OPHELIA

  FOR ONCE I DO NOT fight the waking. I do not struggle to pry my sleep-drenched limbs from my sheets when the thin stream of mute maids trickle in. They throw open the curtains, bathing me in rich amber light so blinding I have to shield my eyes.

  I come readily to the land of the living, heart pounding and my blood roaring in my ears. I am awake — my fear forcing me to life. There is no more waiting — no more counting down the days. This is it.

  I join my sisters in a great, white hall, where more maids with arm-fulls of silken cloths dance about, frantic to dress my sisters and I for the event. "Have you seen them yet?" I ask Ascella as hops onto her own stool beside me, arms outstretched like a bird feigning flight as the women drape her in undergarments.

  "No, but father picked them." She rolls her eyes, "So I expect that means they will be awful as ever."

  " — Actually, I picked them." Andromeda interrupts, deciding that for once we are worthy of conversing with her. She stands on a stool on the other side of Ascella, a dun-haired maid pinning sashes of silk at her waist.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Ascella's gaze and whisper, "That's even worse..."
She struggles to stifle a snigger, and it ends up sounding more akin to a snort as our eldest sister turns to glare. "You two are not as sly as you believe yourselves to be. I can hear you."

  "Let me guess, Onasis house colours for our loyalist sister?" Ascella winks. And I can't blame her, for the moment Andromeda said she had been the one to pick our clothing my mind went straight to the corn-blue colour our house was famed for. Anything to please our father.

  "No, actually." She says sharply, weaponising her words into a cutting edge. "Well, not for you two at least. I'm wearing our house colours — but for you, I tried to choose your favourite colours..." As she trails off she sounds almost ashamed, and at first, I don't know why. 

  Then the maids finish with our undergarments and bring forth three sets of robes.

  Corn-blue for Andromeda.
  Emerald green for Ascella.
  And lastly, scarlet, for me.

  The sentiment becomes clear; she tried to choose our favourites — but she didn't know them. For green is not Ascella's favourite colour, in fact, she hates it. My middle sister loves sunsets. Her favourite colour is orange, though not the harsh, fiery kind found at the centre of a flower. No. Instead, she favours a more gentle warmth. The sort brought about by the day's final cadence, when pink meets blue meets orange meets purple, all splayed across the sky in portrait so perfect human hands could never hope to recreate it.

  If I were Ascella, I wouldn't take this lightly. I would be bitter — I already am bitter. I'm bitter for my sister — because she is sickly sweet.

  "Thank you, Meda." Ascella gifts her one of her honeysuckle smiles; a genuine one. Why is she not angry? So instead I'm angry for her.

  "She doesn't like green." I say; staring.

  " — Ophelia, it does not matter, it's fine." At once Ascella jumps to the rescue, trying to diffuse the situation before it's made into something that's so much more than just about silly dresses. We all know this is more than dresses...

  " — You'd know that if you knew us." My tongue slides along my teeth with a horrid clicking sound, "Instead, we're sisters only in name."

  Andromeda looks between us hopelessly, something that I cannot tell. Whatever it is she does not find it. "I — I'm sorry Ascella. I did not know... please, take mine instead if you favour it any more."

  She dislikes green, but she hates blue. Like me, she hates our house colour and everything it stands for.
  Maybe we are just the spoilt daughters of another rich Lord, bitter for a life of strife they've never truly lived —  a life of true suffering that they know nothing about.
  Maybe it's just a colour and I should not think too deeply into it. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's everything.

  To me, it's something.

  "Meda. It's fine. I'm grateful you tried — honest." The way Ascella smiles at our sister makes me want to shout at her. It is not fine.

  After that, we dressed in silence. Even the mute maids move quieter, their movements now entirely inaudible, careful not to stir the thick cape of silence weighing down upon us. It feels like hours. It feels like days, weeks, months, lifetimes. The hush presses in. The stillness settles in my bones. I become it, just as it becomes me. My limbs feel tired and thick with awkwardness; I hold myself too tall for too long.

  Right as the crushing quiet begins to settle on my chest — suffocating me, the maids stepped back to reveal their works.

  As a child, Pala used to scold of for my selfishness — vanity, she called it. She also used to tell Ascella off for the same sin, only her looks were never directed towards herself. My sister used to stare unabashedly at the women in the street, the ones dressed in the finest robes, the ones with a borderline sinful amount of skin peeking from those hidden, forbidden places. I'd always wondered whether she'd envied them and their liberty or if her tastes were simply for the fabrics. 

  Much in the same way they always tended to be, Ascella's eyes are not on herself. "You look beautiful," She breathes, "You both do..."

  "As do you." Andromeda replies graciously. We step from our stools to join our father in the main hall, our new robes lapping out behind us like water in the wind.

  He gives us an approving look, "My daughters, I look upon you today and feel pride." His eyes linger on mine a moment longer than the rest, "As would your mothers."

  Our father has never said such things to us before, and to hear the proud words leave his lips feels wrong, like a beautiful lie wound solely to ensnare. Even so, today he is only proud of us because of the way we look — because we appeal to the male gaze with our bare shoulders and tan skin. I do not think it a great achievement. Certainly not one worthy of pride.
  The city men I have known before are animals, it takes very little to draw their attention, and even less their lust. I want no part in it, and yet here I am. Dressed up by strange women into strange clothes, meant to seduce a strange man from a stranger land.

  This time, as we step into the carriage and towards carnage, I do not feel as if I'm leaving some part of me behind like I did as we left house Onasis, for I think I have none of me left to lose. Ascella gives my hand a small squeeze as we set off into daybreak.

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