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Sir Henry was Thorn.
Only, he wasn’t. At least, not the Thorn Ophelia had remembered. The man who stepped out of the lift before her was a far cry from her brooding, pale, and quiet husband. This man, though equally tall and equally lanky, was tanned, carefree, and talking the ear off of the Visionary, who couldn’t stop the disdain from sneaking into her false smile. Hiding underneath a sheath of shaggy brown hair and a white linen set much better suited for a day at the beach than the chilled halls of the Secretarium, without a doubt, was Ophelia’s better half.
Ophelia forced herself to blink as if to push away a dream that had snuck out of her subconscious. It was a dream she’d had nearly every night on Anima— seeing Thorn, her Thorn, across a crowded room. His sharp blue eyes softening at the sight of her, just slightly. He’d signal to her, a gesture only she would know, and they’d steal away to meet each other under the cover of shadows. He’d pull her into his arms, and she’d finally say what she hadn’t had the courage to in the prison cell all those years ago. Try as Ophelia might, however, no number of pinches to the side of her leg could wake her from this mirage. Thorn was as real as Lady Septima was, standing before her.
Enraptured by his own story, which he seemed to find as hilarious as Septima found it annoying, Thorn still had yet to notice Ophelia. She didn’t mind one bit. Merely being in the same room as him filled her with a warmth that she hadn’t felt in nearly three years.
“But I digress,” sighed Thorn off the tail of a laugh, his accent that of a born and raised Babelite.
Lady Septima took the fleeting silence as her chance to butt in: “Sir Henry,” the woman stood taller. “Might I introduce you to Apprentice Forerunner Eulalia, second division, Animist of the eighth degree. She will carry on where Apprentice Mediana left off before her… incident.”
When Thorn’s gaze finally landed on her, Ophelia felt her knees buckle behind her uniform skirt. A large grin spread across the northman’s face, a sight Ophelia once thought of as a rarity. His eyes, however, were hollow, as if he were truly meeting a stranger. Did he recognize her?
Thorn rolled his linen sleeves up to his elbows and extended his large hand. Ophelia fought against the tremor cascading across her fingers as Thorn took his hand into hers. Despite his summery demeanor, his hands were as they should be: cold as ice. “An animist, huh?” It was as if he were putting on his best impression of Archibald, with how his voice lilted, almost melodically. “That’s a first.” Thorn’s eyes trailed down Ophelia’s form, from her haircut to the silver wings on her boots. “What sort?”
“She can read into an object’s past,” Septima answered for her.
Thorn strolled around her, sizing Ophelia up like a cow at auction. “Dead languages?”
“None, sir.”
“Shorthand?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Class ranking?”
“Eighth overall, secon… first among godchildren of Helen.”
“Hm,” Thorn asserted from behind her, followed by a long pause. “Sounds like we shall be quite the pairing!”
Ophelia just stared ahead, awestruck. Lady Septima cleared her throat. “Thank you,” the animist finally croaked out, her mouth inexplicably dry. “Sir Henry.”
Ophelia’s ears rang as Lady Septima stepped back into the lift, her eagle-like gaze disappearing with her. The metal doors had barely closed behind her as Thorn grabbed Ophelia by the shoulders, turning her to face him.
His showman’s smile was replaced by his usual frown as he took her in, as if he was memorizing her for safekeeping. His eyes glazed with what appeared to be relief, and he opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated. “If that’s you, facestealer, it’s a cruel, cruel prank.” His northern accent, now back with a vengeance, hardened each word.
Ophelia reached for her pocket and produced the fob watch. It sprang open between them, its hands spinning chaotically before settling in Thorn’s direction. His long fingers had barely grazed it before Ophelia pulled back, holding it an arm’s length away. “Your turn, ‘Thorn,’” she replied, her voice heavy, “If that’s even your real name…”
Thorn could easily take the watch back from her if he wanted to, but he didn’t. “I…” He sighed, thinking. “I’ll leave the wardrobe door open for you.”
With those eight words, Ophelia found herself transported back to The Pole, her skin sharp with goosebumps from the wind beating against the windows of the Treasury. Thorn offering her a coat to cover her nightdress, then pretending not to look as she got changed. It had been one of the fond memories of Thorn that had kept her going all of these years— she’d rewound, reconsidered, dissected it for hours on end. In using it as his proof of identity, the man before her had made two things certain: he was Thorn, and he’d spent the same number of hours haunted by her as she had him.
Content, Ophelia passed him the watch. Electricity surged underneath her skin as their fingers grazed in the exchange. Thorn didn’t say anything for a long time, then cleared his throat. “Your hair…” He tucked a rogue coil behind her ear.
“I could say the same about yours,” Ophelia chuckled, squinting up at his sandy-brown locks. “Is that really all you have to say to me after all this time?”
The fleeting hint of a smile, a genuine, bona fide Thorn smile, tugged at the corner of his lips as he pulled her into his arms. He smelt of home, his usual disinfectant, and sunscreen. Pressed against the curves of his lean, muscular chest, Ophelia could feel Thorn’s heartbeat quickening in tandem with her own, and the words came easily, this time: “By the way, I love you, too.”
Thorn's biceps tensed with surprise around her. Ophelia lifted her head to meet his gaze. His eyes, normally sharp and skeptical, even with his easygoing disguise, had softened, crystalline tears welling in their corners. Her husband had never looked so beautiful as he did now. Heart-in-throat, Ophelia stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, the touch of her lips against Thorn's tentative. It was their first kiss in nearly three years; their first kiss since Thorn had stolen one on the edge of the void.
Thorn closed the distance between them, leaning down to kiss Ophelia back as he cradled the back of her head with his hand. He was gentle, though there was a ferocity buried beneath the surface. Ophelia could almost hear the gears turning in his head with every touch, every exploratory hand, and every languid kiss. Never breaking their kiss, Thorn backed Ophelia against his desk, helping her on top of it to make them the same height. He kissed her jaw, down her neck, and across her clavicle. A small gasp released from her throat as he reached her sternum, which seemingly brought him back from the brink.
He looked rather silly, rather undone, with his dyed hair a mess, his shirt wrinkled, and a small bruise blooming on his bottom lip. “Right, well…” Thorn cleared his throat, professionalism almost washing back over him once more.
Almost.
“Apologies, Lady Thorn. I forgot myself,” he cleared his throat, suddenly serious. “We have to-“
“How much time do we have before Septima comes back?” Ophelia slinked down from the desk and checked the wheel-shaped lock on the door for good measure.
“Ophelia…” Thorn warned.
“Answer the question, Lord Thorn,” Ophelia retorted, stepping up to him.
He gulped, his eyes jerking between hers and her lips. “More than enough.” The words hardly past his own, Thorn picked her up, kissing her as he placed her back onto the wood of the desk. He winced against the edge of her jaw, gripping the edge of the table, before slowly lowering himself to his knees before her. His hands trailed down her body, sending shivers down her spine as they crept up her stockings, his eyes never leaving hers.
When his long fingers finally breached the hem of her underwear, Ophelia jolted, grabbing Thorn by the wrist out of surprise. A sharp lash scraped across her hands, making her release him. His eyes wide, Thorn straightened out, knocked entirely from his sensual stupor. Thorn had used his claws on her.
A slight streak of blood shone from the inside of each of her forearms, staining the wrist of her gloves.
“I…” Thorn’s tanned face turned pale. “I didn’t mean to, Ophelia, I…” Then red, with shame, as he dropped his head to avoid her gaze. “Ever since the marriage ceremony, my claws have been more… temperamental. You took me by surprise, but I… I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.” He pushed up against the desk to stand.
Ophelia shoved him back down the few inches he had risen and held his head between her hands, forcing him to look back up at her. “I’m alright, Thorn.”
“Promise?”
“I promise,” Ophelia assured. “You took me by surprise, too. You have every day since we met. How about… we take this slowly?”
Thorn nodded forlornly, considering, as he tended to do, then turned his head to kiss the red on the inside of her right wrist. The left soon followed. His hands traced her legs back up to her underwear once more. “M-May I?”
“Please, do.”
A glimmer shone in Thorn’s eyes as he curled his fingers inside Ophelia’s waistline and pulled so steadily, so indulgently that Ophelia fought the urge to remove them herself. He dropped them to the ground and kissed each of the freckles on Ophelia’s thighs, moving closer and closer to her core with each peck.
Growing up with a sister as talkative and graphic as Agatha had been about her romantic exploits had made Ophelia precisely aware of what the tingling feeling between her legs meant, but watching Thorn on his knees for her rendered a whole new sensation. A hunger.
Thorn stopped his ascent, thumbing the bottom hem of her uniform skirt. “Do you trust me?”
Ophelia’s heart lurched at the question. “Always.” It lurched again as her husband lowered his head underneath the fabric of her skirt, and again as his warm tongue licked her in a place no one had ever touched her before. Ophelia resisted the instinct to grab Thorn by the hair, instead raising her skirt so that she could see him, and he her. His large hands gripped the sides of her legs, leaving indents as he buried his face into her. His large nose bristled against her patch of hair.
“Oh, Thorn,” Ophelia gasped, throwing her head back. She could feel him chuckle against her before resuming, kissing her clit and beginning to suck. This sent her into a frenzy. She drew her knees up, holding her legs open so that Thorn could have unrestricted access. He thanked her by flicking his tongue against her. The pressure in her began to build. Ophelia closed her eyes, running her hand through her husband’s hair, as if to say, ‘do your worst.’ He responded with a finger inside of her. “Oh!”
Ophelia felt a twinge of hesitation in his rhythm. He thought he’d hurt her. “Just like that,” Ophelia whimpered. Thorn curled his long finger inside of her, moving it in and out. “Yes.” Then, another. “Yes.” A third. “Yes!”
But it was the reunion of Thorn’s lips with her clit that finally sent Ophelia over the edge. She cried out, the wave of her orgasm cascading over her as she gripped his hair between her fingers. In all her years practicing on herself on Anima, she’d never experienced something so consuming. Her thighs were still shaking as she came down from it, out of breath.
She finally opened her eyes and looked down into Thorn’s, still glassy from pleasure. His mouth and chin were wet from her enjoyment. Ophelia breathed out a laugh. “Now, where did you learn that?”
“Is that jealousy I sense in your tone, Mrs. Thorn?” Thorn cocked his head to the side, eyebrows raised.
Ophelia flushed. She hadn’t even considered the option that Thorn had been with anyone before her. He would be her first and last; perhaps he wouldn’t be able to say the same. Her worry must have appeared between her brow, for Thorn squeezed her thigh once more. “Archibald,” he explained, then flustered. “Not that we, um… he…”
Ophelia grinned at his stammering.
Thorn sighed. “Teenage years with a… friend like the former Ambassador were rife with forced practice on… oranges.”
She laughed out loud. “I love you.” Thorn kissed the inside of her thigh in agreement. “Kiss me,” she insisted.
Ever the rule-follower, Thorn did as he was told, but Ophelia did not miss the twitch in his eye as he stood. He kissed her, allowing her to taste herself as his tongue grazed her teeth. Ophelia arched her body toward him, as if pulled by a magnet toward the bulge forming underneath his loose pants. She ground herself against the fabric, leaving a damp mark from the friction. Thorn inhaled sharply. It made Ophelia feel as if she were on fire.
“I want you,” Ophelia murmured into Thorn’s mouth mid-kiss. “All of you.”
Thorn pulled back. “Are you sure?”
“I have never been more sure of anything in my life.” She nodded.
Thorn nodded back, untangling himself from between her legs to walk toward the wall to their right. He pressed on a tile, and the wall opened, revealing a secret door. He offered a hand to Ophelia, helping her down from the table.
Beyond the wall was a small room, furnished with a plain bed, a mirrored wardrobe, and a small sink. Thorn’s arms wrapped around her from behind to unbutton her Good Family blouse, and Ophelia watched as his slender fingers pulled it and her blazer from her shoulders. They fell to the floor in a pile at her feet. Thorn moved her short hair aside to kiss her neck as he unclasped her bra, followed by her skirt. Ophelia shivered as the cool air of the room crawled across her bare skin, both titillated by the chill and eager for all that came next.
Thorn’s mouth dropped open, just slightly, as Ophelia turned to face him. “Wow, you…”
Ophelia smiled coyly, but as she began to pull at the bottom of his tunic, Thorn’s claws riled beneath his skin. Discomfort.
Ophelia looked up into Thorn’s eyes. “Do you trust me?”
Thorn nodded, easing his claws. Ophelia lifted his shirt as high as she could before he had to help her the rest of the way. Thorn’s chest, just like his face and arms, was riddled with scars from his childhood. A gasp escaped from Ophelia’s throat. Thorn blushed, suddenly becoming very interested in the ceiling. “Fifty-six. There are fifty-six of them.”
“I…” Ophelia’s eyes traced the lines jutting out from his skin. She felt nauseous at the thought of her kind, selfless husband being hurt by the very people who were supposed to protect him: his family.
Thorn took back his shirt and turned away from her to put it back on. “If you don’t want to-“
Ophelia reached out to touch him, brushing her fingertips against the scars on his back. Thorn’s breath caught at her touch, and he didn’t allow himself to exhale until Ophelia wrapped her arms around his waist. His skin was as cold as hers was warm. Thorn rubbed his thumb against Ophelia’s clasped hands. They stood, breathing as one, until Ophelia gingerly kissed the scar underneath his left shoulder blade. Then, the one at the base of his spine. Another. And another.
“Look at me,” Ophelia instructed. Thorn turned back to face her, but did not meet her gaze. Ophelia grabbed his chin. “I said all of you, didn’t I?”
Thorn’s eyes flicked up to meet hers through his hair. He nodded.
“Don’t decide what is too much for me, Thorn,” she asserted. “You… you will never be ‘too much.’”
The lines in Thorn’s face softened, and he leaned into her hand with his jaw. He closed his eyes for a moment, basking in her touch, then opened them. “Sit down.”
Ophelia’s heart pounded in her chest at the order. Normally, she hated being told what to do. This was not one of those times.
She backed up, shuffling backwards until the backs of her legs hit the cold metal of the bed frame, and did as she was told. Thorn crossed toward her in two long strides, then leaned down to reach for his left pant leg. Ophelia blinked, confused, then realized why: a golden metal leg brace covered Thorn’s leg from calf to thigh. The metallic cage was a work of mastery, with its shimmering gears and hinges clicking away to hold Thorn’s leg in place, but it looked unfathomably painful to endure; bruises decorated his legs underneath it.
Ophelia felt a surge of protectiveness for her husband. “What have they done to you?” Her heart ached at the thought of Thorn’s painful escape from The Pole.
Thorn grabbed a small key from a nearby drawer and wound a loose hinge. “They saved me. I was in bad shape after my escape. Without The Genealogists’ help, I wouldn’t have…” He stopped himself. “This contraption is the cost I had to pay to make it back to you. I will forever be in its debt.”
“As will I,” Ophelia agreed, taking the key from Thorn to finish the job. He sighed with relief as the pressure on his leg subsided. “Better?”
“Much.”
“Parfait,” Ophelia flirted in a Babel accent, never breaking eye contact with him as she pulled down his linen pants. Level with Thorn’s groin, she gulped as all of him came into view. Eight inches of thick, hard, Northern cock. White-blond curls decorated the top of it, and the veins… That same hunger spread through her. Pushing aside her nerves, Ophelia carefully removed her reader’s gloves, took Thorn’s penis into her hand, and began to stroke. Slowly. Carefully.
Ophelia licked the slit, savoring the salty taste of him as he shuddered out a whimper, then took him into her mouth.
“O-Ophelia,” he groaned, tilting his head toward the heavens as she began to bob. She gagged as he hit the back of her throat, yet she still wanted more. The feeling was indescribable and unlike anything she’d experienced before; Ophelia wanted to consume Thorn entirely. No touch felt quite enough.
Thorn gripped her curls in his large hands, urging her to continue as archaic, Northern expletives fell from his mouth. Ophelia began to massage his balls with one hand as she dug her nails into his ass.
“I… I…” Thorn warned, contorting his face. Ophelia released him with a satisfactory ‘pop’ and stood, bringing him down to kiss her. They backed onto the mattress, still kissing, and Thorn licked her nipples, making them stand to attention.
“Stop… teasing…” Ophelia gasped into his mouth.
Thorn peeled open her legs and braced himself above her, careful with his injured leg. “This might hurt.”
Ophelia lifted her face to kiss him. “I know.”
“Say the word and we’ll-“
Ophelia cut him off with a kiss and lowered her hand between them, lining up his cock with her entrance. He rubbed himself against her opening, which was getting slicker by the minute. Thorn looked at her, silently asking for permission. Ophelia nodded quite fervently.
Thorn pushed into her, shaking as she slowly took him in. Ophelia winced, biting her lip through the pain. Thorn hesitated, but before he could pull out, Ophelia pushed on the small of his back, eclipsing him. He moaned, half-chuckling out of surprise, and the pain gave way to pleasure as he began to slowly move in and out of her. Ophelia held onto the back of Thorn’s neck as he buried his face into hers, his lips buzzing against her skin as he groaned with pleasure. She’d never felt closer to him than she did right now. “I love you,” Ophelia murmured, running her hand through Thorn’s hair.
Thorn lifted his head and brought his lips to hers, but didn’t kiss her. “I love you, too.”
His lips continued to linger just out of reach as he picked up his rhythm, grinding in and out of her like the automaton his nickname had dubbed him. “Thorn, oh…”
Thorn brought his large hand into the small space between their mouths and nodded at Ophelia. She opened wide, accepting his long fingers into her mouth and beginning to suck on them. He removed them and lowered his hand back down, making Ophelia squirm as he started to rub her clit in tandem with his thrusts.
Carnal pressure began to build somewhere deep inside Ophelia. “Right there, yes, yes, YES!” Her second orgasm crashed into her like a Babel street taxi; rough, overwhelming, and whole-body quivering. Ophelia scratched down her husband’s back. “THORN! OH!”
She lay there, for a moment afterwards, to come down from it. When she opened her eyes, Thorn, who was still buried deep within her, was staring, a curious combination of pride and love for her coloring his tanned skin. “Worth the two-year wait?”
Ophelia chuckled. “I don’t kiss and tell, Mr. Thorn.”
“Too bad,” he began to glide in and out of her again, languidly. Ophelia’s breath caught behind her teeth. It was infuriating. “I do.” Painfully slowly, Thorn pulled out of her, stood, and moved his desk chair in front of his open wardrobe.
Ophelia watched, dumbstruck, as he sat down across the room from her. “Do you, now?”
“Want to find out?” He flirted, stroking his cock with his hand. Ophelia felt as if her whole body were on fire. “Come here.” Ophelia slid off the bed and crossed toward him, straddling his legs. “No, no, no…” Thorn turned her around. Ophelia caught her flushed, sexed-up reflection before her and realized. “I want you to watch yourself as I make you come…”
The hairs stood up on the back of Ophelia’s neck, and she turned her face sidelong to kiss him as he held her waist. Ophelia sank onto his penis, really letting herself feel each and every inch of him.
Thorn liked that. “I thought of you every time I touched myself,” he confessed. “We’ve had sex countless times in my head.”
Ophelia reached behind her to hold onto the back of his head as she began to rock against him. “Oh, yeah?” She used her other hand to massage his balls.
“Y-Yes.”
“What would you do to me?” Ophelia wasn’t sure where this energy on her part was coming from, but she didn’t mind it one bit.
Thorn nibbled Ophelia’s shoulder, having a difficult time focusing. Ophelia liked having this effect on him. “I… oh…” He buried his large nose into her hair. “I made you scream my— our name strewn across my desk at the Treasury…”
Thorn began to buck his hips underneath her. “Elbow deep in Cunegond’s sandglass beds…”
Ophelia watched his right hand glide down toward her abdomen, pressing against it so she could really savor the feeling of him inside of her, as his left held her in place with a grip on her breast.
Thorn continued. “Pressed against the bars of my prison cell…”
She watched as his large member disappeared deep into her, how he adjusted himself to pound into her even faster. Ophelia could feel her eyes starting to glaze over from pleasure, and she forced herself to focus on Thorn with all of her might.
“Bent over the railing where I first kissed you…” Thorn’s balls clapped against her thighs. “And I’d enjoy you slapping me just as much as I did back then…”
Ophelia turned her face to kiss him, biting his lip as they pulled apart. “You have quite the imagination.”
“You have no idea.” Thorn took her hand in his and braced them against the mirror, his fingers interlaced with hers. The change in angle made Ophelia yelp in ecstasy. The glass rippled at their touch.
What a shock that would be, thought Ophelia, having Eulalia and Sir Henry fall through a mirror elsewhere in the Memorial, mid-sexcapade.
Without meaning to, Ophelia read the edge of the mirror’s wooden frame. She saw Thorn pleasuring himself across from the mirror, one hand stroking his throbbing cock and the other propping himself up against the wood. “Ophelia…” He breathed out her name as streaks of white burst from him.
From her toes to her wild curls, Ophelia began to buzz. “Fuck me, oh, YES!” Thorn began to flick her clit with his thumb. Ophelia felt her muscles clench around Thorn’s penis, releasing a mess of liquid as she squirted. “THORN!”
“Christ, Ophelia,” he gasped, starting to lift her off. “You’re going to make me-“
Ophelia sank deeper onto him. “Make me yours, Thorn, please.”
Thorn thought for a moment. “Turn around.” Ophelia rotated herself to face him, her nipples grazing his as she clung to him, his cock hard and pulsing between them. Thorn stared at her, his ferocious gaze alone enough to make her melt. Ophelia began to rub against his penis from her navel to her slit, not allowing Thorn the satisfaction of entering her. His eyes sparkled as he watched her toy with him. Then, in a silent agreement, Thorn pushed into her. The room fell quiet but for the sounds of skin hitting skin and frantic, horny breathing.
Ophelia watched as the lines in Thorn’s face began to contort. It made her feel more alive than she had ever before. “Give it to me.”
“Are you su-“
Ophelia cut him off with a kiss, moaning into his mouth as her core warmed with his cum. Thorn gasped, pulling Ophelia into a deep kiss. They sat like that—entangled, giddy, and exhausted, for forever and a minute, their combined pleasure dribbling down Thorn’s thighs.
Half an hour later, they lay, bathed and cuddling, beneath the blanket on Thorn’s single bed. Ophelia could hardly see Thorn, mere inches away from her, under the covers, but she had never felt more content than she did now.
“You laugh more here than you did back home,” Ophelia noted, breaking through the comfortable silence.
“It’s the most effective part of my disguise,” Thorn kissed her collarbone as he twirled one of the curls on the back of her neck between his fingers. “No one would suspect that cold, mean, old Thorn would ever be… an extrovert.”
Ophelia laughed out loud. “Was that a joke, Mr. Thorn?”
A slight smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth in the dim. “No one will believe you.”
She giggled, tucking herself into his chest and inhaling, desperate to remember his smell. She’d taken it for granted on The Pole and had forgotten it in the time they’d been apart. Across the room, from the pocket of his discarded pants, Thorn’s fob watch sprang open.
The Thorns groaned. Time to go.
Ophelia took the leap to push back the covers first, but Thorn pulled her back. “Thorn,” she sighed, “Lady Septima will be back any moment to retrieve me.”
“Let her,” his deep voice challenged from behind her. Ophelia wanted nothing more than to stay. She deserved this. She deserved to be able to lie in bed all day with her adoring husband, just like every other couple.
But Ophelia and Thorn weren’t ‘every other couple.’
They had to save the world, whether the world wanted them to or not.
Ophelia slithered out of his arms and onto the floor, where she began to collect her clothes. “Underwear?” She asked, searching under the bed. Thorn blushed, nodding his head toward the other room. Ophelia smiled and rolled her eyes as she finished buttoning her uniform blazer. She leaned down to offer Thorn a kiss. “I’ll see you next session, Sir Henry.”
“Counting down the minutes, Apprentice Eulalia.”
“And don’t you forget it.” Ophelia crossed toward the door, turning back once more at the threshold. Thorn leaned against his headboard, watching her. “I love you.”
“And don’t you forget it,” Thorn echoed teasingly, then mouthed the three words back to her.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Ophelia added, nodding toward his brown hair. It was still rather jarring to see him with it. “The second this is all over, you’re dyeing it back.”
Thorn ran a hand through his hair, flexing his biceps just to be annoying. “As you wish.”
Ophelia released a long exhale as she shut the bedroom door behind her. She spotted her underwear on the floor underneath Thorn’s desk and knelt down to pick it up. Just then, the lift dinged, and she hurried to stuff the fabric into her pocket as the doors opened to Lady Septima.
Her harsh gaze peeled over Ophelia. “Where is Sir Henry?”
Ophelia shrugged. “He said he’d see me next session and disappeared into the wall.”
“What an odd creature, that Sir Henry,” Septima muttered, ushering Ophelia into the elevator.
Ophelia pinched her side to keep herself from smiling.