"Ophie, get up! You're gonna be late!"

Ophelia blinked lightly. As she did, the radiant light peeking through the gaps in the curtain assaulted her eyes, forcing her to block it with her hand.

'It's that bright already?'

'I guess I was up late last night…'

Ophelia yawned and stretched, then looked over and stared into her older brother's deep brown eyes, and took note of his perfect hair that coiled just enough to keep it out of his eyes, but not too much that it stood straight up. Each curl was neatly defined with very little overall frizz.

The boy pleaded with Ophelia, panic painted in his expression:

"Hurry up! You know what happens to those late to the drawing!"

Opehlia leisurely craned her neck and addressed her brother.

"Yeah, yeah… get out so I can get dressed."

"Okay, but hurry!"

Laertes scampered out of her room and slammed the oak door behind him. The moment he disappeared, Ophelia threw the covers off and rolled out of bed, then quickly changed her clothes. Finally, she fixed her hair.

In no longer than three minutes, she'd finished getting ready and headed out of her room and into the hallway, but the look on Laertes' face as he waited by the door was almost enough to convince her she'd taken hours.

"Pa and Mom are already there! Let's go!"

The boy, who was half a head shorter than her despite being nearly two years older, flung the door open and held it, then slammed it the moment Ophelia stepped outside. He quickly jangled the keys and locked it before sprinting off.

Ophelia didn't entirely care if she was late — this entire tradition was horrendous and erroneous in her mind; something the others didn't seem to agree on. Of course, she'd get an extra ballot next week if she were late. But she knew it. It didn't matter how many she got; her name would never be picked.

Ophelia kicked a rock as she stepped off the porch, then began a light jog after her brother, who'd long disappeared from view.

'I can't believe I have to go down there soon…'

Two weeks ago, she'd turned 18, meaning she'd have to do the horribly dumb excursion of descending into the Scar – The annual Coming of Age ceremony to happen in six weeks.

'So dangerous. So stupid.'

There was a near 35% mortality rate for teens who took the trip, either due to a beast or faulty climbing equipment.

Yet, if she didn't return with a Lilac Liora'fen, she'd be the next sacrifice.

Ophelia sighed as she ran down several back alleys before catching up to her brother, who stood at the edge of the large crowd that had amassed in the town square.

He stood on the tip of his toes to peer over the mass, making him look like a little kid.

"Do you see them, Ophie?"

Ophelia, who could easily see without the theatrics, replied:

"Yeah, they're a little over to our left."

Laertes grounded his heels, and Ophelia sighed as the head priest took his place on the dais behind the large brown box containing the numbers.

The wrinkly old man spoke evenly:

"Thank you all for being here today, as always."

But then he took an unceremonious pause and looked down at his own feet…

Ophelia couldn't help but question this, as the ritual was usually cut-and-dry, with the same words and actions spoken every time. This was the point where he was supposed to take attendance by household…

An arduous and tedious task that sometimes took half an hour…

The head priest opened his mouth and solemnly continued:

"I… I am afraid to announce that the selection has been tampered with."

Ophelia's face paled.

Laertes stepped away and looked at his sister in horror, and said:

"O-oh no… t-that's terrible!"

Ophelia's mind raced as her eyes danced around fervently.

'H-how?!'

'How did they find out?!'

'I swear I hid my tracks perfectly as always!'

"The missing numbers were 1119, 1390, 3289, and… 3355."

The panicked faces of the crows swiveled around and searched for them. The moment their eyes lay upon them, they backed away in fear, forming a circle around them…

Laertes, Ophelia, and their parents now found themselves blocked in by the crowd.

The numbers… were something assigned at birth, a sort of identification. Once you become 18, your number would be thrown into the lottery weekly, and if your number were picked, you'd become the next sacrifice to the goddess…

For the past three years, Ophelia had been sneaking out the night before the lottery and carefully removing her family members' numbers to protect them.

But now… her treacherous deed was exposed.

The head priest sighed:

"I'd hate to accuse anyone of such a damnable offense… we will conduct an official investigation, but if no culprit is found, all four of you will be chosen… That is, unless the culprit would like to confess and face the consequences alone."

Ophelia's mother screamed:

"S-someone set us up! We would never do something so terrible!"

Her father soon joined in:

"Yeah! We would never!"

Someone from the crowd screamed:

"Liars! Ophelia just turned 18, and we all know how much you two dote on her. You probably wanted to remove her number, then decided to take your own while at it!"

Others who'd known them for their entire lives joined in.

"Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

"Damn traitors!"

Laertes glanced over at Ophelia, only to see the scared and shocked look on her face, quite a telling look that he could discern with ease. Ophelia wasn't much of a talker, but her face always said a lot. Laertes, being the big brother responsible for countless moody faces, read the telling expression as if she were screaming.

Ophelia staggered around and then tried to open her mouth, but no words came out. Her mind raced, and her heart raced faster. She tried and tried again, but all she managed was one word she choked on.

"I—"

Laertes' eyes went wide, and he clenched his fist while looking at all of the mob around them.

"I… I did it."

Time fell still in Ophelia's mind as she stared into her brother's sad eyes.

She tried to scream out, yell the truth. But her throat continued to betray her. She only managed a few gasps as Laertes stood taller than he ever had before, and declared again loudly:

"It was me. I did it."

The head priest swiveled his head around searching for the noise's source until his eyes settled upon Laertes.

"Laertes…"

A tear formed in the corner of the priest's eye and trailed down his cheek.

"I can't believe you'd do something like this…"

He cried not because it spelled death for the young man, but because such an outstanding up-and-coming priest would commit such an act of heresy. If the noble Laertes were a traitor, then who the hell could he trust?!

"Take him… I will prepare for the ritual at once."

Ophelia stood in shock, repeatedly trying to scream out and right her terrible wrong. But nothing worked, not even her arms followed her mental commands.

All her big brother could do was smile.

He said one simple phrase to Ophelia:

"I'm sorry…"

A moment later, a group of priests appeared and latched onto Laertes and began dragging him away… it was the last time Ophelia ever saw her brother alive.

As he was dragged away, his leg got caught on a rose bush and snapped off a single red rose.

***

The dinner table was silent that night.

Their Mom and Pa didn't utter a single word — neither of grief nor sorrow.

But their eyes held looks of discontent. Discontent for their own son, that is.

They'd raised a traitor after all. The biggest shame they'd have to live with for the rest of their lives. A damn action that made it so none would ever trust the Withergaiden name again.

Ophelia wanted to confess to her crime, but what good was confessing when the deed was done and nothing could be righted.

Laertes had already been cast over the ridge and into the river, sent to sail over Liora Falls to his death — the fate which Ophelia, the true culprit, deserved.

When her parents retreated to their room, Ophelia stayed at the table while twirling a rose she'd picked up off the ground in her hands.

This rose was a symbol and the remaining proof of her treachery.

Ophelia stopped twirling the rose and clutched the stem as hard as she could, forcing the thorns to draw blood. The red substance trickled down her hand and dripped repeatedly to the floor.

She sat at the dinner table for twelve hours until the sun rose, all the while watching the flower wilt in her grasp.

***

A week passed, and when the next selection came, karma reeled its twisted fangs.

Perhaps it was fate — perhaps someone had orchestrated it, thinking her to be the true culprit — either way, 3355, her number, had been selected. Her parents watched her get dragged off without a tear. Almost appearing happy, thinking their daughter was chosen as if it were some kind of recompense for their son's faults.

Ophelia didn't even say goodbye.

She just silently accepted the shackles they clamped on her wrists and ankles, then let them march her to the edge of the ravine, lowered her down to the river's edge in an hour long march, said a vain prayer, then plunged her in, sending her with the current. Not too long after, she was sent over the crest and into a free fall.

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