OK so I know I've just started on my other AU which I will keep on top of I promise…but driving into work today listening to Christmas tunes I realised how damn well the story of 'A Christmas Carol' would work for our HG! This is just going to be a short fic, but I thought I would get on the festive band wagon. I hope you enjoy. Just a quick first chapter. I will update very soon!
It was Christmas Eve and Helena G Wells sat alone in her workshop watching the clock as time slowly ticked by. Shortly after making home with her temporary boyfriend in Boon Helena did as she always did, shut down, pushed away all who were close to her and closed herself away into a darkened room with nothing but her inventions to surround her. The cool steel of her creations could not hurt her, people could.
HG Wells had been brought up in a harsh world, she lead a hard life and desperately mourned the loss of her child from the past long gone. Nothing in the world could have prepared the young mother for the loss of her daughter. Callously murdered in a petty robbery for nothing but money and jewels her little girl had been taken from her and that day Helena decided to shut herself off from life. Without an ounce of guilt in her heart HG sought revenge and murdered every man that had been involved with the destruction of her daughter…her life …her soul.
Driven mad with the need for vengeance Helena bronzed herself in her very own time machine to contain the hatred that emanated from her every pore. The writer despised people, despised the world and its ridiculous politics and morals. Hoping the world would be a better place the Victorian stayed still in a conscious torment for over a century until she was woken into a new world, a world she hoped would give her the peace she so desperately desired.
Helena had been mistaken. When she woke she found the world worse than she had ever imagined. Technology had advanced and with it so had wars and crimes. Desperate to destroy the tainted world that took her daughter Helena came up with a plan that would destroy every last living creature on the planet. The earth needed a fresh start and Helena had believed she was the one to do it. The plan had gone so well. That was until she met the new Warehouse Agent Myka Ophelia Bering.
Imagining the agent sent a shooting pain through the writer's chest. Myka had shown her love and understanding; she was kind and caring in a way the Victoria had never felt before. It had brought a brief release to Helena's frustrated mind and heart finding she could not destroy a world with Myka Bering in it, no matter how hard she tried not to, the writer could not help but care for the younger warehouse agent.
Confused by her feelings, her life, eventually Helena ran. Remembering her daughter, Helena could not believe she had let herself be distracted from her path. He daughter was gone and she had not protected her, she didn't deserve to be happy, so she disappeared leaving Myka Bering along way behind her.
Alone. That was how she was made to be. Watching the clock tick to 11pm Helena reminded herself to hate the world and hate all of the people in it. Christmas Eve was the worst….filled with people pretending to care for each other, pretending everything was ok when the world was in ruins. Helena G Wells would not partake; she planned to shut herself away until the New Year began. The Victorian wanted nothing to do with Christmas and its false cheer.
Pushing herself from her desk the writer's chair screeched angrily across the cold wooden floor. The apartment she rented felt cold...the Victorian liked it like that. The heating was off…the colder the writer felt the better….anything to numb the feelings inside.
Helena dragged herself up the stairs towards her bedroom, she was going to sleep. With any luck she would sleep through the whole of Christmas…or even better perhaps she would not wake at all.
With the lights switched firmly off Helena allowed the darkness of her room to surround her, as she sat in her dusty leather arm chair the only light was that of a small flame flickering from an old candle. The darkness was the writer's friend; it always had been, it helped her to remain hidden, not just from other people, but from herself.
Feeling dozy the writer began to drift into an uncomfortable half sleep. Helena couldn't remember the last time she actually slept for a whole night. Somewhere in her subconscious she heard the clock on her far shelf chime on the midnight hour.
Groggily the writer shut her eyes tight attempting to close off even the simple tick of her clock from her mind. The writer wanted to be left in peace. Silence. That is how she liked it. Falling back into her tormented rest little did the Victorian know that she was about to be in for a very rude awakening.