« Die for ever ? Who can say that ? » Marcel Proust
# Comptine pour un été / Yann Tiersen
It was a dreaded and unwanted birth. In the icy morning the little girl, Ophélia, was born, the Yaegahara’s mountain was invested from a huge sorrow but Atrée, the girl’s father was most swamped. This day was the most somber because the death seized the most estimable and most liked being, the one who was the most discouraged : Sybil drowned herself in the lake of Yaegahara suite in the birth of Ophélia and in the insults of her husband. So began the life of the girl.
For eight years, the child browsed the castle without being able to see the world that surrounded her father and her grandmother Mariko were then the people who protected her and loved her most. Atrée considered her as a part of his wife and the way to redeem hiself with her because he had flooded in his sorrow : his fault and the guilt killed him little by little.
Ophélia ended up alone in this gigantic house without knowing really that to make walked in the castle as a dead shadow affected by a fragile health, an always pale complexion.
It reigned in this fortress a rather ghostly atmosphere, a dead child, a father of a sinister humor. The life existed only by the laborious activity of the servants.
Ophélia was raised by Hana, a dynamic handmaid who gaves orders everytime. It is doubtless with her that the girl maintained most links. During these years, she met Kaede and Lucius who were both of her in family, her cousin and her sister, but they had no close relation, maybe because they thought it’s not a necessity, because of the cruel ignorance of the young children.
The girl didn’t understand the life of the adults who surrounded her. What after all made her suffered, she didn’t realized it, because her family loved her fervently, but unfortunately she ended up alone in her child’s life. Without knowing really the happiness, Ophélia thought of possessing it, because love which her close friends carried her was the most important for her. Consequently, the girl felt no jealousy but only a big empty that brought her to ask many questions on her life and to question herself: was she a weight for them who loved her and who nevertheless were not present? That’s why the guilt ate away at her and that she felt useless to all those who loved her. This feeling accompanied her from now on, a thing which for ever would be with her without she can get rid of it.