Ophelia laughs so long and hard she almost strangles on the feeling, and then she laughs again at how close the feeling comes to drowning. Her fingers tangle together the way they always did when she’s got too much on her mind, but now with a flavor of gathering torn letters to her chest, or beating at Hamlet’s chest in her helpless fury.

One would think a return to familiar habits would wipe that worried look off her brother’s face, but he just keeps staring until she remembers their cure-all: usually he’s the one to boop her nose to reassure her before he goes off on a journey, but it’s her turn to have an adventure now, and his finger follows the path traced by hers.