[center][h2][b]Ophelia[/b][/h2][/center]

Ophelia watched the queer little figures part before her presence with a keen interest, and even made a note to perform a little curtsey and thank them for their obliging service, hushed and half-mumbled under her breath. She peered more closely at the corpse, which she could now clearly recognise as a corpse, and her breath caught in her chest for a moment. This poor soul--dead, and after having received the treatment? Something snagged in her mind, but she could not pierce its obfuscation with the minimum of effort and so she left that thought to rattle around in her skull for later--for now, she bent over and peered down to get a closer look at the face.

The eyelids, and sockets too, all black--it struck her as unusual, as her other-self from across the barrier of fog sneered quizzically in that way typically only the most aged of crones may. She was right, of course: this was highly unusual. Ophelia wondered if perhaps she should go diving in the innards of a freshly-failed Hunter, but... well, when had she ever gotten this opportunity before? When would she again? No, no, it would have to be now--she placed the spear down against the cot while she rushed back over to her own, picking up a pair of leather gloves and putting them on almost-absentmindedly. The snug feel of the leather gripping her hands felt cool and familiar, though new sensations of reach and flexibility she'd never had before also rippled through her newly lissom flesh and she shuddered with exhilaration. She wheeled back around to the corpse she'd turned away from and then proceeded to gently pry open its eyelids--she needed to get a better look at its eyes, after all--to see what could possibly have rendered them as black as the night sky.