The Dance of Eternal Memory

The starry expanse, a scene I had long known, a place my feet had trod countless times before.

Yet, upon my return, a profound weariness settled over my body. My current form remained terribly frail, and the sheer exertion of forcibly wielding the Sword of Kings against that supposed male protagonist had utterly depleted my stamina.

I had yet to fully mature, and the strain on my body had grown significant.

Thus, rest was paramount.

Closing my eyes, I drew a deep breath.

Before my eyes, a vision resurfaced.

A dream? I knew, of course, that it was no dream; I had long since forfeited the capacity to dream.

This, then, was memory. Whenever the night descended into stillness, whenever I found myself utterly alone, whenever my eyelids fluttered shut, memory would, like a persistent nightmare, entwine itself around my very heart, compelling me to endure its torment—though I had long since grown accustomed to the profound numbness that suffering brought.

Twilight.

The world lay before me, a painted scroll, and she, a blossoming flower.

She enveloped me in an embrace.

In that moment, I was but a small, ignorant girl, utterly soiled. Yet, she held me close. A person of such breathtaking beauty, embracing one as grimy as I was—the shame I felt was so profound, I yearned to sink into the very earth.

It was later that I learned her name was Ophelia, that she was the Queen. Slowly, inexorably, I grew to rely on her. Hooking my small finger around hers, I had vowed, “We’ll be together, always and forever—”

Why, then, did you betray that sacred vow?

The throne, the crown stained crimson.

Your very blood extinguished the light within my eyes.

You gazed at me, a smile gracing your lips.

“Vina, I bestow this crown upon you with my very life.”

And you… you dared to smile?

You, who had forsaken your sacred oath…

Ophelia, without you, what purpose does this crown hold for me?

You declared me the protagonist, you proclaimed me destined to be queen.

Ha, ha ha.

A chorus of spectators watched on, some yearning for my madness, others for my utter desolation, wishing me to be isolated yet unable to escape life’s torment. They craved my cold allure, yet simultaneously my frivolous depravity. They mocked my aimless laughter, then mocked my heart, withered like dead wood—

Very well, then.

Then I shall dance uninhibitedly upon this grand stage.

Countless times, I shall dance with abandon, meticulously reshaping this world, piece by painstaking piece, until you are woven into the very fabric of its narrative.

Only then, perhaps, will you be able to dance alongside me?

Only then, perhaps, will we truly be together, always?

Ophelia, my beloved Ophelia.

Upon this stage that knows no curtain call, become my captive beast!

Oh, that’s right. Tomorrow is Monday, Ophelia. You have a tea party to attend, don’t you?

Ha ha.

Ophelia, I shall ultimately become your very destiny.