Ophelia de Luce (![[personal profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
likeblueblazes) wrote2014-06-02 10:40 am
likeblueblazes) wrote2014-06-02 10:40 am
Entry tags:
You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to howl.
When the storm begins, Ophelia is alone in her apartment, trying to convince herself that she isn't afraid. She jumps at every burst of lightning and the thunder reverberates in her bones; she paces around her living room, still sparsely decorated in the original furniture bestowed by the city. She is a de Luce, damn it all, and she is not allowing a stupid thunder storm to entirely interrupt her evening.
At a particularly loud crack of thunder, she all but leaps over the sofa, coming to land on all fours with a practiced grace she typically does not retain in her frightened state of being. She stands up abruptly when the smell of rain becomes almost overwhelming and she finds her ears filled with the conversations of her neighbors all around her, some of which make her flush from the language of them.
Another flash of lightning, and Ophelia catches sight of herself in the reflection of her window; her mouth drops open at the sight: her beautiful hair, once called the color of beaten honey, is now silver as the moon, and her eyes have faded from their once brilliant blue into a golden color. On top of that, she has ears like a dog protruding from beneath her hair, and her nails have elongated into claws.
She lets out a blood-piercing scream at the sight before bolting towards her bathroom at a speed as fast as the lightning outside her window. She almost rips the door off its hinges as she bursts inside, turning the light on and throwing her arms on the sink to steady herself. When she looks closer, she realizes her teeth have become sharper as well, and, if possible, she further pales.
Frightened out of her wits to the point where she is not thinking with clarity or reason, Ophelia turns again and runs, this time out of her bathroom and her apartment, slamming the door behind her as she leaps through the hallway and out into the storm-covered night.
At a particularly loud crack of thunder, she all but leaps over the sofa, coming to land on all fours with a practiced grace she typically does not retain in her frightened state of being. She stands up abruptly when the smell of rain becomes almost overwhelming and she finds her ears filled with the conversations of her neighbors all around her, some of which make her flush from the language of them.
Another flash of lightning, and Ophelia catches sight of herself in the reflection of her window; her mouth drops open at the sight: her beautiful hair, once called the color of beaten honey, is now silver as the moon, and her eyes have faded from their once brilliant blue into a golden color. On top of that, she has ears like a dog protruding from beneath her hair, and her nails have elongated into claws.
She lets out a blood-piercing scream at the sight before bolting towards her bathroom at a speed as fast as the lightning outside her window. She almost rips the door off its hinges as she bursts inside, turning the light on and throwing her arms on the sink to steady herself. When she looks closer, she realizes her teeth have become sharper as well, and, if possible, she further pales.
Frightened out of her wits to the point where she is not thinking with clarity or reason, Ophelia turns again and runs, this time out of her bathroom and her apartment, slamming the door behind her as she leaps through the hallway and out into the storm-covered night.