Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 241. Ophelia's Confession II
"I know you did it to make me hate you," Ophelia acknowledged, her voice a whisper in the dimly lit corridor. "You didn't want me to hesitate when choosing between defending you or my family. That's why you were so harsh with me, isn't it?"
The question hung in the air, laden with the weight of revelations. Ophelia had unraveled a thread of truth, pulling it delicately but resolutely, unveiling the complexities of Angel's actions during those tumultuous times.
Angel, his eyes betraying a hint of vulnerability, couldn't help but be taken aback by her insight. "How did you find out?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. He hadn't expected her to piece together his intentions.
Ophelia, her own emotions a whirlwind, held Angel's gaze with unwavering resolve. "When you threw me... You held me back with your power, preventing me from crashing to the hard floor." Her confession, marked by a sense of liberation, hung in the air like a fragile truth. "From the very beginning... You just wanted to use me to make my father and Ilex surrender faster because you didn't want to hurt them anymore."
Angel, unable to meet her gaze, turned his eyes away, his expression etched with a complex mix of emotions. "I did it," he admitted, his voice tinged with self-reflection, "not for you, not for your father or Ilex. I just wanted to end the war sooner, avoiding unnecessary sacrifice."
Ophelia's smile was a gentle glow, casting a soft radiance upon Angel's weary heart. Her words, filled with a tenderness that seemed to echo through the centuries-old stones, stirred something deep within him.
"Angel, you haven't changed," Ophelia whispered, her voice a fragile melody, "you always think of others before yourself... And you never let anyone find out."
Angel's gaze, a turbulent sea of emotions, met Ophelia's as he absorbed the weight of her words. There was a profound understanding between them, a silent acknowledgment of the intricate layers that defined his character. In a world of turmoil and conquest, he had always sought to shield those caught in the crossfire.
Ophelia, her eyes shimmering with a vulnerability that had remained hidden for too long, continued, "I was hoping you are not Reinheart's descendant... At least, I would still have a chance to be with you..."
A heavy sigh escaped Angel's lips as he processed the depth of Ophelia's sentiments. He understood the impossibility of their union. "You know it's impossible between us," he confessed, his voice laced with a somber truth. "Therefore, don't waste your feelings. You deserve a man who is better than me."
Tears glistened in Ophelia's eyes, threatening to spill over and mark the corridor's stones as a testament to her unspoken longing. "No," she protested, her voice a melancholic melody, "this feeling is mine... No one can take it from me... Not my father... Not my brother... Or you... Let me keep it... I have the right to love you."
Angel turned to face Ophelia, his eyes carrying a genuine concern that mirrored the tumult within his heart. His voice, a gentle breeze amidst the ancient stones, carried the weight of his worry. "I won't force you. I just hope you stop torturing yourself."
Ophelia, her expression a tapestry of emotions, responded with a smile that seemed to conceal the tempest of feelings swirling within her. It was a smile that spoke of resignation, of the acceptance of a painful truth. "Angel, five years ago. When I saw your smile before the hunting competition. I knew I would lose you soon. But I never thought that day would be the last day I met you."
Her voice quivered slightly as she continued, her words evoking memories of a time that seemed both distant and achingly close. "You were declared a rebel... My brother executed you... I felt everything was like a nightmare. For five years... I missed you... I hope we can go back to the way we used to be."
As she spoke, Ophelia reached out her hand, a trembling bridge that sought to bridge the chasm of their past and present. Her fingers, delicate and laden with unspoken longing, brushed gently against the air, as if trying to touch Angel's face once more.
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