i. | [video]

[thatimaysleep]

[when ophelia turns on the video, she’s seated in front of her terminal, all the lights in her room turned off save for the one in the monitor itself. the brightness of that light illuminating her from the front with nothing behind her makes her look even more eerie than usual. it makes the dark makeup around her eyes and the shredded, almost-moving black clothing she’s wearing stand out even more vividly against the purple-blue of her skin. her expression is a bored one - and bitter, because there’s no moment when she isn’t bitter against something or someone.]

Dead, am I.

[she laughs, hollowly.]

I guess that puts me at two for two. Apparently not even a demon can kill me.

[unblinking, she stares into the camera even as she reaches to the side of her and picks up her guitar from where she left it leaning against the side of the chair. once it’s in her hands, though, she looks down at it lovingly, strumming it once for effect.]

I’m just so lucky. [a glance back up, a very brief smirk.] How many of you have gotten to write your own funeral dirge twice?

[she plays a few chords (minor key, of course) before sitting up straight and turning the feed off.]