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

Ophelia paid everyone close attentiona after she'd set out her introductions and purpose--gathering as much knowledge as possible. It was regrettable, that the Deep Sea rune hadn't helped, but now they knew that it didn't. There was no small degree of animosity between Gerlinde and Harold either--though Farren and Torquil hadn't seemed to notice. It struck her in that moment how chilling the influence Harold had truly was, for Farren was ever-curious and hyper-vigilant... to be able to dull even such keen senses as his, to have enthralled even Dietrich... it made her stomach turn, and some part of her want to scream and run away. The Holy Moonlight Sword buoyed her, though, as it always would--and through the wondrous effulgence of the cosmos resonating in her mind's eye she found the point of clarity she needed and continued unfazed.

"Gerlinde, dear, Harold's our host! While we're guests in this beautiful garden, perhaps we should comport ourselves with a little touch more decorum?" Ophelia began, walking over to Gerlinde and placing a free hand on her shoulder to spin her about such that they could gaze into one another's eyes without Harold being able to see either of their faces clearly. She shot Gerlinde a very particular look, not of chastisement but of pleading, silently asking her to play along.

"Oh, he's used to it," Gerlinde said with a smile and a shrug. "But [I]fine[/I], if that's what you want I'll be nice for once."

"It means the world to me, love, thank you." Ophelia replied, squeezing her shoulders softly and giving her an earnestly warm smile that she immediately transitioned into a beaming gaze at Harold.

"You see, Harold, we've noticed a little something... amiss with the Hunter's Dream. Whenever one of your experiments heads there, the... weather changes? It seems innocuous, I know, but... I have something of an affinity for the realms of Nightmare, perhaps owing to my true Paleblood, and I can feel... ripples. Distortions... Something. I... I know it'd be uncouth of me, to ask your confidence in such delicate matters so soon, but I feel I must. I know that I can trust you, love, so I ask: what [i]is[/i] this false Paleblood?" Ophelia began, stumbling a little over her words as she built up purposefully. She reckoned it was something of a gamble, to be so direct, but between Harold's seeming distaste for Gerlinde and his own ignorance of her own true thoughts... She wondered if she might have altered the odds just enough in her favour to get some true answers. She also wondered if he might ask them to take care of something like he had Gerlinde before he answered their questions... there were many possibilities that could unfold from this moment. She found herself wanting to ask Farren, for he had the kind of piercing insight that could cut through the vast and nebulous cloud of what she could see unfolding--and it repulsed her to her core to think that she'd let him be subjected to this creeping influence that took him away from himself.