( december 21st )

[firegap]

Pauline Ernestine wasn't called Ophelia and it must have had its reasons, but she found none of them on her way to the moat. Night had long since fallen, had draped itself softly across the manor's rooftops, dripped from the gutters like excess water and with shade running down her scarred features, she might as well have given up her soul. Already.

Would the stars take it? Would the water?

Quietly, though her skin was too tight and irritable at every little seam, she slid down to the edge of the water, dress hems soon muddy and drenched from her descend. The banks of the moat looked like fortress walls around her. Was she really home at Rosengaard or was this Elsinore, after all?

Was there ever a better time to break branches?