These Violent Delights

[OOC - before we begin, because I think I'm awful at describing outfits - Click me! I'm exciting! ]

Ophelia's hand shook slightly as she straightened her hair, and reached up to unclasp the chain from around her neck. The ring blinked and shown from the very little light coming from the place.

Her bright red lips, painted for the occasion, stood out against her pale skin. She smoothed out the dress, a party dress really, her mother had bought it for her to meet some friend or another of theirs. They were already arranging her life. She knew that now. With Abe gone that was where she stood. She was the only Montague heir left, they had to make sure she lived up to the name right.

But she did not want to do that.

This was for the best. She knew that now - perhaps that's what Abe knew too; though she never would say it. Part of her still didn't believe it - that he really did do that to himself.

But for her...

There was no other way.

Her heart thudded madly, almost as if it knew what was going to happen and was fighting, it was trying to prove that it was alright, that she didn't need to do this. It was fighting its end.

But she did need to; she did.

She was tired of fighting. That was what she had told Kyra. She had thought she was just talking back then but, now she knew ... this was what was right.

Ophelia looked good, she knew that; at least she would leave with a good appearance.

She couldn't mess up anyone else's lives. She really was a fallen angel - doomed to ruin everything that she touched. She got to Kyra all those years ago, chasing away the only friend she had, she had gotten to Abe, if she allowed herself to stay around any longer she'd get to Artemis too.

She couldn't do that to him. She couldn't. He was the good one, she was just... broken, a mess - cursed.

With a shuttering breath, she sat on the ground, fanning the long blue skirt out around her. This was it.

Ophelia took a look at the tombs around her; she had thought that if there as any place that she could, that she should...

That this would be it; she already belonged here, among them.

She pulled the small vial out of her pocket. It looked so harmless. She almost didn't believe it would work. But she had done her research. She knew exactly what she was doing.

The young girl uncorked the vial, and stared at it for a long moment. She swallowed once, and than again, trying to push the lump away from her throat. Slowly she lifted it to her lips.

"I'm sorry," she murmured softly, a single tear rolling down her face as she tipped the contents back.

As promised, it wasn't hard, or painful. No, it was gentle gradual. Her vision darkened and she laid back, for all the world appearing as if she had only fallen asleep.

Her eyes drifted closed.

Her heat beat once.

Twice.

Three times.

And then no more.

From her motionless hand drifted the ring, and a single scrap of paper with one line written on it.

Humming softly to himself, Afonka made his way to down to the catacombs. He was, as usual, in a relatively good mood. So why of all places was he in the catacombs you may ask? Well, the Hrabrost had always been known for his curiosity.

Looking around the place, he shook off the eerie feeling of being watched. It was probably just a little squirrel that had made it's way in. Now suddenly wondering if there was a squirrel around, he peered around the crypt for any sign of an animal.

As he walked around, he caught his foot on something underfoot, and unable to regain his balance, tripped and fell.

Groaning, he sat up, rubbing his forehead. Noticing the girl lying by his feet, his grimace softened, before he frowned slightly. Was Ophelia asleep? Shuffling towards her, he peered down at her for a moment before gingerly shaking her shoulder, "Phillie? Are you alright?"

As he was greeted with no reply, his frown deepened, and he shook her again, his voice becoming frantic, "Ophelia? You - you have to wake up." Leaning towards her for the sound of her breaths, he closed his eyes for a moment, unable - or just simply not wanting to - process the information presented in front of him.

Staring down at her, he swallowed hard, bringing his hands up to his mouth, shaking his head, "No. This - this can't be happening. You - you can't be -" but he was unable to continue, as he was suddenly overtaken by a rack of sobs.

After a few minutes, Afonka swallowed the lump that had developed in his throat. He - he had to tell someone. He had to find the Highmaster, he thought decisively. Pulling himself up, he gave the dead girl one last sorrow filled glance before running out of the catacombs, his entire body shaking.