Open RP - No longer a morsel, she wanders

[gather-ye-roses.livejournal.com]

The very clouds had come to greet her. How splendid!

A faint, lazy smile managed to cross the young woman's face as she traipsed idly around the room, staring in awe to each piece of popcorn with a sort of glassy-eyed expression that let it be widely known that not exactly all of this girl was entirely there. Ophelia had long since slipped into madness, and death had not even put a damper on her skewed way of thinking. Popcorn, of course, incidentally, did not happen to be made of the same materials as clouds, and yet she laid a hand upon a giant kernel with a curiosity that proved that she did, in fact, believe the things to be.

But, strange, she did not recall clouds looking so stiff in the sky, and these could not be such that dreams were made of. Impostor clouds, only pretending to be members of the sky, and that smile was wiped off of her face before she could even have time to be adjusted to happiness. She doubled back, hair hanging in tangles in her face as she stumbled into the light of the hallway, so panicked that her hands came into contact with the stone wall before she could stop walking.

A castle.

It looked like home. The same, long, crimson carpets that lined the hallways, luscious fabric that felt like comfort underneath her bare toes. Stone... rocky stone... gray like death. Was it home? There... torches. Fire. Fire that burned and charred and... heat. That glazed expression was back, as her head tilted backwards, hair tumbling over her shoulders like spilled mead, and she stared up at the heavens just beyond the ceiling of Hogwarts.

Not home. It didn't smell like home. There was no faint whiff if treacle tart coming from the kitchens. Just... cold. Damp. Damp like water, Lord, please, let there not be water. There had been people in this hallway, and as if to observe that fact, her eyes promptly traveled back downward, back to that carpet that tickled her toes. People. She crouched down, her dress, off-white and stained from years of being buried beneath the soil, splayed out across the floor as she bent over to lightly sniff at the rug, curiously. It was almost impossible to tell she'd ever been dead, drowned, other than the deathly pale complexion to her skin.

People.

...Where?


((Unpopped Hamlet girls FTW! I'm noting here that... I'm not going to attempt Shakespearean English, only becauseeeee... I don't want to completely bastardize the stuff, which I will if I try xP So, for now, come poke the crazy lady with a stickmeet Ophelia!))