Ophelia

Sometimes life takes us where we don't want to go and sometimes we will take ourselves to places we never thought we would go. In Ophelia's case, she did not bring herself here nor did something guide her there. She was lost, lost in a cottage with no memory.

These walls Ophelia had passed a thousand times over and over again, searching for why she was there, entrancing her in a stupor she did not want to be pulled out of.

The chipped burgundy bricks of the hallway were like ruins, crumbling with each step she took.

It all felt familiar.

Little pieces of rubble scattered across the creaky wooden floor below. Whistles from the howling wind outside slipped through the vents, sending a chill over everything but the girl.

Her delicate, slim fingers traced every groove, bump, and dip that the rocky walls displayed.

Beneath her feet was a shaggy, noisy carpet that made shuffling sounds every time the brunette slipped her foot across the surface.

Old paintings hung on the walls depicting children, men, women and families long forgotten. Some of the art works were smudged and tattered.

Shifting her wool beret to the side, Ophelia stuck her nose into one of the paintings: A boy playing outside in the luscious green grass with his rather impish sister and within his hands was a slice of chocolate cake.

What Ophelia nose inhaled was a mixture of hazelnut spice, cranberry juice, walnuts and chocolate cake. She couldn't tell if it was her nose or her memory that was truly sensing the pleasant scent of the painting but it still filled her with glee.

But this cake, she noted, was not just any chocolate cake. It was one of the most famous chocolate cakes in the world which was no opinion concerning the situation at hand.

It was none other than Miss Miyaga's Bakery that produced this magnificent delicacy.

Ophelia was certain.

Their chocolate truffle, mint, raspberry caramel soaked cake was one of a kind.

She had passed by the bakery many times, greedily smelling each and every scent it had to offer.

Miss Miyaga could sell all the aromas of the shop and certainly Ophelia would be first in line to purchase one for herself.

She would have indulged herself further but the scent of chocolate now came from elsewhere, intriguing her to seek more.

She was now on a hunt to search for the source of the welcoming cake that perfumed the cottage.

When she turned around the door was inviting her at the ending point of the long hall.

"I didn't notice that open before, right?" She asked questioning her own sanity as if it was a person right beside her.

It was a bedroom of a young girl.

She noticed a child sleeping soundly, golden waves of hair tussled by the pillow as the young one slept.

She was in a house not her own, yet there on the wall was a painting of Olivia.

The painting seemed somewhat new, yet it was dirtied and broken.

She noted the golden frame was slowly coming apart and was chipping revealing the brown underneath it.

Was it her?

The resemblance was so striking, she could not tell.

She was unsure if she wanted to have her curiosity answered.

Couldn't be me.

Just then a stout maid walked passed Ophelia, very calmly, to wake the child.

"Little miss, it is time for breakfast. Head upstairs before your father comes downstairs."

The child stirred.

"Miss Valeria...up, up, up."

The child grumbled with spit dribbling down her chin, eyes shut tight and pink dress swaying side to side as she thumped her way out of the room.

Ophelia walked up to the lady with a nervous smile. "Sorry, I don't remember how I got here, would you mind help-"

Quickly, before Ophelia could finish her request, the maid dashed right through her body and down into the basement of the brick cottage.

Feeling unsettled along with flabbergasted, Ophelia rubbed her cheek and neck, wondering how that was even possible.

"She walked right through me...as if I am" she stopped herself. "No I could not be..."

She felt something drop in her gut immediately to not follow the woman but despite feeling compelled, she followed the scent of chocolate first.

"Great Lord," the maid's voice praised in turn catching Ophelia's ears as she went to the lower part of the house.

"I have given you a gift, the soul of Ophelia, of Maria, of her sisters no less than twenty-five years ago. You have had countless souls acquired by me. Do you not have enough now to satiate yourself?"

"You," The eldritch voice answered, the sound of it like the deepest depths of hades, like tar and wormwood, foreboding and dark, timeless and cruel. Shattering all who heard it and destroying all resolve.

It made Ophelia quake in fear.

"You will keep working and collecting souls. You will collect the souls of the innocent. Who gave you form, was it not me? Who gave you life? It was I that did. You will serve me first and then you will get your scraps."

"Understood."

"And yet, you are still useless. Two hundred years of work and you could not give me the soul of Ophelia. The spirit lingers. Her soul has laid uncollected and I am growing impatient with you."

"You need not worry. I will finish the job."

"As you should, collect it immediately. Once you are done, you will collect Valeria's next..."

Ophelia cupped her mouth in fear.

"I am...not alive?"

"In fact, we have a guest. Just as I suspected, the aroma lured the child..." the sinister voice echoed, like a multitude of voices yelling one after the other. It was not male nor female.

The maid turned around with a wicked grin. Her arms and legs stretched over 9 feet long as she crouched before the brunette girl with a grin, cake in her hands.

Her face was overtaken by a shadow, her eyes disappeared as did her elated smile. Her nose sunk and teeth were gone. It was like an eclipse began to form over the maid's face before consuming her in complete darkness.

"Care for a slice of chocolate cake, Ophelia?"