Work Text:
Ophelia bobs on the water, face surging free with a soft gasp. Loose petals drift through her fingers, caught in the eddies of her water. Her gown is growing wetter by the second, but she does not thrash under its growing weight or call for help.
Gertrude, standing on the bank, holds blue flowers in her hands. Ophelia had given them to her, to show my loyalty, your Majesty. You who have been so kind to me, so kind. On her knees in the mud, looking up at Gertrude with glassy worship.
Such a lovely girl, laying soft kisses on Gertrude's wrists and palms, nuzzling closer to press against Gertrude's thigh. Like a little animal; and would that she were one, would that no one paid attention to the secrets she sang.
Ophelia's lips move, but if she's singing one of her droning hymns, Gertrude cannot hear her over the sloshing river. The flowers in Gertrude’s hands tremble, threatening to be ripped away if she lets go. She keeps her hands still; she does not reach out.
She watches Ophelia sink under, and only then she does she let her flowers go. They land on the water where the girl disappeared, blue eyes staring silently at the sky. She leaves them drifting, not sinking, and goes to tell the others her tale.
Claudius calls a warning as Gertrude lifts the cup to her lips, but the sloshing wine drowns him out. She closes her eyes, seeing blue petals, and drinks.