Written for Life (Helena Ravenclaw, timing), Potions (Write about Character Death)
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There was something about standing over one's own body that really gave perspective to the important things in life. Of course, the spiritual aspect of this event was not filling Helena with any kind of enlightenment. No, it just made her quite angry.
She stood, in the middle of some forest in Albania, and unsure as to how exactly she had gotten here. And why she was opaque. As she raised a hand, she watched the sunlight pass through it. She was a deep grey color. Her body lay just at her feet. It was a dull white, a large smear of browning blood seeping into her blue dress. Mud mattered her body. A look of fear and pain crossed her face. No, a look of fear and pain crossed its face. Because that wasn't her anymore. The cold, unmoving lump on the forest floor was no longer Helena.
She wanted to scream until her lungs broke. To throw her fists into a tree and beat it until it feel to the ground. She wanted it to sink into the mud just as her body was. She knew those actions would be of no help to her now. If anything, they would only further push her over the edge.
Still, screaming felt good. And as Helena let out an ear splitting scream, her hands digging into her hair and pulling it from its bun, she did feel a bit better. Only a bit though.
"Helena?"
The voice quelled the woman's screams. She paused, hands still tangled in her hair, and turned to the sound. Just like her, the Baron stood over his own body. Just like hers, his was covered in a mix of blood and mud. But unlike hers, the sword which had caused the mortal wound still rested in his chest. It glistened in the sun.
"Please, my love, calm." The Baron's ghost stepped forward, a hand outstretched. Where Helena was grey and dull, he seemed a murky white. It was unfair in her opinion. He reached her, a wispy hand hovering over her shoulder.
"Don't touch me." Helena drew back, swatting his outstretched hand. It all was starting to come back to her now. Slowly at first, but her mind was beginning to defog. That was when she remembered it.
"The diadem." Helena whispered. She spun, her eyes scanning over the collection of trees. She raced forward, throwing herself against one, to only fade through it. She panted, the action more from fear than any need to breath, and pressed her hand against the back. This time she didn't fall through.
"Where is it?" She moved to the next tree, and the next, and the next, until she was no longer within eyesight of her body. She couldn't find it.
"Helena." The Baron's voice was behind her. "Please, my love."
Helena spun on him. "I am not your love. Not now. Not ever." She glared at him with a fierceness. "This is all your fault."
"I didn't mean for this to happen." The Baron pleaded. "I never meant to hurt you. I just-"
"You didn't mean to?" Helena stepped towards him. "You never mean to, yet you somehow always manage to. "
The Baron raised a hand, a look of regret on his face. "I can fix this. I can make this right."
"I'm dead." Helena screamed, oh how good it felt to scream. "I'm dead, and its gone. I've lost it."
"Lost what?" The Baron asked.
"The diadem." Helena said. She spun, looking through the mass of trees. "It's here somewhere, if I can only find it."
"Please, my love. You need to calm." A pair of hands rested on her shoulders. At the contact she could feel it all again. Her gut burned with a fiery pain, and her hands flew to cover it.
"You will come back with me Helena." The Baron withdrew his sword. "I promised your mother I would return you."
"I will not go." Helena replied. She tried to remember the path back to where she had stashed the diadem. It was three turns after the fallen tree, the fifth tree on her left, the one that looked like it was crying. She prayed that she had placed it firmly enough and that it wasn't on the forest floor. Oh how she cursed the Baron for his poor timing. She'd been so close to moving from this place, so close to her freedom. But he had shown his face, and now he was causing a hitch in her plans.
"And you cannot make me." She lifted the hem of her skirt as she moved away from him. There was the sound of footsteps as he rounded her. He now stood in front of her, his sword pointed towards her chest. It quivered slightly.
"Please Helena." The Baron said. "Just come back home. Your mother is sick. She's dying. She needs you now."
"Dying." Helena repeated the words. She looked at him, seeing now signs of a lie in his eyes. Still, she snarled back at him, "it doesn't matter. I will not return. She made her choice. Now leave me alone."
"I can't do that." The Baron said. "I will take you back home. Please my love, just come with me."
"I am not your love!" Helena screamed at him. She stepped forward, making a grab for a fallen log. It wasn't very long, and not too heavy, but it would cause the damage she wanted. Lifting it, she swung at his head.
The sword jammed into her chest, a river of molten rock through her body. The log dropped, and she staggered back. The Baron's sword slide from her chest, her blood dripping off of it. She pressed her hands against her chest, trying and failing to stop the blood flow. The Baron stepped forward, and she stumbled back. She made to run. Helena managed to make it several feet away before she dropped to her knees. She looked back, unable to spot the path that would lead her to the diadem. Instead, black spots took to her vision as the Baron came into view.
The hands were resting softly on her shoulders as Helena sobbed. For a moment it amazed her that she could feel the Barons hands on her, but not the tears on her face. That thought was shoved aside though as she realized it was the Barons hands that were on her. She wanted to push him away, to flee somewhere into the forest and never be found. She wanted to be as lost as the diadem, but she couldn't move. She just allowed the Baron to squeeze her grey shoulders as she cried.
"Come, my love." The Baron's voice was soft, as soft as it always was. "It's time we go home."