Our Lady of Sorrows

Summary: Murder most foul, as in the best it is, But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. (Shakespeare) Who wants to kill Newport's teen queen? OC.

Disclaimer: It's on my user page.

Warning: Some graphic implied storylines and some bad language but it's all good otherwise.


She sits staring out of the window. Light fragments like glass, glitter and sparkle in her hair.Light glitters and sparkles in the blood behind her too.

She brushes her hair from her face and sighs, it was too much. She didn't have to do it. But what's done is done, they didn't understand, they wouldn't understand.
Now she has to tidy up. Like she's been raised to.
Helena gets up from her curled position and heads for the bodies. She edges past the blood of her aunt and uncle and gives them a short pitying glance.
Then she takes the mop and gracefully swirls the blood into it's tendrils, wiping away evidence, wiping away any trace of her existence. When they find the pathetic too, she'll be long, long, gone and by then she'll have done her job. She'll go out kicking and screaming and they'll wish they'd never cut the cord.


It takes quite some time for her to clean up, and she's hot and breathless by the time she does. Feeling light headed she takes a nap in the garden hammock. There aren't any neighbours for miles in LA, she doesn't worry about some interfering busy body snooping around. The breeze flows through her hair and she stares down at her pretty orange painted toes. She wakes up to the warm afternoon glow and heads back into the house. Her flip flops smack like kisses on the freshly polished wooden floor. She grins at a job well done.


Heading for the attic where it's cooler and even quieter than downstairs, Helena finds the old leather worn journal taht once belonged to ger brother. It still smells like him and she sighs, clutching it to her chest, with a sudden surge of reminiscence. She remembers how his skin had paled, how his eyes were just two blank staring orbs, his bland line of a mouth, the virtually non-existent smattering of freckles on his face. He had died, hanging from the wall of his ward and she shudders at the memory. Locked up in that disgusting place. An asylum for chrissakes!
She blocks the rage from her head and stares at the journal, Helena's learnt to control her rage…well except for her poor relatives but they don't count.
Closing her eyes she sits down on the dusty attic floor and raises her brown eyes up to the circular hole of a window, that lets in the only light into the attic. It's time.
She can feel it in her bones.


Helena sets her luggage down in the airport and stares out at the thin blue horizon. It's definitely the sea. She smiles, her parents wave to her as she checks in and she walks over to them, hating them with every tiny little movement from her body. They sicken her with their lack of empathy or love and their pathetic social climbing needy greed. They hug her and she goes through the motions.

"Your going to love Newport" says the mother anxiously

The father nods in agreement "Yeah, I'm sure you'll make a lot of friends Helena"

Helena merely smiles. The sun in Newport is hot it burns her and she loves it, it reminds her of LA. Suddenly the bodies of her aunt and uncle float before her eyes in the hazy sun. She blinks and their gone.

Her father raises the roof of their ostentatious Mercedes convertible. Helena turns his and her mother's poor attempts at polite conversation into white noise and she turns to a blank page in the journal.
She fills in the day and her name.
Day One: Newport

Helena Trask