Chapter Text
Ophelia looked at herself in the full-length mirror in her boudoir. Or at least, she might have, if she had a reflection to cast. When she first moved into Szarr palace after the fall of the brain, she often wondered why Astarion bothered to include it among her things. Was it an oversight? An over-estimation of how potent the ascendant blood actually was? It didn’t take long for her to realize that it was just garden variety cruelty. That’s all it had ever been, she supposed. This was the man she loved, after all. Begrudgingly, still after all this time. Still after all this madness.
“You will have my support no matter what you decide to do. Whatever comes, Astarion, we will always face it together. I will always stand with you, even if I don’t agree with you.”
“If this is truly what you want, I…I will stand with you. I will do whatever you need me to.”
She believed what she was saying at the time. She still did despite her reduced circumstances. Without loyalty, Ophelia was nothing. Her friends were always her greatest good, and likewise, her deepest pain. They all went their separate ways once the journey was done, but Ophelia and Astarion remained here. Maybe this was what she always deserved- silence and walls and fits of rage. Her penance for a lifetime of sin that she would never fully recall.
Maybe, deep down, he still loved her, too.
Ophelia shook her head and turned away from the mirror. There was little use in dwelling on who they used to be. Whatever version of them existed before the ritual was long gone. These were her circumstances now- she was either okay with it or she wasn’t. She tried to keep the bitterness at bay, but it took mere months for her to reach her wits end. Whatever this thing was that they had morphed into, it didn’t deserve to see the light of day. Ophelia’s stream of consciousness was abruptly interrupted by a quiet tapping on her door.
“What do you want? Why are you bothering me?” Ophelia barked in the general direction of the intrusion. The door creaked open, revealing a young woman in a maid’s outfit, holding something just out of sight.
“The master told me to bring it to you, my lady,” the maid said. She shifted her weight and refused to meet Ophelia’s eyeline as she held up the black, silk gown. It was adorned with gold embellishments and sparkling gemstones from the shoulder to the hem with one, dainty chain meant to hold the heavy beast up by her neck. It was exquisite- exquisitely grotesque, that was- and Ophelia wanted nothing to do with it.
“Oh, no,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I will not be wearing that. I have others. Now leave me. I have no want for company.” The maid made no move to leave her chambers. She swallowed hard and took another step in the wrong direction.
“My lady, I…I’m afraid he insisted,” she said, barely above a whisper. Insisted. Of course he had. Lord Astarion was always insisting upon things nowadays. Sit here. Wear this. Smile. Wave. All demands that ultimately ended with the same threat- do it or else I’ll make you do it. Do it or else I’ll compel you to do it. He swore to never use this power on her the day she reluctantly let him turn her, but perhaps she was naive after all. Though he’d made good on his promise so far, it wasn’t without the looming fear that one day, he’d have a change of heart.
“I don’t care if he insisted,” Ophelia snapped. “I already told you I will not be wearing that. Bring it back to him. Burn it for all I care. It’s bad enough that I have to sit through these engagements as it is. He does not get to dress me up and parade me around like some show pony.” She opened the doors of her wardrobe in a huff, but felt the air leave her lungs when she found the inside of it bare. There were no more rosy, pink gowns. In their place were fine gold accessories and a black pair of boots to match the monstrosity looming behind her. She clenched her jaw and dug her fingernails into the mahogany wood.
“Where are my things?” she hissed through gritted teeth.
“My lady, I-” before the maid could finish her sentence, Ophelia slammed the door shut and descended upon her, grabbing her wrist so tight that her knuckles turned white.
“WHERE ARE MY THINGS?” she repeated, nearly blacking out from rage.
“I don’t know! My lady, I’m sorry!” the maid blubbered, wincing away from her and trying to shield her face with her free hand. It wasn’t her fault, but that didn’t matter. Ophelia trembled, then dragged the sobbing young girl out into the hallway. Other servants looked up at the sound of the commotion, then quickly averted their gaze. When it came to matters of disputes between the lord and lady of this great house, it was best for the help not to get involved.
Ophelia could hardly hear the maid wailing as she navigated the endless maze of halls and staircases. She finally approached the large, ornate doors that guarded Astarion’s study and pushed them open with a blast of arcane energy from her hand. Sure enough, there he sat- the pompous “Lord” of Szarr palace behind his desk. He spent most of his days behind these doors, buried in ledgers and schedules. Not that Ophelia would know- he kept her in the dark with business matters. It wasn’t her job to be informed- she was meant to hang on his arm at his lavish parties like some kind of glittering accessory. He barely lifted his eyes up from the book he was reading, regarding Ophelia’s intrusion only with a heavy sigh.
“What is it now, dear?” he said. She felt the fury rise to her cheeks and burn as she tossed the maid to the floor in front of her.
“Is this what you’ve been reduced to?” she shouted, gesturing at the whimpering mess at her feet. “Sending maids to do your dirty work?” She loved him. She hated him. She feared him. She reviled him.
“I do not know what you’re on about,” he said, flipping to another page in the book.
“Yes, you do!” Ophelia shot back. “Where is my shit, Astarion? What have you done with my things?”
“Now, now. That is not language becoming of my consort,” he said without looking up.
“Fuck you.” It left Ophelia’s mouth before she had a chance to think better of it. Fuck him. Fuck him to the hells and back. Perhaps this was what they both deserved, but if Ophelia had to be miserable, so did he. His eyes snapped up at her profanity. He lingered on her, then closed the book and rose to his feet, a familiar darkness crossing his face as he approached.
“Get out. I will see to my wife in private,” Astarion said without looking at the maid, crumpled on the floor. She pulled herself up and scurried out of the room, still sniveling as she ran past them. Ophelia lifted her chin and refused to back away once Astarion was on her toes. This was the man she once loved, after all. The sad, pathetic little spawn who once called her his “something good.” She wanted to believe that something was left, that a shred of something good remained in this darkest of places, but no one was ever so lucky. Once the terrified girl let the large doors slam behind her, Astarion descended upon her at once.
“You will never embarrass me in front of my staff like that again,” he growled, so close that she could feel his breath on her cheeks. “Do you understand me?” When Ophelia met him with only enraged silence, he stepped closer to her still.
“There’s no need for you to have a wardrobe anymore. I’ll be having your formalwear made special from now on.” he said, turning around to face away from her. “You will wear what I tell you to wear. That is the end of it.”
“I will not!” Ophelia retorted. “I want my pink gowns back! You had no right to take them from me!”
“No. Black suits us better.” Astarion dusted off the front of his double and collected himself. “I will not have my court made a mockery of with my wife in such gaudy attire-”
“But they were mine!” she interjected, jamming a finger into her chest. “Pink was mine! It was part of who I am! You cannot just take that away from me!”
“And now it’s not,” he fired back. “This is who you are now. This is what you signed up for.”
“I gave you everything and you left me with nothing,” she spat through her tears. Nothing. Not even her favorite color. “You took every part of who I am with nothing but a hideous gown to show for it.”
“And aren’t you so much better for it now, my love?” he said. Ophelia jerked her face away from him as he ran the back of his hand down her cheek. “You were weak before. Erratic. Emotional. I made you perfect.” Shaking with anger, she drew a hand back to strike him. Astarion, however, was quicker. He caught her wrist midair, holding it with an iron grip.
“I should have put a stake through your heart when I had the chance,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks.
Astarion seethed, then let her hand drop. For a moment, she thought he might let her retire to her chambers, but such hope was quickly dashed. He grabbed the sides of Ophelia’s face in one, imposing hand and backed her up against the wall. She struggled against him, batting at his arm and trying to pry his fingers away, but never once letting her eyes drop. Astarion would see her. He would look upon what he created. She would make sure of it.
“You have no idea what I can do to you,” he hissed.
“Does that make you feel strong?” Ophelia choked out with a smirk. “Knowing I can’t fight back?” She should be scared of him. Ophelia knew that. If the last six months in this place was a testament to what he was capable of, she should know better than to provoke him. After all, she helped create this beast. No one on this planet existed who knew the evil in his heart like she did. Yet, provoked him anyway. Time and time again. Some part of him- the real him- had to remain under this cloak of madness.
And yet, some part of her had to remain unbroken.
“Do you feel powerful, Lord Astarion?” Her words dripped with venom as they passed through sharpened teeth. There was nothing left to lose anymore. Perhaps in the best case, he’d set her free from this hell she created once and for all. “That’s what you want people to call you now, right? Lord Astarion?” She laughed and leaned further into his face. “You are lord of nothing. You keep running from who you used to be, but you will always be the same, scared little man with nothing to your name but the clothes on your back and the blood of your victims.” Astarion’s jaw clenched. Ophelia gasped for breath and fell to the floor as he released his grasp on her face.
“You’re lucky I haven’t gotten rid of you,” he said. “If I were any less merciful, I would have locked you up and been free of your miserable face the first time you rose a hand to me.” Ophelia laughed out loud and gingerly rose to her feet.
“Oh, Astarion. You will never be free of me.” A familiar feeling rushed through her body. One she thought had been left to rot in the past with the rest of who she used to be. A warm flush over her face. A tingling in her hands and feet. A pounding headache as she began to feel like her body wasn’t her own. Bhaal might have reclaimed her inheritance, but perhaps this bit was always all her. She circled Astarion, pausing at his side and shooting him a look over her shoulder. “You can kill me. You can lock me away. You can create a thousand more spawn in my place and in each of them you will always see me.” He turned to glare at her while Ophelia smiled in return.
“I created you just as much as you created me,” she continued, leaning in even closer. Astarion’s eyes burned holes in her skin while she stood her ground. None of this existed without her. Ophelia’s blood would run through the walls of Szarr palace for as long as it stood- and longer still through Lord Astarion’s.
“Get out,” he snapped. Ophelia lingered, then stormed out of his office in a huff. She let the great doors slam shut behind her, then collapsed against them and sobbed. She barely knew who she was anymore. She didn’t know what she deserved.