I miss Ophelia, and the others, but lately I have been thinking specially of Ophelia. She has possibly the strongest personality of my dolls. She is what I make her in a sense, tragic and death-like, but what makes her so real is her tolerance to the persona I give her, and her additional true personality, which is considerably more free-spirited, even wild. Really an opposite to the other. It comes out in the photographs I take of her, which never have turned out perfectly. The last set particularly exemplified this. She was far easier swinging on the barbed wire fence than wilting tragically against the post.
I dreamed in darkness, cold and alone. Phantasms shifted around me, frightening me, but I was powerless to escape them or even move, as I was sealed in a casket. I thought of the Queen, my Stepmother, and tears dripped from my eyes as I considered the quasi-poignant moments we had once shared, when we might have been considered to be close, when the Queen had nearly been a mother to me, and the face of love had shone radiantly upon me, before eclipsed again by the storms of Venus. I thought of the huntsman, stung to consider that my only friend had been poised to betray me, to kill me, and again in my mind I felt the horror of his shadow, of waiting while he came behind me, knowing there was no escape for me from a death he would inflict. My heart lifted as images of the Prince entered my mind, his grace atop a white-maned horse, always out of my reach, just beyond the words I longed to speak. If only there had been more time for us to fall in love. He might have saved me from those...