Author's Note: I've always been told that Shakespeare is timeless, thus the language in this story is neither modern nor Elizabethan. The perspective shifts periodically, sometimes on the chapter mark, sometimes not. Perspective is written in Italics. This is my first time writing fanfiction, so any reviews are really appreciated. Please enjoy, and thanks so much for reading.

Helena

The entire city of Athens thinks I'm head-over-heels in love with Demetrius, which is exactly what I want them to think. "Oh, sweet Helena." they say, "See how she fawns on him. See how she dotes and mourns his indifference. Of course, it's completely hopeless, he loves only Hermia, who in turn despises him. The state of love these days!"

Sometimes I wish I were in love with Demetrius. I half-hope that if I keep this up long enough, I will become the part I play. Demetrius is a complete twit, not to mention about as attractive as a slug, but to be truly in love with him would simplify a lot of potential problems.

Of course, it is not idly that I play this part, nor is it simply for the sake of my own amusement. To be unrequited in love and cluelessly fawning nonetheless causes much discussion around town, but this discussion is expected, it's safe. There is no shame in loving a man who loves not you. Shame would be in the truth. Shame would be being in what is called the prime of my youth and not remotely interested in any suitor my father shows me. Deeper shame would be...would be...something I dare not name because if I refuse to acknowledge it perhaps it will not exist.

I walk around the gardens of the palace, hoping that I can find a place to sit and pretend to cease to exist. In this way I attempt to escape my head, my thoughts. Mostly I fail. Before I am able to find a suitably quiet corner, I am caught by a page who tells me the Duke wishes my presence. Instantly my stomach feels shaky, as when you are young and a teacher asks you to stay after class and you've no idea why. The rational side of me knows that no one, not even Theseus, could possibly know of my thoughts or see through my ruse. He probably wants a witness or perhaps advice on gifts for his betrothed, who I know well for she resides at my father's house until the day of their wedding. Yet knowing this, I still fear. I fear that he has somehow has found out and plans to punish me. This fear only intensifies as I reach the palace room and find my all those closest to me standing in the room. Here is Lysander, with whom Hermia is in love, Demetrius, with whom I act in love, Egeus, who is father to Hermia and guardian of me as my father died these three years past, and finally Hermia. Hermia who I've known all my life, my closest friend. Hermia who some two years past became beautiful, with hair down to her waist that glows in the sun and eyes the color of grass reflecting the sun. Hermia who I absolutely must stop thinking about right now...SHUT UP BRAIN. Fortunately I am forced to stop thinking by the Duke, who greets me without anger, which I take as a good sign. As it turns out, I have been called to answer some questions on my friends. I am sure relief is visible on my face and steady myself, making it out so that this was what I expected all along.

"Is Hermia, who shares every secret with you, in love with Lysander?" asks Theseus.

"Yes, sir." At least, that is what I have been told. That is what I see in her eyes whenever she looks at him, and while I once idly hoped she was simply acting, as I am, I know her well enough to know that she has always been horrible at lying.

"Has Demetrius ever pledged his love to you?"

"Yes, sir, some six months past." I insure my voice cracks and warbles as I say this. That way they will hear the cracks and think they hear my heart cracking.

"That is all. Thanks, good Helena."

"I am most honored to be of service, my lord." I reply with a deep curtsy and turn out of the room, avoiding Hermia's eyes at all costs. I flee back to the garden, back to the safety of silence and solitude.