[Now that is a familiar look. It had been replaced, lately, with faces of mourning for the king, but Ophelia had known that exact sort of tired for years before then.

Ducking her head into a sip of her drink is instinctive. Men like Hamlet didn't particularly enjoy being observed in their long moments of quiet.]

Wise men never do. And I am certain, my lord, that it is-- no small prize for men to be wise before their hair has turned grey.