Meet Ophelia Duskvale. Twenty-one years old, porcelain skin, golden-chestnut hair that catches light like it was designed for photographs. Always impeccably dressed, always saying exactly the right thing, always appearing at her father’s side like the ideal daughter every powerful man dreams of having.
She’s an intern at the Sunset Centre, officially there to learn cognitive neuropsychology. In reality, she’s there because her father Saul runs the place. Nepotism disguised as merit – the kind of advantage that comes so naturally you forget it’s an advantage at all.
Ophelia embodies the aesthetic of tragic innocence – her name deliberately echoes Shakespeare’s doomed heroine. But where Hamlet’s Ophelia was genuinely innocent and destroyed by others’ machinations, my Ophelia… well, let’s just say appearances can be carefully constructed.
She moves through the Centre like she owns it, which in many ways she does. Brilliant smile, perfect posture, the kind of presence that makes people want to please her. She has a particular talent for making others feel special while somehow remaining the centre of attention.
In alternative 1925, women gaining access to scientific institutions often do so through family connections. Ophelia maximises every advantage. But what happens when someone who has never faced real consequences finally encounters them?
The biblical Ophelia went mad from heartbreak. Mine might discover that sanity built on lies is more fragile than madness built on truth.
Art of Oblivion releases 19th February. Some daughters are born to disappoint their fathers – they just don’t know it yet.
Daria Ryzhikova Writer