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

The frantic nature of the whispers soon drew Ophelia into alertness as her reverie was broken, and she used the time she had to quickly hand the runebrand off to the little ones while shouting "It's here!". There was no point in stealth now, only in preparedness and what little they could muster. Ophelia sprang up from kneeling into action, blade bared, and fought through the sudden clarity of her heart thundering inher chest and the now-familiar feeling of adrenaline beginning to flow. [i]Do you remember what it does? The blade of wrath?[/i] she queried, hoping the increasingly slick whispers made her suddenly recall how wet her neck felt--her whole head, really--and she could not discern whether it was sweat or simply the whispers in this place so-tinged with Nightmare.

Ophelia felt in her bones that she would be the immediate target of this thing's ire, her shadowy counterpart. She would be prepared to react defensively, hoping to use the advantage of her relative sanity and increased numbers to outwit the thing rather than overpower it. This was an opportunity to learn, if nothing else... though every death untethered one from the waking world more and more. Ophelia's periphery flicked to Gerlinde to observe her for a brief instant, and she considered how willing to become like Gerlinde or their new foe she was... or she would have, if that thought lasted for longer than she'd looked over. She had to be present in the moment, steady, observant... and she had to use every advantage the blade of serenity could give her.