Post Act III, Scene i ("Get thee to a nunnery" scene) and Pre Act III, Scene ii (the one with the Players)

Merry Christmas, kagamination-heart! I hope you like it. Sorry it's so late…

And I hope anyone else reading this enjoys it too! :)


Ophelia: [Alone. Hamlet has just left.]

What have I done? What sin have I committed that would be so wrong as do deserve me this? Oh, my dearest Hamlet, were it not for the force of my father, thou wouldst be in my arms now, my lips upon thine, a gentle hand running through thy ashen locks. Why does Fate curse me so? Have I truly done something so horrid? So horrid as to reward me with this…this living Hell?

Hamlet…Oh, Hamlet! In times past the mere mention of his name gave fire to my heart. But now…it summons nothing but anguish and demise. I pine for the days when thy gentle, compassionate smile illuminated thy face. I mourn for the loss of fervor and joy in thy bright, jade green eyes. I pray for the days when I may feel thy strong yet caressing arms around me once more. I weep for the lost days of sweet kisses and nuzzles and warm 'I love you's whispered into ears…

Oh, Hamlet, where hast thou gone? What terrible, unspeakable prison have I sent thee to, only to be exchanged for this other vile, disgusted form of thee? Where hast thy true, gentle, witty self been imprisoned? Where is this forsaken, rotten abyss, so I may venture there and reclaim thee? No matter what journey I must take, no matter what duties I must renounce, no matter what Odyssey I must embark upon, I shall bring thee back. Hear me, o strumpet Fortune! I shall face thy dread chains of destiny! I shall disentangle my heart from thy cold, vindictive clutches. I shall revive my dear, belovèd Hamlet from the aches of these deathly shackles thou hast thrust upon him, even if it shall be the last thing I ever do with mine own life.

Alas, 'tis true, what they say about Love's smitten arrows piercing noble hearts with a blind eye. Forsooth, if knavish Eros ever lifted his predisposed veil to spy upon those he targets he should not have chosen for us this fate. Oh, perhaps…perhaps this is for the best. No matter what we may feel- forgive me, I have misspoken. No matter what we may have felt for one another, the foul Fates have chosen our places for us in this world. How in the blessèd name of Heaven are we supposed to be together? I am nothing more than a mere courtier's daughter, condemned for eternity to lie beneath thee, though not in the way I may hope. And you, my dearest, most gentle Hamlet, are destined for honor, for royalty, and for sovereignty. Our strings of Fate do not intertwine, my love, for due to the cold, heartless breath of our birthrights, we must be forever separated. Forever alone. Forever cold.

I love thee, my brave Hamlet, and I pray that the Fates may one day reconsider their decisions, and interlace our hearts once more.


Hamlet: [Alone. His face is tear-stained and agonized]

No! Please, no! No, no, no! Oh, what in my unbearable madness have I unleashed? My sweet Ophelia, how could I have betrayed thee so? This… this cannot be me who has spoken such words… words… words of malice and vulgarity. Surely it was not I who spoke such horrid curses upon thee, my cherished Ophelia? My tongue knows not such vocabulary for thy gentle heart (though indeed, it may know other parts). But…nay, of course, 'twas I who…who defiled thy innocent mind. My fair Ophelia, for every slander that snaked across my lips I pray He sends a thousand poisoned knives through my heart! My Ophelia…Ophelia… Oh, my Ophelia…

What have I done?

This cursed madness has soiled my mind. It has taken me to deep places void of light, void of thy face, void of thy gentle kisses. Ophelia… as I close my eyes now I can still see thee in my mind's eye. I can still feel thy soft, pink lips upon my cheek; hear thy tender laughter tickling my ear. As I breathe now in my fits of weeping, I can still smell thy silken tresses, fragranced with thy soft violets and sweet rosemary. But as I open my eyes, all that greets me in reality is thy broken, reddened face. Eyes once so blue as to rival the morning's sky now bleed with pain and scorn. Thy noble frame, which truly proved disloyal to thy heritage, crumbles to the floor, shattered from my loathed madness.

Yes, 'twas this terrible false madness that has brought this plague upon my life. For even my dear Horatio, who knows the truth behind this folly, cannot look upon me with the same affection in his grey-green eyes as he once did. That villain Claudius, that incestuous swine that now sits upon the throne and lies in unholy pleasure with my mother; he is the source of my vile insanity. This demon spawned bastard that has murdered my father and driven me to these horrendous extents to reveal his crimes is the cause of this! Had my father not been stolen from his life so greedily, thou would still be with me, my Ophelia. I could hold thee, kiss thee, and call thee my own. But the cruel Fates have imprisoned me into this terrible chaos, where now we must part until the sun may rise over Denmark once more.

Ophelia, I swear to thee by my father's blessed soul that if I could I would revoke all the pain false jabs I have thrust upon thee. Indeed it spites my own heart as well.

I love thee, Ophelia. And should I be blessed with the sight of thy beautiful face again, I swear I shall right my wrongs and prove to thee just how much thou hast enraptured my heart.


Omniscient: [Hamlet, still pained and empty, heartlessly roams the halls in Elsinore, pining for the loss of his sweet Ophelia. Ophelia, crying and lost, wanders. Her mind has already begun to snap]

Hamlet, the once noble and proud heir to the throne of Denmark, runs his hand through his ashy blonde hair. His eyes are swollen and red and his cheeks are soaked with tears. He paces witlessly up and down one of the infinite halls of the grand castle Elsinore, his heart physically aching him. The hand that isn't occupied with nearly pulling his hair out by its roots rests anxiously on his sword's hilt.

"Ophelia…" his voice is a raspy whimper now, his throat raw from weeping. That horrible feeling begins to rise from the pits of his stomach again, and he feels that slight tingle in the back of his eyes and he knows he is about to cry again. But no tears come. His body has already spent all the tears he had. He blinks a few times, trying to bring some moisture back to them.

His eyes lift up as he hears footsteps coming down the hall. "Hamlet?" an intensely familiar voice calls. "Oh, Hamlet. What ill has befallen thee, my friend?"

"Horatio?" Hamlet asks, reviving from his stupor just long enough to recognize his old friend. When Horatio is beside him, he puts his hand on his shoulder, partly for balance, but also because it is an assurance that yes, Horatio is real, and not going anywhere. "Oh, dear Horatio, I have committed a very vile, spiteful sin, one that I believe I shall not be able to bear." He slumps against a wall and slides to the floor, still gripping Horatio's arm.

"My lord, tell me. What has happened?" Horatio's grey-green eyes search Hamlet's pale jade green ones for any signs as to the state of his friend.

"Horatio, it…it is Ophelia. I've lost her." He grips Horatio's shirt tighter, wrinkling the fabric beneath his fingers. "In this façade of mine I've lost myself, and in turn have lost her as well."

Horatio takes Hamlet's hand in his and give it a reassuring squeeze. "Hamlet, if I know anything about you and Ophelia, it is that no matter what happens, you two can never lose each other."

"But Horatio, thou has not seen what I've done to her—"

"But that does not matter!" Horatio shouts. "Forgive me, my lord. I did not mean to shout," he apologizes, afraid he's offended his Prince. When it is clear he hasn't, he continues, "What I mean is that you and Ophelia are deeply in love, and nothing that happens between you can destroy that."

Hamlet doesn't visibly react to his statement, but Horatio knows him well enough to tell that Hamlet's listening. He can practically see the gears working in his brain, analyzing all of what Horatio had just said, calculating its accuracy, and trying to believe it. He can see the streaks of pain cross his eyes, feel the tiny shudders, too tiny to be visible, overcome his body, hear the whimpering undertone in his words.

"Even if you are right, how can I face her again? What am I to do?" Hamlet puts his face in his hands.

"Believe me, my friend, you will know when the time comes."

Ophelia clutches at her skirts as tears continue to stream from her eyes. Her throat is raw and cold, but she weeps ceaselessly nonetheless. After hours of wandering aimlessly, she crumbles to the floor in a muddled heap of silk, knotted hair, and flooding tears. She tries to scream in her pain, but her voice won't allow it. Surly, no loss shall ever befall her that will exceed this pain.

She pauses her mourning only to breathe for a moment, and in doing so hears the rhythmic pounding of footsteps up the hall. She pulls her face from her hands and angles her cracked blue eyes— now streaked with red—up towards the man before her. When they behold the shimmering tear-filled ones before her, her heart nearly stops in her chest, and a swarm of emotions boil inside her. All at once she feels warm, empty, happy, and anguished, but can't differentiate one from the other. Her body is torn, one part of her wanting to leap to her feet and flee, another struggling not to pounce upon him and capture his lips with hers, and yet another part whishes to lash out and kill him. Instead, she sits in shock, her legs turning to mush beneath her.

"Ophelia…" he breathes out her name, his eyes divulging his state of pain, longing and shock.

She begins to shake, her voice unable to form any sounds besides a whimper, let alone words.

He bends down to her, locking his eyes with hers. He reaches a hand up and gently caresses her face. He's so close to her she can feel his warm breath upon her face. Her mind is nothing but a pottage of colors and emotions, incapable of formulating a single coherent thought. Her heart's beating too fast for her to keep track. Goosebumps appear along her arms and a shiver runs down her spine. She scrunches her eyes closed, wishing this all would end, wishing that the chaos would cease.

"Ophelia, please," he begs. She can feel him, so warm in front of her. He presses his forehead to hers and their noses touch. "Ophelia, please. Open thine eyes. I need to see them."

Obediently she opens her eyes. All the shock has seeped from his jade green ones—which she now notices are flecked with gold—only to be replaced with deep contrition and…and…

…and love.

She takes in a shaky breath, opens her mouth to speak, but stops. She doesn't know what to say.

"Ophelia, listen to me. Everything I said, everything, I meant none of it. I…I lost myself. I was hurt and angry and spiteful and so caught up in my charade that I lost sight of what was right in front of me." Tears form in his eyes. He blinks slowly and takes a ragged breath, steeling himself for what is to come. "Ophelia, I love thee. I swear that everything I said was empty and mindless, drawn out in my despair and lust for vengeance. Please, hear me."

She drops her eyes, trying to absorb all that was said, feeling faintly awakening in her numb mind.

"If thou cannot forgive me, I understand. But I pray, if thou can find it in thy heart, forgive me, for mine own can never be whole again without thee." He begins to stand, but she reaches up and takes his cold hand in hers.

"Don't go," she whispers out, her voice raspy and sore. She stands and takes both of his hands in a weak grasp. She searches his eyes, for what she isn't sure. Perhaps it's sincerity. Perhaps it's love. Perhaps it's to see what she has become.

But all she sees him, really him. The Hamlet she'd known all her life. The Hamlet she'd given her heart to. But there's something else hiding there, too. She sees herself. Not the cracked, spectral form she sees when she looks at herself, but the bright, happy, loving being she used to be—still is— in his eyes.

He puts his hand on her cheek again. A solitary tear runs trickles down his face. A ghost of a smile flashes across his emotional features. She places a hand on his chest and leans in, gently touching his lips with hers, as if she's uncertain this is acceptable.

He reassures her by wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her closer, pressing his lips to hers again, this time with more pressure. She closes her eyes and falls into the kiss, tangling her hand in his soft, ashy colored hair. She feels him so close to her, warm and loving and everything he used to be. Everything he still is. His kiss is gentle and lasting; as if he too wishes that it will never end.

Her mind reopens, and a flurry of feelings and thoughts buzz through for an instant before they're clouded again with all the emotions of the kiss.

When they finally have to pull apart for air, she lays her head on his chest and wraps her arms around him in a hug. He kisses her forehead and holds her close. It feels like a dream, and the only thing reassuring him that it's not is Ophelia's heartbeat, strong against his chest. He squeezes her gently for a moment, whispering to himself that he'll never lose her again.


A/N: Hope you liked it! I'm actually pretty proud of it, especially Ophelia's POV. Please drop a review by!