The sound emerging from Ophelia's throat is all animal pain -- it feels
like something separate from her, some wild creature clutched to her breast
so no one can take it from her. Like the kittens she kept hidden under her
bed as a child. (They never would have stayed hidden, without her brother’s
help, because she was too young and foolish to hide when she cared about
something.)
She coughs through the sound, and beats at her heart. She bites down what
she wants say, the words of an old tune she heard when she first thought
she might be in love. By gis, and by Saint Charity, alack, and fie, for
shame … She doesn’t want to say something girlish and foolish, the kind
of thing her father would chastise her for saying, like, “Prince Hamlet
does not love me.” It doesn’t capture half of why her heart is breaking,
but it’s what spills out of her mouth nonetheless.
no subject
The sound emerging from Ophelia's throat is all animal pain -- it feels like something separate from her, some wild creature clutched to her breast so no one can take it from her. Like the kittens she kept hidden under her bed as a child. (They never would have stayed hidden, without her brother’s help, because she was too young and foolish to hide when she cared about something.)
She coughs through the sound, and beats at her heart. She bites down what she wants say, the words of an old tune she heard when she first thought she might be in love. By gis, and by Saint Charity, alack, and fie, for shame … She doesn’t want to say something girlish and foolish, the kind of thing her father would chastise her for saying, like, “Prince Hamlet does not love me.” It doesn’t capture half of why her heart is breaking, but it’s what spills out of her mouth nonetheless.