Here she is, on her way to Etsy, The Blessed Ophelia, a martyr to your peccadilloes, untoward thoughts, secret fantasies, etc., etc., with a pocket where you can store them and forget them, and so will she, since she has a sort of terminal ennui. Too bored by it all to share it with anybody. Go ahead, you can trust her to keep your little mistakes safe, more or less.
You can see above that she is really unimpressed by your personal failings, which is quite reassuring, I think.
She stands about 16 inches tall and is dressed in elegant tatters of silk ribbon, true velvet (crushed and old), and a tatty curtain. Her headband is a fine piece of handmade lace, naturally stained by time, and her hair is a bundle of fibers left from a ball gown that fell to rags and threads years ago.
Her arms are hinged to move up and down on mother of pearl buttons.
She's just as shabby as your horrid little secrets, you see. Just leave them with her and get them off your mind! No worries, dear. It's all in the past, you know.
Ophelia knows but will not tell.