⌜ the red sea | ophelia & evelyn ⌟

With every word her sister speaks, control of the situation begins to slip away from Ophelia's grasp — and she hates that she has to restrain herself from dropping to her knees in an attempt to catch it. There’s nothing she can do without breaking herself, too. It shatters at her feet, crunching beneath the heels of her boots, but she refuses to flinch. Even as Evelyn challenges her and attempts to strip her of her authority, she keeps her jaw steady. But her knuckles start to burn the tighter she clenches her fists, fingernails digging crescent moons into her palms. She’ll become a night sky in her own right if that’s what it takes to repress her emotions.

And she has to wonder — would it have been any different? Would anything change if she had been a better sister? A rose without its thorns? She’s always been a thicket of briars. All sharp, no petals. She swallows bile before it can rise all the way up her throat. A thousand nights she can't get back and a hundred stars she never bothered to chart. She always left that task to Artemis. In another world beyond this one, she spends her days laughing under starlight with her sisters lying all around her, pointing to constellations and whispering their names in awe. No bloodshed, no thievery, and most of all, no walls between them. Just a group of girls trying to find their way across a stormy sea. Not as pirates. Just travellers looking for a place to call their own.

As hard as it might be to admit, the fault for having traced all the borderlines is her own burden to carry. She knows at least that much. The Ophelia of this reality has never taken the time to look beyond herself. Always staring ahead — never above or below. Too selfish and too hungry; swayed by the taste of gold and corrupted by the rush of having too much power at her disposal than a body should be able to contain. In truth, she had been little older than a child when the Sparrows lost their father and the role of guardian had been handed down to her. Somehow a mistake and a blessing all at once. She says grace and gives her thanks, head bowed, but alone in her room she skins her knees and begs to know why. Why her? Of all of them, why the most wild daughter? Not that she had given any other choice in the matter, but forgive a hypocrite for following her nature.

It's a shame someone so insecure had to begin forcing respect from others when she couldn't learn how to give it to herself. Wild curls and a toothy grin, she had little more talent than the fire that burned in her gut. A bravery that went unmatched and an itch to be someone greater than who she already was. So young, but so prideful, and the tragedy is that when it counted most, she didn’t have the courage to ask for help. She’s always had a habit for telling lies. To make herself seem steady, to act like nothing has ever gotten under her skin — and she’s still too afraid of being seen as soft to take off all of her armor. Because who is she if she’s not a fierce captain? What’s the point in all of the laws she’s created if she can’t follow them herself? It’s written in her blood that a Sparrow cannot be fragile. She signed all the documents.

She turns away when Evelyn finishes her response, locking up her thoughts somewhere behind the steel of her chest for safekeeping. There’s no use in having regrets. All her mistakes can only be such if she names them, so she chooses to ignore them instead. She’s a terrible mother-figure, but at least she got her sisters somewhere safer. The ocean is theirs now. Not even the Finch brothers could dare to intrude on their territory. And she’ll admit that she’s lost what it means to be a family. That the only purpose her sisters serve is being the crew that helps to make her a legend. Because if the end of her life is blinding with its brilliance, no one will bother to look at the rust that has consumed her childhood. It all has to be for something. She’s not ready to apologize. It’s hard to realize that she’s the villain when her first victim had been herself. Stealing the Black Pearl had to have meant something. Giving up love for fear has to be worth it in the end.

“Is that so?” Ophelia starts with all her teeth on display, lips stretched into a forced smile. Thin like a blade. If Evelyn wants to be sickly sweet, then she’ll become a cavity. She’ll swallow her sister whole and spit her right back out without any remorse. “I happen to find it interesting. What captain wouldn’t?” She rises to her feet, staring into her sister’s eyes and holding back the urge to slap her. An execution requires a fair trial before the sentence can be given, however. She’ll let Evie have that much. “I’ve kept you fed and sheltered for half your life, and you have the gall to keep secrets from me? Do you know how embarrassing it is for a sailor at a pub to know more about my flesh and blood than I do?” She scoffs at the thought, crossing her arms and looking away. She shakes her head. “I’m not a good person, but I’m a damn good leader. I’ve taken care of you and you don’t even trust me. I could have you thrown overboard, and no one would dare stop me. You know that.”

A sigh escapes her lips. “You’re right. He’s just a tadpole.” Turning to face her sister once again, her expression gets caught somewhere between being solemn and accusing. “Do you know why we call them that, Evie? ‘Cause a tadpole stays in the water only as long as it needs to. And when there’s nothing left for it to take? It goes to land and it hops away.” She steps closer, letting her arms hang limp at her sides, but her shoulders remain tense. “Your tadpole’s only going to stay while you’re worth the thrill. And when that’s all said and done? He’ll leave you. They always do. He’s not going to be an exception to the rule.” She runs a hand through Evelyn’s hair, the one thing all of the Sparrows share, and she has to bite back a laugh. She’s ashamed that she never realized the truth sooner. “Maybe you’re a tadpole, too. He might be perfect for you.”

Ophelia returns to the cot and sits back down with all of her dignity clutched in her hands, and it’s almost frightening how easily she ignores the fractures running across it. “You know full well that I’m not jealous. Offended? Yeah, I am. It’s hard for me to accept that you’ve been keeping things from me, but I suppose we all do at that age. I guess it’s natural for a girl to rebel. What other parent do you have to piss off? No one but me. I can’t change the brat Father made out of you.” She leans forward, tilting her head to the side and daring her sister to pick her poison. “If you’re a tadpole, I want you to leave. Get off my ship and never look back. I don’t have time for someone using me and my resources. You’re old enough to care for yourself.” She bites her lip before asking her next question, secretly afraid of what the answer will be, but anxious to get it over with. “Is it us, or him? Your family, or this tadpole? If he’s the home you want, I’ll let you go. I’ve never kept you in chains. Because either you join his world, or he join ours, and I strongly doubt he could handle being a pirate.” Ophelia catches her breath.

“What say you? Make your choice.
Either you’re a shark or a tadpole.
I won’t allow a leech on my ship.”

[ rave ]