the elder or both were ethereal or corporeal or what. And she wasn’t entirely sure she cared. What did it matter? What did anything matter, anymore, after all she had been through? How could she continue with half of herself missing?

    Theatrically, that’s how—or so the answer still seemed to be to any impartial observer. Ophelia had never been averse to playing the martyr, and even if her grief was for once tinged with the tincture of genuine despair, well, at least it was all the better an excuse to steal the spotlight and prostrate herself such that all for miles around would feel as sorrowful and wretched as she did. And if Ophelia did not think of it quite so clearly to herself in those terms, there was nonetheless still a little too much deliberate artfulness in the way she curved her wrist to better display her poor battered foot, once so perfect and now, with its roughened and split nails and coarsely toughened pawpads, seeming nearly as battered as her heart itself felt. Now that was a tragedy: not only to be feeling so wretched, but to have to look wretched whilst feeling so? Oh! it was too much to bear, truly it was. “I fear I have no sanctuary to offer you, or anyone else,” she murmured softly in a daze to the little one, who was already leaving her for the other, saner, and more powerful figure. And then with an effort Ophelia half-raised her head a moment later at the older and more sensible wolf’s question as the other approached. “Ohhhh,” moaned Ophelia. “I am not certain I can bear to speak of it! Even now my heart bleeds itself dry at the very memories…” Yet despite her words she sat up just a little more and scooted her other forefoot over neatly beside the other. The motions seemed to nudge at the observer: See, see what terrible trials I have been through? My formerly perfect feet, of such pure and pristine white, and now look at them! Look at me! Ophelia’s lips and lower jaw trembled for just an instant’s pause before, contrary to her words, she launched loquaciously into her tale.

    “Oh, it is not a story for the faint of heart to endure! And yet I fear that is all I have become now in its wake: faint-hearted, worn-out, worthless. My love and I, we met in a warm sunlight meadow, among the serenading birds and bees and the summery perfume of a thousand wildflowers. It was love at first sight, though it took a bit longer for us to confess such to one another; I was quite the shy young maid at the time, and my beloved in matters of the heart himself not much more worldly, you see. Our love blossomed just as had those flowers, and proved even more intoxicating to the senses— but alas, I fear my family was too hard-hearted, too callous and brutalized by the cares of the world to understand! They disapproved of my beloved and insisted I ne’er call upon him again. But instead I fled my pack of birth to start a newer and truer one with my love, one that would be founded on true love and understanding and therefore stand the test of time. But I fear Fate was a much crueler and capricious mistress than I realize, for ’twas not that long ago at all, for in short order she took both my puppies and my true love from me!” Ophelia swayed in place, true emotions swelling and threatening to overcome her again. “Oh, oh me! He was so gallant, so brave, trying to protect me and my children; if only I had known,” she sobbed.