Part 2: The Maiden vs. The Waterfly

SCENE I: A Hall in Elsinore.
(OPHELIA enters. She is no longer the girl in the river; she is draped in celestial raiment, and her staff, Missiletainn , pulses with a rhythmic, starlit glow. She stands at the center of the hall, her eyes glowing with the cold fury of a star. Enter OSRIC, a courtier, wearing a hat with excessive plumage and a doublet so stiff he moves like a wooden doll.)

OSRIC
(Bowing so low his feathers sweep the floor)
Most radiant and singular lady, the King—bless his majesty’s humors—doth send me to inquire after your health. He hath laid a great wager on your head, for he says your magic is as a summer’s day—though, forsooth, the weather is very sultry and hot, is it not?

OPHELIA
(Her voice echoing like thunder in a canyon)
Peace, thou water-fly! The stars have whispered thy name to me, Osric, and they spoke it with a sneer. I am Ophelia of the Glittering Stars, and my passion burns brighter than a thousand suns. Do not speak to me of the weather when I hold the seasons in my palm.

OSRIC
(Adjusting his hat nervously)
It is very cold, lady; the wind is northerly. Yet, if you say it burns, then it is as a furnace! I do confess, your "True Power" hath a most courtly reputation. The King desires a trial of your... "skill-set." I have brought a rapier of the finest temper, though I fear I am but a "woodcock to mine own springe" should I fail to parry your radiance.

OPHELIA
(Lifts Missiletainn; the air crackles with "Aqueous" and "Luminary" energy. A swirl of glowing petals and stardust begins to rotate around her.)
Accept your nightmare, thou three-inch fool! Thou art a boil, a plague-sore upon the face of this drossy age! You are but a tutorial for the carnage I bring. Witness now the Luminary Uppercut of destiny!

[Alarum. Drums and Trumpets. Ophelia slams the base of her staff into the floor.]

OSRIC
(Tripping over his own scabbard as a pillar of blinding starlight erupts directly beneath his boots)
O, I am slain by a most notable and celestial light! My hat! My fertile lands! They vanish into a "mid-tier" oblivion!

(He is launched upward, his feathers singed and his dignity shattered.)

OPHELIA
(Standing over the fallen, smoking courtier)
Sweet relief that's over. Thou wert but a fusty nut with no kernel, Osric. You were the "Level 1" obstacle in a world I mean to burn. The stars are in my favor today; the first enemy has fallen like a moth to a candle’s flame.

OSRIC
(Being carried off by attendants, dazed)
...Is it... is it still northerly? The light... it was... very bright...

OPHELIA
(Looking toward the horizon)
Now for the North. Hamlet, hold on to your heartbeat. I am coming to snuff out Fortinbras's harvest.