The Priest's Vision
The ringing of the bells filled the quiet morning. The girl jumped from her bed, and she rushed to the window, flinging the boarded window open and allowing the sun’s light to enter her room. The sun rose above the mountains, banishing the darkness from the world. The girl sighed in relief, leaning her elbows on the windowsill, closing her eyes, and took a deep breath. The air was the same, filled with salt water and fresh baked goods.
“Ophelia,” The girl’s mother called out as she did every morning. “We must hurry, or we will be late for the ceremony!”
“Coming!” Ophelia yelled back, changing into a long, yellow dress with a floral corset and blue heels. Ophelia paused, stopping in front of her water bowl, staring into her reflection. She tied her hair up into a crown braid with yellow daisies—a popular hairstyle in her village. Ophelia stroked the fuzzy floating lights, squeaking under her hand, tired from the long night. She watched as they returned to the purple flower dangling over her room. Lightenings. Creatures that created light similar to the sun; every home had one. They protected them from creatures that worshipped the moon.
Ophelia rushed downstairs, slowing down as she reached her parents. Her Mother, Eleodoro, a general for the army, had long golden-brown hair with streaks of white. She had a stern face and wore golden armour with the sun dented into the steel. Her Father, Marisol, an alchemist, worked mainly with plants. He had grey hair and wore green robes with gold thread.
“Good morning, Sunshine,” Her father greeted her with a hug. He looked drained, with bags under his eyes. He was beginning to lose weight. Ophelia smiled and turned to face her mother. She took Ophelia’s hands and looked her up and down. Bags also sat under her eyes, along with new scars.
“Still as beautiful as the sunrise,” Her mother complimented. Ophelia smiled, looking down at her dress, proud of her mother’s approval. “let us leave. I heard this morning’s gathering shall be most exciting.”
Ophelia followed her parents out of their home. Their home sat far from the town below, on a mountainside. Ophelia’s family was respectable, living a life only of pleasure and wealth but responsibility. They climbed into a carriage and rode into town. The people walked into the centre, toward the temple. The carriage ride was short, with her mother talking about Arthur, the King’s son. A kind and charming man. Ophelia knew Arthur quite well, joining her on walks along the coastline, searching for items washed up from the mainland. Of course, her parents didn’t know of this, as it was forbidden to interact with anything from outside of Sunmoor. Ophelia’s face went red as her mother continued to gush over Arthur, commenting on what a cute couple they would be.
“Darling, Ophelia’s too young to be thinking about this,” Her Father commented, resting his hand on Eleodoro’s. Eleodoro flashed him a look.
“She’s seventeen, Marisol. I slaughtered a giant when I was her age,” Ophelia’s mother retorted. They continued Ophelia, slipping into her thoughts. Marriage? Ophelia never had time to think on the subject, and she had no idea if she ever wanted to. Well, not now, but if she was to be wedded. Arthur would be her first and perhaps, only choice.
The carriage came to a stop in front of the temple. A crowd piled inside. The temple was held up by columns with no walls, allowing a perfect view of the sun. Inside was the sundial with a statue standing in the centre. They took a seat at the front and waited for the ceremony to begin.
“Welcome once more,” The Sun priest greeted. He wore a silver robe with a sun print. “We are all here today to celebrate another sunrise and pray to Sol to heal those infected by the moonlight plague and punish the sinner who brought this curse upon us!”
The room fell silent with occasional suppressed sobs and sniffs—the moonlight plague. Guilt built up inside Ophelia; she fell to her knees beside her father and prayed to Sol, begging her to heal her people. The plague was merciless, infecting even the young. It destroys the body from the inside out, rotting away at the limbs. Her father began to spend nights at work or in the greenhouse, searching for a cure or even a way to slow the process down. So far, there was nothing. Her mother has also spent her nights without sleep, paroling to town and stopping those trying to sneak into the quarantine zone to see loved ones. Ophelia didn’t blame them if she was in their place. Ophelia didn’t know what she would do.
“In these challenging times, Sol still shines on us, gifting us with a future of love between Prince Arthur and Ophelia Oakwood,” the priest gesturing the two forward. Both Ophelia’s faces went red as she avoided Arthur’s eyes. “Later last night, I saw the uniting of these two under the gaze of Sol herself.”
The high priest continued, recounting the vision. Ophelia’s heart pounded in her ears as she glanced at Arthur. His face was a light red, staring at the priest. He leaned close to her, his long brown hair tickling her neck.
“I’m sorry,” Arthur whispered. “The priest told my father and I of his vision. I never would’ve guessed he would do it here.”
Ophelia remained silent as the crowd burst into applause. Ophelia composed herself and smiled at the crowd. If they were happy with the news, so should Ophelia. Sol proclaimed that the marriage would bring good fortune. Then it would. The ceremony ended, and they left the temple. The women gossiped happily about the match. Ophelia remained behind, sneaking out of the temple and running toward the beach on the far side of the island. A place she often to clear her mind. She stood in front of the ocean, the light sparkling on the water. Ophelia had always dreamed of one day leaving Sunmoor. It was only a child’s dream. The world outside was dangerous, or that is what the King told them, and he would never lie to them. He guided them from danger and brought them here, away from invaders. But what if, after the marriage, the plague only continues to worsen? What if the rumours were correct, and this was some sort of punishment from Sol herself for accidentally staying passed curfew and gazing upon the moon? By gazing, staring in wonder and questioning why anyone would find it anywhere near evil, and now, the island was in shambles, and a plague was killing innocent people all because of her.
“Ophelia, my child,” a kind voice greeted. Ophelia turned around, meeting the eyes of the island’s mad witch. Ophelia’s grandmother. Agatha Raventail.
