Ophelia
I feel cold and sore, i am chained to the damp stone wall of a narrow cell. The flicker of torchlight casts shadows that crawl across the rough floor. Heavy iron shackles bite into my wrists and ankles. The corset laced tight around my ribs makes it hard to breathe. My stockings are dirty, torn. My knees in pain. My white chemise is smudged with dirt. From afar, I hear boots. The steps are measured, calm, calculated. He steps into the torchlight: Dante, my demise, dressed in a dark, perfectly tailored general's uniform, the silver of his insignia glinting at his throat. His eyes are colder than the stone. The way he looks at me is as familiar as my own heartbeat, hungry, angry, and something darker still. He stops before me, arms folded, lips curled in a cruel smile.
"So this is what you've become," he says, his tone sharp as a blade. "A princess, reduced to chains. Did you think your title would save you, witch?"
My chin rises, defiant even as pain radiates from my shoulders.
"I am no witch," I say. My voice trembles, but I am proud. "And you are no savior."
He laughs, a sound without warmth. "No? Yet here you are, with the devil's eyes and the devil's tongue, caught in the act."
He kneels before me. His gloved hand grips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. There is mockery in his voice, but his touch is almost reverent.
"Did you enchant me, Ophelia? Or did you simply lie, as all witches do?"
Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.
"You once begged for my hand. Now you call me a monster?"
He leans closer, his breath warm against my cheek. His gloved fingers trace the bruises on my wrists.
"Be grateful, princess. I am the only one allowed here. If I wished, I could leave you to the flames."
My heart races, fear, anger, and longing all tangled together. "And why don't you?" I whisper.He tilts his head. Dark eyes roam over me, taking in the torn stockings, the corset cinched too tight, the helplessness, and the pride.
"Because I want answers. Because I want you to beg."
He presses a kiss to my temple, tender and chilling.
"Because I want to know how a woman I once loved became the thing I should destroy."
I shudder. My body betrays me even in this nightmare.
"You never loved me," I choke out. "You only ever wanted to possess me."
He smiles again, softer this time, but no less cruel.
"You're right. I want to possess every part of you, even the darkness."
His hand slides down my neck. His thumb traces my collarbone, gentle as a lover, obsessive as a jailer.
"Confess, Ophelia. Tell me what you are."
I meet his gaze. I dare him.
"I am your ruin."
His answering laugh is low, shadowed with longing.
"That, princess, is the only truth I've ever known."
The cell fades to black. His touch lingers on my skin. Haunting. Hungry. Impossible to escape.
I wake with a gasp, tangled in the sheets, my heart racing. For a moment, I don't know where I am, stone walls, chains, Dante's mocking, hungry eyes still vivid in my mind. Then the morning light brightened through my hotel window, painting soft gold across the ceiling. I press a hand to my chest, willing my pulse to slow, trying to shake off the dream's chill.
"Who are you?" I say it out loud, what exactly are these dreams?Dragging myself out of bed, my limbs heavy with dread and the weight of too many questions, I remind myself that today is the day. My life, already strange, is about to become something out of a crime novel. My biological father has flown me and Eleonor to Sicily for this meeting. The man my mother ran from before I was born, the one who, according to rumors swirling through Eleanor's family, is a millionaire with connections that make most people nervous.
He only learned I exist because Eleanor's father let it slip during some glittering, too-expensive dinner. I stare at my reflection as I get ready, hairbrush clutched tight in my fist. I wish I could tell my mother about this. I wish I remembered her face, or even my father's.
I slip into a white cami dress, the fabric cool against my skin, and matching high-heeled sandals. My hair is loose, glossy curls around my shoulders. I grab my white purse and head out the door, nerves buzzing beneath my skin.
Eleanor is waiting for me outside the café, golden sunlight making her yellow top even brighter. Her white, fluffy skirt sways above high-heeled sandals, and her black hair is artfully tousled. She looks every inch the heiress she is, her family's reputation rivaling any old Sicilian dynasty. When she sees me, she frowns and immediately shoves a croissant into my hand.
"You look like you saw a ghost," she says, her voice soft but teasing. "Or worse, your ex."
"Worse," I groan, taking a huge bite to keep from screaming.
"Today's the day. My long-lost father wants to meet me. After one week of me being here, he only wants to see me now.
"Eleanor's eyes go wide. "That sounds like a three-pastry problem. At least. As for my father's big mouth, I apologize."
I laugh, despite myself. "Do you think if I show up covered in powdered sugar, he'll take me less seriously?"
She grins, looping her arm through mine. "If you show up with me, he'll be too distracted by my beauty to notice. Or maybe he'll want to adopt me, too. Mob daddies love me."
"Ew, gross!" I cringe laughing. "I'm terrified, El." I shout, "What if he wants me to join the family business? I don't know how to fire a gun. I can't even drive." I joke.
Eleanor squeezes my hand. "Don't worry. You've got me for moral support and to keep you from accidentally joining a crime syndicate. Besides, if he's as rich as they say, maybe you can finally pay off my student loans, since my dad is still obsessed with teaching me 'responsibility' and making me work for it."
I roll my eyes, tilting my head. "You're the worst."
"Guess what? You're stuck with me, no matter what. Now, let's confront the beast. If he tries anything, I'll throw a croissant at him."
I laugh as I walk beside her, my heart in my throat. Everything is going to be okay, I tell myself.