Of course she knew what would happen if she took it. She knew what was happening and what would happen to her if she suddenly had it in her possession. She knew her mother would be more than displeased when she woke and found it missing. But she couldn't help it, she couldn't accept her death. She couldn't die here, this soon and under these circumstances. This is exactly why she did it. Exactly why she stole it while her mother slept. She of course didn't know that it wouldn't contain the answers she had hoped for. She didn't know that she would never be able to see her family again. What she took she thought would be the answer to everything, the answer that would make everything seem right again. The answer she had been searching for.

Of course it hadn't. It did not eliminate what she thought her death would be, just postponed it. Now the lost girl had no idea what to do, where to start.

These pains. These ripping feelings, ripping her apart in the most barbaric way possible. Most importantly the fear of what would happen to it afterwards. These thoughts running through her mind as she lay motionless in the Albanian Forrest. She didn't know where he went, if he left at all. She couldn't open her eyes. She couldn't move or the pains would come surging back bounding her body to the ground. Would anyone help her? Would anyone find her? Could anyone find her? Then it stopped. Everything stopped.

The thoughts of her death crept eerily upon her as she sat alone in the darkness that both surrounded and engulfed what little of her soul that was left. These feelings would wash over her, how could she stop them? Even after her death, the lost girl relived and remembered the torments and memories of him stabbing her repeatedly and mercilessly. How could she overcome these feelings of loss? How could she, as a ghost, lose these horrendous memories that were her tragic death?

Even as centuries passed, Helena Ravenclaw would always be just the lost girl. Lost in her own world of tragedy and death.