Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For centuries, Helena’s memory of her own face had been reserved to the portrait that hung in the stairwell, the one she’d had made while she’d still been able to see her reflection. It had been accurate then, but there was no longer any way for her to tell how her face might have changed. 

She thought, perhaps, that it might still be similar to the one she was staring at now. 

Helly laid still on the plush burgundy couch, asleep. Helena was observing her from across the coffee table, perched on her own armchair as she waited. She was running her fingers along the black feathers adorning the edges of her robe, impatient and preoccupied. She hoped it would be soft enough for Helly, that the silk would be enough to show her she meant no harm. 

She had one just like this waiting in her closet, pink instead of black—she’d picked it out decades before with the intention of giving it to whomever she chose as her companion. It would suit Helly nicely, as if it had been made just for her. In a way, it had been. 

Helena kept her eye trained on Helly as her mind roamed. She wondered if her own lips parted that way in sleep, such an uncanny resemblance if her memory was as sharp as she believed. She’d even been careful enough to bite Helly in the same spot she had been, the right sides of both their necks bearing the same wounds. 

The punctures would heal eventually, would fade into light purple against pale skin, but they would remain forever visible. Helena hoped that Helly would appreciate her caution and attention to detail. She’d seen so many abhorrent excuses for bites that never healed quite right.

“Helly, darling,” Helena whispered. 

This was the fourth time she’d called out quietly to her, impatient as she waited for Helly’s mind to catch up to her body. Her clothing was still morbidly mortal, too contemporary if Helena had anything to say about it. She couldn’t wait to bring her into her closet and allow her to pick out something of her own. 

Helena leaned forward when Helly stirred. 

“Helly,” she repeated just a little bit louder, coaxing her out. “Open your eyes, sweetheart.” 

Helly did. 

Every muscle in Helena’s body tensed in anticipation, the urge to smother her in attention suppressed by the knowledge that Helly would almost certainly be hostile. 

She’d been watching her, after all. Helena had learned her quirks, the instinctual tensing of her fist when she felt uncomfortable, the twitch in her brow when faced with anything adverse. The small window to Helly’s old bedroom, the one she’d never gotten around to covering with anything more than the sheer white curtain that came with the shitty first-floor apartment she’d been renting since she'd finished college, had revealed to her Helly’s entire world. 

Soon, once Helly adjusted, Helena would fill in the gaps left behind. 

“Helly.”  

Helly blinked, eyelids uncovering wild and darting eyes that locked onto her mere moments later. Her head snapped aside, face full of fear, and Helena’s heart ached. 

“It’s alright,” she tried. 

But then Helly stood. So quickly, too quickly, she was on her feet. She clutched her head and winced. 

“Slowly, darling,” Helena said, pushing up to her feet. 

She was weak, body still assimilating the changes Helena had graced upon her. The way her eyes squeezed told Helena that her head must be spinning, dizzied and disoriented as she awoke somewhere unfamiliar. 

Desperate to help, to comfort the precious newborn creature before her, Helena reached out. Slowly, at first, as she rounded the table separating them, but then faster as Helly swayed on her unsteady feet. It was futile, though; as Helly’s bleary eyes squinted open and caught Helena mid-approach, her body snapped to attention. She ran, darted for the door to the living room, ramming into it with a loud crash. 

She stumbled and Helena watched, lingering a few feet behind as she banged her hands against the wood, the handle rattling, the sounds echoing as she stepped back and kicked with her boot-clad feet. Dried mud cracked off and scattered across the floor with the force of it, and Helena shook her head amusedly—she was brand new and already making a mess. 

Of course she’d chosen a challenge, a handful. 

“Helly,” she tried once more. 

“Let me the fuck out of here!” 

“Sweetheart,” Helena cooed. “Slow down.” 

Helly kicked the door again, hands gripped around the handle as she pushed. It was endearing, really, to see her so determined. Helena didn’t have it in her to deny Helly’s curiosity, her thirst for answers. 

“The door opens inward,” she offered. 

She watched then as Helly stopped, glanced back over her shoulder in question. Then, she watched as Helly pulled the door open with ease. 

But she also didn’t have it in her to allow Helly to run head-first into injury without warning. “I wouldn’t try to leave, if I were you.” 

“You’re a fucking psychopath,” Helly yelled. 

She was in the hall now, barrelling toward what Helena knew was the front door. It wasn’t far. That had been purposeful. 

“Since you kidnapped me.” 

Abducted would have been a more accurate description. 

“Alright,” Helena ceded. She poked her head out into the hall right as Helly stomped up to the heavy front door, her body disappearing into the shadows of the foyer. “Be careful.” 

She ducked back inside just to hear Helly screech. The door slammed loudly with Helly still inside, her panting audible even from twenty feet away. 

“What the fuck did you do to me?” 

Helly had stumbled back into the hallway, superficial burns scattered across her poor face and chest, the fingertips of her left hand where they’d hung out of the long sleeve of her open sweater. 

“You poor thing,” Helena cooed softly. 

At the sight of Helly scathed, her chest heaved. She exited into the hall, approaching her with deliberate steps. Helly retreated, but Helena was faster—when she took her still-sizzling face between her hands and frowned, Helly squirmed. 

“Will you let me clean you up?” 

Helly’s face crumpled. “Are you going to kill me?” 

The laugh that tipped Helena’s head back in glee was loud, unabashed. “Such a sweet question,” she mused. “I already have.” 

Helena smiled at her widely, teeth bared and face blithe, and Helly passed out. 

Such a feeble thing, starved and confused, collapsing into Helena’s waiting arms. It wasn’t Helly’s fault that she was so affected, though Helena found it deeply endearing. Tongue clicking in a sort of tickled disappointment, she gathered Helly’s limp body into her arms once more and carried her back to the living room. 

Helena ran her tongue along her protruding canines and reveled in the effect they’d had on Helly, no matter how weak she was. She just needed some blood in her, a good feed the solution to her anemia-induced unconsciousness. If she’d only been docile, then maybe Helena could have helped her. 

She would learn. Helena would make sure of it. 

This time, when she laid Helly on the couch, Helena sat with her. In hopes that it might persuade Helly to wake in a more compliant mood, she guided her head into her lap. Gentle fingers ran along Helly’s rapidly healing forehead, into her hair, down her face, sweet and forgiving despite her disobedience. 

Helena had no intention of leading with violence; at least not at first. Of course, that was aside from the fatal bite to Helly’s neck. Collateral, she supposed—it had been the only way, after all. 

Helly’s body stirred, fingers clenching and releasing in what appeared to be discomfort. Helena pouted, reaching for them with her spare hand while Helly remained out of it. She picked it up and inspected the damaged skin, tutting as she turned her palm over to find the skin there perfectly healthy. She’d seen worse. This would return completely to normal once she got Helly to drink. 

Once she felt the rush of that first feed, she’d understand what Helena had done for her. This was a gift, however daunting. Helena still remembered what it felt like, how her blistering fear had melted into satisfaction as she’d taken her first conscious drink. 

She’d had no one to guide her, but Helly would. If everything went according to Helena’s carefully plotted plan, Helly would never want for anything, never fear for too long. Helena would tend to her every need without question so long as she remained faithful. 

Not that she’d be given much of a choice otherwise. 

She wondered, as she watched Helly’s face pinch, if she remembered suckling from her arm. Would Helly forget nursing from Helena’s own blood the way Helena had forgotten her own turning? In her own case, she was glad to have forgotten, to have lived without the stain of such violation, but for Helly’s sake she hoped she would. 

She’d been so kind as she leaned down over Helly’s unconscious body and sliced her own paper-thin skin, so giving when she eased Helly’s mouth open and dripped herself inside. If nothing else, Helena hoped that Helly’s tongue retained her taste. 

Would Helly recall her deliverance later when Helena blessed her tongue once again? 

Helly inhaled shakily and Helena knew it was time. “Slowly this time, darling,” she urged. 

Her sweet eyes eased open, face showing hesitation, reluctance to listen, but she did anyway. She let Helena guide her to sit up, didn’t flinch away too visibly when Helena frowned and tucked her hair behind her ears. 

“That feels better, doesn’t it?” 

Helena offered a smile, warm and toothless so as not to frighten her again. She’d let her cruelty get away from her before, an unintentional slip after so long without something to care for. Helly would forgive her soon enough. 

“Can I offer you a drink, sweetheart?” 

After so long glued to Helena’s face, Helly’s gaze darted away, following the slight movement of Helena’s head toward the black table in front of them. There was a decanter there, its large base poised near the edge, full of blood that Helena had drained just for her. It would be warm, still, if a bit on the cool side, but Helly would be too thirsty to notice. 

When Helly didn’t answer, clearly entranced by the intricate design of the glass, Helena plucked the jug and a crystal glass from the table. She poured a generous amount into the small vessel, filling it to the brim so Helly would know she wasn’t being deprived. 

“Here,” Helena murmured. The decanter landed on the table with a muffled thud before she turned to face Helly completely, her right leg bent onto the cushions as she brought the glass closer with her left hand. “Open up.” 

Her right hand fell to the back of Helly’s head, supporting her as she tipped her head back to accept the viscous liquid between her pale lips. She sipped and winced, leftover instinct rejecting the taste as Helena had seen many times before, then moaned as something in her mind rewired. 

Somewhere far off, something larger than Helena had ever been and ever would be imploded. Stars aligned, their kismet ricocheting within Helena’s own chest. Her Helly… 

She was drinking deeply now, leaning forward with Helena’s guidance, breathing out from her nose as she did to avoid taking breaks. Such a hungry little thing, so prone and willing. 

“Easy, now,” Helena whispered. “That’s it.” 

Helly’s brow threaded together as she finished the proffered liquid, the crystal at the bottom now visible. Helena pulled it away and watched her lick the remnants from her mouth, then brought her own thumb forth to collect a stray drop before it could reach her chin. Helly didn’t reject her penetrating presence when she pushed it between her reddening lips to allow her to lick it clean. 

A line of saliva, thick and stained pink, connected Helena’s thumb to Helly’s parted mouth when she slipped back out. She could see Helly’s white canines poking out, budding and sharpening in her hunger. 

“Can I have more?” Helly asked, voice entirely unlike its prior state in its timidity. 

As Helly’s cheeks grew pink, her youthful face matching the fragility of her voice, Helena understood why she’d been urged by so many to do this. Only now, in this moment, with the way her chest swelled around a mix of pride and primal instinct, did she get it. Helly was hers now, the sole object of the affection she thought she’d lost long ago. 

She hadn’t felt this consumed before, this human in her time undead. 

“Yes, darling,” Helena said, wavering, “of course.” 

It almost pained Helena to look away from Helly then, as she turned back to grab the decanter from the table once more. She poured carefully, more slowly than she would have liked—the rug underfoot was dark, but that didn’t matter. Helly needed to see her handle the blood with care, ensuring not a drop was wasted. 

Helena thought she’d be hungry seeing the rich liquid flow into the dainty glass in her hand given how little she usually allowed herself to eat, but she wasn’t. Though her stomach had settled from the low-level nerves she’d been harbouring now that Helly was docile, she was focused. Helly needed to eat, and she would help her do so. There wasn’t much room for anything else. 

Helly reached for the glass when Helena brought it closer, shaking hands held out to receive it, but Helena just shook her head. She chuckled, just slightly, more to herself than in any sort of mockery, when Helly’s hands fell lamely to her lap. 

“Let me,” Helena explained. “Just sit still. I’m here to help you.” 

The nape of Helly’s neck was warmer now. Helena cradled it to urge Helly to sit up straighter, held her there to keep her from spilling. This time, as Helly drank—much slower, already partially satisfied—she wrapped her lithe fingers around Helena’s wrist. She was gentle, of course, otherwise Helena would have stopped entirely, but there was a weight to her touch. She gripped Helena’s wrist tightly enough to communicate that she needed this, that she understood the gravity of what she was being offered and intended to welcome it with gratitude. 

Helena understood her concern, understood the fear that it might go away. Despite this, she hoped that, soon enough, Helly would trust her implicitly, that her benevolence would remain unquestioned and uncontested. 

It would come with time. 

“There you go, sweetheart,” Helena cooed. 

Helly’s eyes had shut, a look of bliss crossing her face as she drained the contents of the glass for a second time. Helena waited for her to release her wrist before she pulled it back from her mouth. She was almost disappointed when she saw Helly’s face clean, when the only stray blood laid just above her top lip and got wiped away by a single swipe of Helly’s tongue. 

Helena dragged her hand from the back of Helly’s head and across her jaw to swipe her thumb across her bottom lip, anyway, pushed it between her lips just to feel her suckle on it. 

“You feel much better now, don’t you?”

Helly’s eyes widened as she sucked, her tongue pushing against the pad of Helena’s thumb. She nodded and Helena’s chest swelled. 

“Good.” She was relieved, glad that things seemed to be going well especially after Helly’s anticipated attempt to escape. “Would you like more?” She asked, withdrawing her thumb. 

Helly shook her head politely, but Helena clicked her tongue. 

“I expect that you address me with your words, Helly.” 

A deep breath pushed Helly’s chest outwards from where she’d slumped into the cushions. “No, thank you.” 

“Much better.” 

Helena watched her praise soften Helly’s expression, her face settling into something more comfortable. Her colour was already improving, her lips pink and full now, her cheeks less sunken. The burn on her forehead was gone, too. She’d need to feed again soon, body still adjusting to its new biology, and Helena would be there for her then, too. Until she could teach Helly to hunt, until Helly had adapted to her schedule, she would be there, attentive and undivided, for her every want and need. 

Gingerly, Helena reached for Helly’s hand—the one that had been scalded by the sunlight of early morning. She picked it up and inspected her fingers, smiling to herself when she saw that, just as her forehead had, they were healed. Not even a scar remained, just smooth skin across her delicate knuckles. 

Helena reveled in her creation, the girl before her that was born of her and made for her, in the miracle of her existence and her eternal life. 

“You’re so beautiful,” she said then, musing quietly to no one in particular. 

“Thank you,” Helly mumbled, blushing pink. 

Eyes locked on Helly’s face now, Helena continued: “You look like I used to. I couldn’t keep my eyes off you from the moment I saw you. I’ve been waiting to have you this way.” Her chest fluttered with the romance of it all, of the fatal destiny of their union. “I’ve wanted to feel you for so long. You tasted just like I thought you would.” 

Something flashed across Helly’s eyes—fear. Helena recognized it. She resented it. 

She gripped Helly’s hand tightly, her brows knitting together as her face crumpled. “Don’t be afraid, my darling Helly,” she urged. “Don’t you see how fateful it is that we’ve finally united? You were meant to be with me, sweetheart. I chose you.” 

Helly’s breath rattled as she took it in, body frozen under the weight of Helena’s words. Helena waited, a desperate smile tugging on her lips as she stared at her face, eyes welling with tears she hadn’t known she could still shed. 

Then, Helly nodded. “You chose me,” she said slowly.

“I chose you ,” Helena repeated. “Does that scare you?” 

Through her tears, Helena saw Helly smile. “No.” 

And how joyful that was! Helena pulled Helly into her arms then, wrapping her up in herself as she had done twice already. It was much nicer now that Helly was conscious, now that her body could respond to her touch. Helena allowed a few tears to slip past her waterline, her happiness potent and all-consuming. 

She squeezed tightly around Helly’s ribs, holding her as close as she could get without crawling inside her skin. “Thank you,” she murmured. She spoke into Helly’s hair, kissing the top of her head and breathing in the smell of her shampoo. “Thank you.”

Helena couldn’t tell how much time passed this way, with Helly in her lap, them both breathing the same air, but it was long enough that her tears slowed, then dried. Long enough that the exhaustion from her day caught up to her. She’d barely slept the day before, and her night had been so full—between finding Helly, turning her, and bringing her back home, she’d already felt so spent. Then the waiting. It was already midday, and she was bone tired. 

She could only imagine how Helly was feeling. 

“Why don’t I show you to your room?” Helena asked then, but it wasn’t a question at all. She stood and watched Helly blink a few times. “Come now, darling.” 

Helena extended her hand, palm open and facing Helly, waiting for her to accept. She licked her teeth when Helly didn’t take it right away, her foot tapping against the thick rug. 

“Helly,” she said firmly. “It’s time for bed.” 

When Helly finally offered her hand, it was limp and begrudging. Helena knew she was tired, knew this petulance was that and nothing more. She stifled an instinct to correct it—it would fall on deaf ears, after all. 

Helly moved slowly after Helena, arm outstretched as she hung back a few steps. Helena continued further into the house, toward the staircase that laid nestled around the corner on the way through to the library. 

The hardwood was covered by carpet runners, all deep burgundy on the even deeper walnut. They muffled the sounds of the stilettos Helena insisted on wearing and the thuds of Helly’s heavy boots. They were second hand, clearly worn to nothing and completely lacking support. Helena would let her choose new shoes from her closet, eventually, when they inevitably left the house together in a few weeks’ time. Until then, she would roam barefoot. 

“Watch your step,” Helena said quietly, voice echoing slightly off the high ceiling as she took her first step up onto the staircase. 

It mirrored on the other side, meeting in the middle and arching over what used to be a lush sunroom. The plants that used to live there had long died, and when Helena had first taken residence here she’d had it all boarded up. Now it served as a hosting space—leather benches lining the walls, a record player in the corner, red light bulbs secured in the sconces—but Helena never had anyone to host. Not anymore. It had been sitting empty for decades, now. 

Perhaps she’d turn it into a second space for Helly instead of allowing it to continue gathering dust. 

“Is that you?” 

Helly’s voice rang out loudly, interrupting Helena’s interior musing. She turned quickly, hair whipping over her shoulder as she found Helly’s face. 

“The painting.” 

Helena followed Helly’s gaze left to the portrait hanging above the landing. It was the only piece of personal artwork she had, everything else a collection of others’ pieces she’d gathered over time. None of it meant anything to her past the aesthetic value, but this one…

“Yes,” Helena replied curtly. 

She continued up the stairs, but Helly had stalled. “How old is it?” 

Helena sniffed. “Old.” 

“How old are you?” 

“Old.” 

“How l—”

“No more,” Helena snapped. Then, softer: “Why don’t we save our questions for later?” 

Helly didn’t say anything in return. They proceeded in silence up the second half of the staircase. 

Helena didn’t have the heart to admit her age just yet. She wasn’t sure if Helly could handle knowing that she was centuries old and had lived almost all of her years in solitude. Her adjustment wouldn’t be any easier if she knew the grisly details of Helena’s long life, and Helena couldn’t have her assuming that her life would turn out the same. 

She had no intention of allowing Helly to suffer the way she once had, and Helena would do anything to prevent her from feeling even an ounce of undue pain. Hopefully she’d forget all about it by the time she woke up. 

Down the left-hand hall at the top, third door on the right was Helly’s room. Helena led her over and pushed open the door, then let go of her hand. 

“This is your room,” she said, perhaps a bit pathetically. She hung back, watched as Helly stepped across the threshold and looked around, terrified of the reaction it might receive. “We can redecorate, if you need.” 

She hadn’t meant to say it, but god she just wanted Helly to like it. She’d spent weeks sifting through dusty old boxes, countless nights poking her head through open windows in search of something just right. The frilly pink room had come together slowly, a picture of innocence and youth that looked just like Helly did. Perhaps it was juvenile, but Helena couldn’t help it. 

The silk comforter on the bed was light pink. On top of it Helena had stacked thick pillows and an assortment of stuffed animals she’d found. Bunnies mostly, but a few bears had worked their way into the mix. In the corner, in the reading nook where Helena had stacked edited editions of all her favourite books, a large stuffed doe with big, stitched-on eyes sat in the blanket-laden chair. 

She stepped in slowly after Helly and flicked on the overhead light. It was warm, a yellowish bulb she’d chosen from an assortment in hopes of comforting Helly further. It made the glass covering the framed drawings of plants and tinctures—the ones Helena had taken from an apothecary many moons before—glint golden. 

The room was small. There was no closet, no bathroom, and only one large window. Helena had chosen it expressly for these purposes. She would keep Helly at arm’s length as she adjusted without granting too much independence. And the window had a locking cover—she’d stashed the key in a drawer in her room before covering the panels with lacy cream curtains. 

Despite this, Helena wished so badly that she could allow Helly to sleep with her in her bed. She yearned for the connection, the closeness, but she’d been warned enough. Helly needed to learn her place, needed to understand how she fit into Helena’s life before being granted such liberty. So, she would put up with this for as long as it took for Helly to come around completely. 

“Helly?” 

She’d been standing in silence a few steps into the room, her back to Helena. 

Helly turned, a smile on her face. It didn’t quite reach her eyes, but Helena supposed she must be exhausted and overwhelmed.

“Thank you,” Helly said at last. “It’s beautiful.” 

Helena smiled in return. “I’m so glad. Eventually you’ll sleep in my room, but please make yourself at home until then.” 

Helly nodded, her brow pinching just slightly before relaxing. “Thank you,” she repeated. “Is this when I should say goodnight, then?” 

“Not quite,” Helena chuckled. “You can’t sleep on fresh sheets in your dirty clothes.” 

The mere suggestion of such an unceremonious parting of ways truly tickled Helena, such an innocent inquiry that kept a twinkling laugh bubbling in her chest long after she’d finished speaking. On the foot of the bed, Helena had folded a nightgown and a pair of panties just for Helly. She pointed to them, then looked at Helly expectantly. 

“There are some night clothes for you, darling. I hope they fit, I had to guess.” Helena, of course, knew they would fit. “Let me help you.” 

Helly opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it once Helena got close. She was gentle with her long nails, careful not to scratch Helly’s skin as she slipped her fingers into the open front of her sweater and pushed it back off her shoulders. She admired them briefly as she felt blindly for the hem of her shirt, then pulled it up and off her bare torso. 

As usual, Helly wasn’t wearing a bra. Foolishly, she tried to cover her chest with her arms, but Helena’s hands were there to stop her. 

“Don’t be shy, sweetheart,” she assured her. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” 

Helly’s face dropped and Helena just laughed, fingers already working open the button of her jeans. The denim was nice, good enough quality that Helena almost considered keeping it—almost. She shoved it down Helly’s legs and let Helly hold her shoulders as she stepped out of her boots and then the fabric pooling at her feet. 

Helly’s body was almost bare now, her frame exposed with nothing left to be interpreted. She was still rounded at the edges, baby fat clinging to her even as she matured. The only thing remaining were her underwear and socks. Helena saw the gooseflesh covering her skin, the way her legs muscles were quivering, and stood. It was merciful and unnecessary, born entirely out of her love for Helly and her refusal to push too far—it would come back in her favour soon enough. 

“You can finish, if you’d prefer,” she permitted. 

“Thank you,” Helly said. Her voice shook, the sound making Helena’s stomach flip. 

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Helly.”

Helly was pushing her underwear down, gaze glued to the floor. “It’s okay,” she offered. 

“I’m here to help you, you know,” she offered. 

Consolation, she hoped, as she tried not to make her staring obvious. The tuft of ginger curls between Helly’s legs was exposed now, and it was much, much prettier up close. Helena had been wanting so badly for so long to feel it—to touch her—but she refrained. 

Instead, she cleared her throat. “You’ll understand soon enough, hm?” 

Helly’s socks landed a few feet away with almost imperceptible thuds. “Yeah.” 

“Good,” Helena said softly. She plucked the pink cotton panties from the bed and held them out to Helly. “You’re doing well, you know.” 

Helly was sucking on her cheeks—she released them with a pop when she opened her mouth to respond. “Thank you,” she said. Then, to Helena’s surprise: “You can do it, if you want.” 

“I would like that, darling, thank you.” 

Helly’s touch wavered much less this time when Helena bent down, her fingers pressed into her shoulders as she balanced on either foot. Helena pulled the fabric up and adjusted it around her hips, smiling to herself when Helly shivered. 

“Here,” she said, snagging the long-sleeved nightgown from the bed. “You’ll warm up once you’re dressed.” 

Helly held up her arms for Helena to slide the pinkish fabric over her head. The satin slid down, billowing over her until it had all settled into place. 

“Perfect fit,” Helena mused. “You look wonderful.” 

It was true, not that Helly would ever know. She was adorable this way, dolled up even for bed. Helena wished she’d procured a hairbrush ahead of time, yearning to comb through Helly’s curls and braid her hair down, but it was too late. She could try again after a good night’s sleep. 

“Thank you,” Helly said quietly. 

“Alright,” Helena said then. “Into bed. I’ll tuck you in.” 

Helly furrowed her brow, unmoving. “I’m not a baby.” 

“Of course not,” Helena affirmed, miffed this was even a conversation they were having. “I just want to ensure you’re comfortable, darling.” 

Helly didn’t move. 

“Helly, please,” Helena urged. “Not now. We’re both too tired for this.” 

Helly huffed as she turned and climbed up onto the mattress. The duvet covered her a moment later, Helena’s hands smoothing it down as she leaned over her. It was then that Helly began to cry. It came out of nowhere, her bleary and exhausted eyes spilling hot tears down her cheeks. They were large, shiny and round as they stained the pink tucked under her chin, and Helena felt her chest cave in with dread. 

“Sweetheart,” she frowned. “What’s the matter?”

Helly sniffed loudly, eyes squeezed shut. Overtired and overwhelmed, Helly had reached a breaking point. In her jubilance, Helena had been foolish enough to assume that Helly might share her joy and elation. The events of the day had all snowballed, growing and growing until it was simply too much to bear. 

Such a poor, sweet thing. 

“I know you’re tired, darling,” Helena cooed. “Why don’t you take some deep breaths?” As Helly cried, Helena cupped her face and ran her thumb in soothing circles over her cheekbone. She looked miserable and it was tearing Helena up. “Helly, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “Please talk to me.” 

Another sniff and Helly’s eyes were open. “I’m sorry.” 

“That’s just fine, sweetheart,” Helena whispered. “Are you alright?” 

Helly’s tears were warm on Helena’s fingers as she brushed them away. She wiped them on the duvet, unconcerned with the salt that might stain the fabric as they dried. Helena would strip away the proof of Helly’s sadness eventually, erase the palpable evidence of her tears to eliminate any doubts in her mind that she belonged. 

Once Helly’s cheeks were dry enough, skin still wet and red but without the uncomfortable drip, Helena offered Helly a soft smile. 

“I think so,” Helly replied eventually. “Just tired.”

“I know you are,” Helena pouted. “Why don’t you get some rest so we can have a better day tomorrow?” 

Helly nodded, and that was that. Helena leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to her head before turning away. From the floor, she gathered Helly’s clothing, then she moved out, putting difficult distance between herself and Helly’s bed. The room went dark as she turned out the light and pulled the door closed. 

“Goodnight, Helly,” she said, singsongy in the way she vaguely remembered hearing when she was younger. 

Then: “Wait—” 

Helly’s little voice warbled, still thick. Helena stopped, poked her head back inside. “Yes?” She could just barely see Helly’s face in the dark. 

“What do I call you?” 

Helena wanted to hit her head into the doorframe—all that and she had forgotten to tell Helly her name. “My name is Helena,” she said. “It’s very nice to meet you, Helly.” 

The door creaked as she shut it, then thudded as it latched. Helena pulled a key from the chain around her neck and pushed it into the lock, listened to it as it turned and clicked into place. She let it fall back beneath the folds of her robe, one last safety measure to ensure Helly would sleep well. 

She bundled the fabric tighter in her arms as she made her way back down to the living room, careful not to make too much noise on the stairs. The fire roared there in the hearth, waiting as it had been since she’d first brought Helly back. It cracked and popped loudly as she tossed the clothes in, then puffed smoke as they, too, ignited. The last remnants of Helly’s life went up in flames, severing her entirely from what had been before.

Helena retired to her bedroom just across the hall from Helly’s, but not without standing outside her door with her ear pressed to the wood first. She listened for a while, catching the sound of her breath and the light groan of the mattress until she was sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that she’d fallen asleep. Then, with a certainty in her chest that tomorrow would be a better day, she finally allowed herself rest.

Chapter Text

Helena tugged on the braid she was plaiting into Helly’s hair when she squirmed in her seat. “Sit still.” 

“Sorry.”

It was mumbled, tone teetering on the edge of disrespectful. She’d been petulant since waking, since Helena had peeked her head inside and whispered a sweet good morning, a bundle of attitude and annoyance that Helena had had about enough with. 

“Apologize correctly,” Helena snapped. She tugged again. 

“I said sorry.” 

Helena yanked, Helly’s head snapping back until their eyes locked. “Apologize correctly.”

Helly’s face steeled over in the way Helena had seen a handful of times. Before, she’d found it charming, but now, directed at her, it made her want to slap Helly hard enough to see her skin turn red. 

“All you need to say is ‘Forgive me, Helena.” 

“I’m not sorry.” 

The braid Helena had been painstakingly working at to ensure its perfection unraveled when she released it, Helly’s copper hair tumbling over her shoulder as she stepped around and slapped her square across the face. 

Helly’s face squeezed between her fingers when she gripped her by the cheeks, the left one hot from impact. “You are. Say it properly.” 

Tears welled in Helly’s eyes then.  Helena had watched Helly sob into her pillows at her old house, watched her cry just the night before. Each time, Helena felt her own stomach in knots at her pain, but concern made no appearance here. This was righteous pain—deserved. For the first time, Helena didn’t have it in her to care. Helly would learn from this. 

“Forgive me, Helena,” she murmured, voice wet and inhibited by her tears and Helena’s iron grip. 

“You’ll behave now,” Helena said; she had to stop herself from wording it as a question, no request in it at all. Will you behave now? was patronizing in just the right dose, but suggested choice. Helly didn’t have any other options. “When you’re good, I don’t have to be mean. You understand that, don’t you?” She squeezed a little harder, nails pushing into the delicate skin of Helly’s cheeks, and watched her wince. 

“I understand.”

The smile that tugged at Helena’s lips, soft and content, was subconscious. It grew before she could stop it, and once she became aware of it she only let it swell. She was, in all truth, pleased—Helly’s rough exterior was breaking bit by bit, her reluctance shedding away in favour of the compliance Helena had known laid beneath. 

“Very good.” She released Helly’s face gently, brow knitting as she saw the red marks on her cheeks. “It pains me to have to do this, you know,” she said, “but you can only learn from your misbehaviour if you’re punished. I don’t like having to hurt you.” 

She was murmuring as if telling a secret, sharing something with Helly that wasn’t for her to know. She supposed that was exactly what she was doing, but Helly was just too sweet to keep things from. Her wide eyes were bleary still, shining with leftover tears that would eventually dry as Helena resumed her doting. For good measure, she leaned in and kissed the smarting patch of skin on her cheek, just a peck to show how much she cared. 

“There,” she said finally. “All better.” 

Helly nodded and turned away, clearly eager for Helena to finish with her hair. Helena did so without question, glad to see Helly adjusting to her care, and picked up the hairbrush from the vanity. The undone strands of Helly’s second, failed braid yielded smoothly to the bristles, detangling and straightening out without hassle. It seemed every part of Helly was prone to obedience even if she needed some direction at times. 

Her perfect girl. 

From the nape of Helly’s neck, she began the plait again. Her knuckles brushed across the skin there and Helly shivered, but didn’t pull away. Helena could see the way her shoulders tensed under the nightgown she was still wearing. 

“Did that tickle?” 

Helly exhaled deeply. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

Helly didn’t reply, just sat completely still as Helena worked. It was nice to share space, to finally have company in her home, nice not to feel forced into inane conversation based on the simple fact of their proximity. She hoped Helly felt the same—or, rather, that she would. 

It was hard to remember that this was new to Helly, that she hadn’t been infatuated with Helena prior to their first face-to-face meeting just twelve hours earlier. Helena knew her so well, so intimately, that it was nearly impossible to imagine them any other way. 

She would restrain herself, as difficult as that had already proven to be. 

The end of Helly’s braid was secured carefully with a pink bow that matched its twin. Helena double-knotted the slippery material to be sure it wouldn’t come undone. She’d learned to do so when she’d been a child, around the time the reprimands she received for an unkempt appearance had escalated from a simple rap on the knuckles to something more extreme that she still tried hard to forget. 

Helly’s silken nightgown was soft to the touch when Helena dragged both her hands over her shoulders. She let her fingers push into the forgiving muscle as she prolonged the touch, a gratuitous claim to the time passing like sand through fingers. Helly was fidgety, and the way her jaw clenched—visible even from behind—told Helena she was pushing it. 

“All done, darling,” Helena said then. She released Helly’s frame and immediately felt the loss, that warmth she hadn’t known she was craving gone all at once. “Turn around and show me.” 

Helly obliged, her bare feet shuffling on hardwood as she turned to face Helena. The smile on her face was hesitant, and somehow that was even more endearing to Helena as she took her in. 

In her pale pink nightgown, with her braided hair and youthful skin, she looked entirely out of place in Helena’s bedroom. She was bright, bubbly and hopeful in a sea of deep maroon and rich blacks. Helena decided then, as she admired her handiwork, the flawless placement of her bang and the frizzless plaits, that she preferred Helly this way. She wanted her to stand out, obvious against the sea of the lavish monotony of her one-note decor. 

“Perfect,” Helena murmured. 

She’d looked this way once, she remembered. Helena had been about Helly’s age when she’d turned, just past freshly adult and still without a clue. Helly was who Helena might have been today, an image of her past and somehow her present, too. They were so similar, Helly a true echo of Helena’s old self, that it made her chest ache. 

Somehow, with centuries of time stretching between who she was now and who she had once been, the thing Helena found herself resenting the most was how quickly she’d abandoned any remaining innocence. She yearned for the tenderness she’d lost, the things she couldn’t get back, and knew she couldn’t allow Helly to succumb to the same fate. Perhaps greedily, she decided then that she would do anything to preserve Helly’s youth, to keep her clean and as unravaged by the cruelty of time and experience as she could. 

The responsibility settled over her delightfully, as well-fitted as the collection of lush dresses in her closet. Only she knew how to keep Helly safe, and Helena carried that knowledge with pride. 

Helena reached out and pulled one of Helly’s braids forward over her shoulder. It reached down past her collarbone, the feathered ends falling just above her small breasts. When Helena picked it up and dragged her hand down, feeling Helly’s soft, soft hair running against her palm, her knuckles brushed Helly’s nipple through the thin fabric. 

Helena bit her lip absentmindedly as she watched it pebble up. 

“Why don’t we get you dressed?” She said then. Her eyes flicked up to Helly’s face and she smiled, giddy. “I’ve put together a nice selection for you.” 

Helly cleared her throat and nothing more, arms crossing across her chest at once. Clearly she was embarrassed, unaccustomed to such persistent attention. Helena hoped that soon enough she’d grow used to her doting and accept it without such resistance. 

“Come now, darling,” Helena said gently, hand outstretched. “Don’t be shy.” 

Helly’s arms tightened over her chest, petulance radiating off her in waves. So difficult even in the face of Helena’s unbridled kindness. Helena licked her teeth. 

“I suggest you find a kinder way to express yourself, Helly,” she scolded. “My lenience is not boundless.” 

Her hand was still out expectantly, and finally Helly took it. Her nose scrunched just slightly, her face crunching together like a bunny’s might. Against her better judgement, rationality telling her to reject the instinct, Helena felt something flutter behind her sternum. Her precious girl, adorable even in her shortsighted defiance. 

“You may peruse the right-hand side of the closet,” Helena said. 

They’d crossed the room and reached her walk-in closet, the one that held nearly all her clothing save for the pyjamas and largely unused lingerie that were stashed away in the drawers of her dresser. She glanced back at Helly as she poised her hand on the knob. No one had ever seen the inside of the small room. No one but Helena knew the extent of its contents, the secrets it harboured among the intimate details of her life. 

She wanted Helly to see it all, but eventually. Today, she was permitted to see the space Helena had carved out for her, its clear-cut margins and dedication. Just like the growing space in her chest that was hollowing itself out for Helly to burrow into, she’d given her a space here, too. She was nestling into Helena’s life, inextricable already. 

The door creaked as it always did when Helena pushed it open. She released Helly’s hand and waited for her to step inside. When she didn’t, Helena pressed an open hand to the small of her back and ushered her inside, ignoring the way her footsteps faltered. 

“You’ll know what belongs to you.” 

The light flickered on, warmth flooding the racks, the shelves lining the bottom, the drawers along the farthest wall that contained all of Helena’s old jewelry. She glanced right at the space she’d been curating painstakingly since long, long before Helly in anticipation of her arrival. She hadn’t known it then, but it was always going to be her. 

The dresses looked even more beautiful with her standing next to them. 

“These are for me?” Helly asked. 

Helena was almost surprised to hear her voice, like she’d forgotten Helly could speak on her own and without prompting. “Yes,” Helena replied, watching as Helly fingered at the white tulle material beneath a thulian pink skirt. “I’ve accrued quite the collection over the years.” 

“Years?” 

Helly’s back was turned, but Helena heard the curiosity in her voice loud and clear—she was engaging at last, genuine interest potent in the stale air. “Much longer than I care to admit,” Helena chuckled. “That one was made in 1843.” 

The dress Helly had been holding released from her grip quickly, like she was recoiling from the information. It swung on its hanger, the detached skirt and bodice just slightly out of sync as it did. It was one she’d seen on a young girl, maybe twelve, one very rainy day. She’d asked for it to be made in a dusty rose shade the very next day, enamoured with the large, calf-length skirt and puffed sleeves. 

It would look so darling on Helly, but Helena could tell she wouldn’t win that fight today no matter how hard she tried. 

“It’s the oldest one there,” Helena lied. “I’d intended for it to be made for me, but the seamstress chose the wrong fabric and I didn’t have it in me to correct her. She was kind and never questioned why I only ever allowed her to come by in the evenings, you see. I couldn’t afford to lose her services.” 

The lie formed and fell from her tongue with ease, a practiced skill she’d honed over many lifetimes of deceit. Helly nodded, but didn’t look at her again. 

“Right.” 

“Would you bring down the one on the far right?” Helena asked then. “I think it suits tonight well.” 

Helena didn’t elaborate on what she meant, just watched as Helly’s reach stuttered before she pulled down the faded blush garment. It had a print, a sort of geometric arrangement of lines all over it in a bright cerise that Helena had been excited to see against Helly’s skin. It wasn’t a dress, but rather a long, A-line shirt and a pair of frilly bloomers. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said. “I know it’s a bit casual—” She took the hanger from Helly and inspected the items for good measure as if she hadn’t already done so twice this week alone— “but I think it’s well suited to a day getting to know your new home, don’t you?” 

She lifted her eyebrows, wiggling them just so in an attempt to get a smile out of Helly’s stoic face. It failed, and Helena pretended not to feel sheepish disappointment sting between her ribs as she exited the closet. 

Helly trailed after her without prompting, a glimmer of improvement in what had proven to be a challenging few hours for Helena. She wanted to praise the behaviour, her reflexive obedience, but she held her tongue. There was no way to know whether her encouragement would truly encourage Helly or not, if her acknowledgement might poison Helly’s precious little progress. 

The clothing landed quietly on the comforter of Helena’s bed along with a pair of socks and panties she’d taken from a newly-made space in her dresser drawer. Helly hung a few feet back, halted with her toes still on the hardwood and just shy of the rich medallion rug that protruded from beneath the bedframe. 

“Come closer,” Helena urged. She’d looked away from Helly in favour of removing the shirt from the hanger, but in the corner of her eye she could see her hesitate. “I won’t bite again, darling.” 

Perhaps a tad too soon. Helly recoiled as Helena turned. 

“I’m sorry,” Helena said quickly. “That was inappropriate.” 

Helly’s break shook when she drew it in. “Promise?” 

Helena blinked, head tipping to the side in question. “I’m sorry?” 

“Do you promise not to bite again?”

A laugh bubbled up in Helena’s stomach before she could stop it—it barked, projecting out of her unexpectedly. “Yes, my darling,” she replied, relieved. “I promise that I won’t bite. Now come here.” 

Helly matched her smile as she stepped closer, but her shoulders were tense. It was strange to see her relax without allowing her body to follow suit, her guard up so high Helena had begun to doubt she’d ever see it come down. Now, as Helly drew herself in, allowed the space between them to lessen on her own terms, Helena knew she would. 

“Arms up,” Helena said, quietly and bordering on a murmur. She had to stifle a smirk when the volume forced Helly to lean in to hear her properly. “Let me take this off of you.”

The smooth sleeves of Helly’s nightgown sagged as she lifted her arms above her head, exposing her forearms to Helena’s prying eyes. Seeing them this way, revealed from under folds of clothing, was different. She felt almost wrong for seeing Helly this way—accidentally, that is. 

Everything she’d done with her was so purposeful, so calculated. Sure, just the night before she’d stripped Helly bare for her own sake, but this felt dirty . The accidental nature of the exposure turned Helena’s stomach as a sort of claustrophobia took her over, wretched and out of control. 

She’d felt this before, lived in the feeling for years before she’d truly gotten her bearings. She was particular, always had been, but there was something so acutely distressing about feeling her handle on things slip. Her dominion over everything she did, no matter how small, had been the only thing that kept her sane, the only thing preventing her from going mad. 

Even this, a natural consequence of something she’d initiated, was enough to make her head spin. 

Little crescents dug into the palms of Helena’s hand as she clenched her fists, breathing tight for just a moment before she shunned the feeling entirely. This was about Helly. Helena cleared her throat and shook her head just slightly, like it might shake the perturbed, crawling feeling from her skin. 

Silently and without sparing even a moment more to look at the small scar on Helly’s bicep, Helena reached for the bottom hem of her nightgown. The fine fabric pooled like water in her hands, slid across the smooth skin of her fingers as she grabbed on and tugged upward. As swiftly as Helly’s body was uncovered, control returned to Helena. 

The sigh she let out was both in awed admiration of the beauty before her and relief at the tension dissolving from her body. 

She raked her eyes up the slight protrusion of Helly’s stomach, across her chest, then back down to the slight curve of her hips. She would mature into this body just a little bit more, the excess fat sloughing off eventually as she grew into this life. Her cheeks would sink, her bones would jut, and she’d look even more spittingly like Helena. 

Until then, though, Helly would appreciate her juvenescence, the vitality that still—ironically—radiated off her. 

“You’re very pretty, Helly,” she mused, the compliment mostly absent minded as she watched gooseflesh rise on her arms. “My precious girl.” 

Helly’s hands twitched at her sides. “Thank you,” she whispered, too quietly for Helena’s taste. 

Helena got to work quickly, thumbs tucking gently into the elastic of Helly’s cotton panties to pull them down her legs. They joined her nightgown in a pile on the floor, carelessly discarded now that they weren’t gracing Helly’s youthful frame. 

Giddy excitement swelled in Helena’s chest as she gathered Helly’s new outfit into her hands—the first of many, many choices she was eager to see on her after so long waiting. Helly held her shoulders as she had the night before, balancing as Helena took her time dressing her. 

She’d had these made with express intricacy, purposeful additions of tiny buttons and drawstrings so she could savour it. The shorts had a hidden zipper on the side that tucked away under a pleat, a tight-fitting button that sat just next to Helly’s barely protruding hip bone. Helena bent down to do it up, her face level with Helly’s navel, and when she finished fiddling she pressed a kiss right to her stomach beneath her bellybutton. The stretch of skin, lined with a thin strip of sparse hair, shone with saliva when Helena stood, hands lingering on Helly’s hips. 

Helly’s brow was threaded together when Helena finally looked at her face again. 

“Do you not like them?” Helena asked. The question was immediate. Defensive. 

Helly blinked. “I do,” she said first. “I like them. I’m s—”

Helena pinched her side, the small layer of fat just below her waist squeezing harshly between her knuckles. “ Forgive me,” she corrected, catching Helly before she could err.  

Helly hissed, cringed away from the touch as much as she could without stepping away, which Helena supposed was a good thing. 

“Forgive me.”

“Much better,” Helena nodded. Helly smiled sheepishly, and Helena let the tension slip. “Sit on the edge of the bed, now, sweetheart.” 

Helly obeyed, her transgression forgotten in her willingness. She hopped up onto Helena’s bed, her breasts wobbling as she did in the adorable way Helena recognized—both from her own body in her youth and from her time watching Helly in her old home where she spent far too much time in a state of undress. 

As if she were dressing a doll, which she supposed she sort of was, Helena picked up Helly’s foot and pulled on her socks for her. She didn’t ask Helly to move to accommodate her anymore, simply moved her the way she needed. It was faster this way, easier to show Helly what exactly she expected of her than it was to explain. 

Helly didn’t move, didn’t resist, and Helena was grateful. 

Helly’s socks matched the stripes on her shirt. They ended a few inches below her knees and each had a little bow on the outsides that resembled the one in her hair, a darling coincidence that Helena kicked herself for not planning outright. 

Nose scrunched, Helena smiled. “Well aren’t you adorable!”

For good measure, she patted Helly’s knee and laughed when it made her squirm and scrunch her nose, too. 

Then came her shirt. Helly sat silently and allowed Helena to fiddle with the little bows on the shoulders, the concealed buttons on the back of her neck, the ruching at the bottom. Once she’d finished, Helly looked exactly as she’d envisioned, a spitting image of a desire Helena had been holding close to her chest for decades. 

“You look perfect, my sweet girl.” She cupped Helly’s chin and reveled in the way Helly preened. 

A beat passed with nothing in particular to fill it, just Helly accepting Helena’s affection. Something delicate budded deep inside Helena, something pure among corruption. 

“Sit there while I get dressed,” Helena said finally, then she disappeared into the closet.

From the rack across from Helly’s, Helena pulled down a simple black dress. It was long-sleeved and tight on top, not structured but not without support. Helena considered this casual and relaxed, though the skirt would hit the floor if she wore it with anything other than heels. She picked a shiny cherry pair from the shelf and emerged to still Helly sitting obediently on the bed, feet swinging back and forth so they’d thump against the side of the mattress. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Helena asked slyly, smirking. 

Helly stilled. “Forgive me, Helena,” she said quietly, gaze dropping to the floor. 

“No, no, sweetheart—” Helena shook her head— “I was just teasing. Please.” 

Helly looked up at her as she gestured her go ahead, a reluctant smile pulling at her lips as she kicked up her heels. 

Helena had draped her dress over the back of her red Victorian armchair. It had been one of her first new pieces in this home, a gift from her very last friend. They no longer spoke, though not maliciously. Like everyone else, she’d simply grown away from Helena in the century and change since. 

She snagged lacy black panties and a bra from her drawer, then stripped her own silk nightgown. It was much different from Helly’s, more mature. The straps were thin and lace, the neckline low and the skirt short. It came off with less fuss than Helly’s had, and soon she was standing bare in the middle of the room. 

Like pinpricks of static pulsing at her back, Helena could feel Helly watching her—she didn’t look. 

Instead she pulled on her underwear, bending at the hips languidly and for much longer than she needed as she eased them up her legs. She straightened and stood for a moment afterwards, the heat of Helly’s gaze raking over her body, then pulled her bra on over her chest.

“Come here and do me up,” she said. It would have been easier to go over to Helly herself, but she wanted Helly to make the choice. Helly needed to do this willingly, if not with some encouragement. 

Helly’s socked feet padded on the floors as she walked up behind Helena. Without speaking, she took the ends of the band and secured it. She was gentle about it, entirely no-nonsense. 

Helena spared a glance over her shoulder to smile gratefully. “Thank you, darling,” she murmured. 

Helly was wringing her hands. “You’re welcome.” 

“Don’t go anywhere,” Helena said then, interrupting an action she knew would have come but hadn’t yet. “You’ll do up my dress, too.” 

And Helly did. Her knuckles grazed Helena’s spine as she dragged the zipper up, careful not to pinch when she got near the top. 

As much as Helena loved helping Helly, she found in that moment that she enjoyed it almost as much when Helly serviced her in return. Desire, or perhaps even greed, thrummed, tantalizing and sparkly in her stomach as she put on her sweetest voice.

“Help with my shoes, would you, sweetheart?” She nudged the heels between them with her foot, looking down then looking back up at Helly. “You’re just such a good helper,” she cooed, cupping Helly’s face for a syrupy moment. 

Helly nodded hesitantly, the gears in her head turning almost visibly as she bent down to Helena’s feet. She’d have been lying if she said seeing Helly this way, literally at her feet, wasn’t intoxicating. She stored the feeling elsewhere for the time being, something to be explored properly later. 

A shiver ran up Helena’s body when Helly’s gentle fingers brushed against her ankle. 

“Good girl,” Helena praised gently. She let her hand run down the side of Helly’s head, carefully so as not to disturb the pretty braids there, in a sort of reward and could have sworn she felt Helly nuzzle into it. “So good.” 

It was only a few minutes later, when Helena opened the door for Helly to exit into the hallway, that her pride was crushed. 

Helly bolted, covered feet carrying her down the hall clumsily, hand trailing on the wall for balance. 

“Fuck!” 

Helena ran after her, but Helly was fast . Her heels prevented her from running properly, something she hadn’t ever even considered doing anytime in recent memory, so she chased after Helly awkwardly. She was behind her by a dozen feet, the staircase putting more distance between them as Helly skipped stairs and pivoted around the banister. 

That was when Helly fell. 

The runner on the stairs had served her well, her socks gripping the fibers as she ran, but as soon as she emerged into the adjacent hallway at the bottom it turned to hardwood. She clattered to the floor, falling just within Helena’s sight. 

Helena slowed then as she made it the rest of the way down, watching Helly amusedly as she tried and failed to haul herself to her feet in the dark. She hadn’t had time to turn on the downstairs lights yet, and for that she was glad. 

Helly stumbled once more, then made it to her feet, but before she could make a beeline for the front door at the end of the hall, Helena was on her. 

“Let me out of here!” Helly yelled, struggling against Helena’s grip all over again. 

“Goodness,” Helena sighed, exasperatedly holding Helly by the wrist. “I’m going to need to put you on a leash on you if you don’t stop acting so silly.” 

Helly writhed, body jerking with a force that would simply never match Helena’s superhuman strength. “Why are you keeping me here?” 

The question stabbed Helena through the heart, a sharp pain hitting her like she’d truly been injured. “Because I love you, Helly,” she answered truthfully. “The sooner you believe me, the sooner you’ll understand.” 

“I fucking hate you,” Helly spat. “Let me out!” 

Helena laughed, bitter and disappointed. She felt let down, but not by Helly—she’d overestimated the impact she’d had and underestimated Helly’s will. This was her fault. 

“I understand you’re unhappy with this life, sweetheart,” she cooed. “But you need to learn that I make the decisions from here on out.” She brushed a few stray hairs out of Helly’s eyes, her braids messy and frizzy now, and smiled pitifully. “I promise you’ll be happier once you start to trust me.” 

Helly’s eyes were wet, far too big for her own good. Her bottom lip quivered as tears slipped out and down her cheeks again, a desperately sad look that infected Helena, too. 

“You’ll feel better soon, darling,” she whispered. “Now, let’s get you back into your room. We can try again another day.” 

She’d jumped the gun, too eager for her own good. Helly needed time , she understood that now. She would be happy enough for the time being if Helena kept her in her room. Soon, she could roam the house freely, but not before she had accepted her new life. 

Helena would be patient. If not for herself, then for Helly. 

She dragged Helly back upstairs, ignoring the way the poor thing stumbled over her feet and tripped up the staircase. If Helly hadn’t been such a flight risk, she might have been kinder, less rough, but she needed to ensure she was safe above all else. 

Helly hurried back and away from the door, eyes full of misplaced terror, when Helena ushered her into her room. She’d fallen to the floor in a heap, and she remained that way as Helena pulled the door closed. 

So dramatic. 

“I’ll be back in a minute.” 

She couldn’t lock the door yet, key not yet around her neck, but Helly didn’t know that. At least, she assumed Helly didn’t know that. It seemed her assumptions were failing her as of late. So, for good measure, she hurried into her room across the hall and into the back of her closet. 

Though it had been a long while since, Helena had once had an affinity for art. She’d spent the first couple of centuries of her life around other artists, most of whom had also succumbed to the same fate as she had. It had been nice to have company that way, and since Helena lost the habit she’d lost the connections, too. 

She wondered, as she picked up the collection of graphite and thick paper, if any of them still dabbled. 

Not that it mattered. She didn’t miss it all that much anyway. 

On her way back out of the room, she plucked the key to Helly’s room from its hiding place among her jewelry. 

Helena pushed open the door to find Helly still cowering on the floor, curled up in on herself. She waited, watching, as Helly unfurled and looked up at her with her doe eyes and sniffled. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” Helena said quietly. She didn’t enter, just lingered in the doorway. “I brought you something.” 

“What is it?” Helly demanded too harshly, an accusation. 

“Try again,” Helena said patiently. If Helly had been closer, she might not have been so lenient, but there was no use dwelling on that. “Ask me kindly.” 

Helly looked at the floor. “What is it?” She asked again, her tone much less venomous this time. 

“Better,” Helena praised. She held out the paper and pencils. “I know how much you like drawing.” 

The way Helly’s face lit up, instantaneous and unquestionable, etched itself permanently into Helena’s memory. Her sweet, sweet girl. 

“I’ll find you a sketchbook soon,” Helena continued. “Come get it, darling, I don’t want to invade your space.” 

It was a white lie, only half true, but it would serve her eventually. A tool in her toolbelt, as most things had become by now. 

Helly’s legs quivered as she pushed to her feet. “Thank you,” she muttered. 

She almost looked remorseful when she took the items from Helena’s hands. 

“We’ll talk tomorrow.” 

The sound of the lock was deafening.

Chapter Text

Helena had brought her chair into Helly’s bedroom—the Victorian one with the velvet upholstery. She was sitting in it with a book in her hands, but she wasn’t reading at all. 

Rather, she’d been reading, but couldn’t any longer. At first, when she’d initially slipped into Helly’s room, locking the door with them inside, she’d been enraptured by the words on the page. Now, though, they dulled in comparison to the alluring sight of Helly sprawled out on her bed on her stomach, tongue poking out between her lips as she drew. 

It was already past midnight, much of their night lapsed already. Helena had taken her time before coming to see Helly, and she only regretted it slightly now. She’d needed the time to get ready, to cool down, to prepare to see her precious companion who’d crossed her a mere 24 hours prior. 

Helly had already been drawing when Helena came in, had flipped the page in her lap as soon as she breached into her space. She hadn’t bothered asking what was on it, what offense she might find on the paper she’d so lovingly gifted her. Helena didn’t have it in her to be mad, not now. She’d kissed Helly gently on the temple and moved aside, her chair scraping across the floor before she sat in it just a few feet away, kitty corner to the bed. 

No words had been spoken between them. The silence was heavy and oppressive, yet somehow infinitely better than being alone. 

Helena chewed on her lip. She wanted very badly to brush Helly’s hair. Her braids had gone all frizzy from sleep, her bangs askew. She was still wearing the bloomers and shirt Helena had dressed her in, nothing available to change into by design. At least now Helena could appreciate the attire, her gorgeous doll, without such rude interruptions. 

The chain around Helena’s neck jingled as she fiddled with the key hanging there, the only thing surely keeping Helly from attempting to flee again. Helena had had no intention of ever letting Helly out of her sight again; she was safest under Helena’s thumb. 

Helly’s pencil scratched at the page, incessant and audible as she shaded something in. It was louder than it should have been, Helena so used to complete and utter silence that the very presence of constant noise was enough to grate at her eardrums. She didn’t find it annoying, necessarily, just strange. Out of place in what was usually a very empty house. 

Isolation had been her norm for far too long. Even before she’d become largely solitary, she was still separate. Her house on the outskirts of a smaller town, the sole inhabitant of what was, for all intents and purposes, an estate meant for a large and very wealthy family. She was only one of those things. 

She could have learned to be more social, to blend in with society, but it had all seemed so tedious. Useless when they would all die so soon. 

At least now she had Helly to keep her company. 

“What are you drawing?” 

Curiosity; she was sick with it now that Helly was around.

Helly’s eyes shot up behind her dark lashes, then disappeared again as she looked back down and decidedly away from Helena. The attitude was abrasive, ignorance louder than words could have ever been, but still Helena found herself fascinated by the fluttering of Helly’s eyelashes. She’d only recently grown familiar with that specific feature, the lush lining of Helly’s bright eyes—she could only see so much from outside her window, after all. How she loved finding new things to love about her Helly. 

A beat passed. “It’s polite to speak when spoken to.” 

Helly glared at her then, mouth hardened into a line. “Nothing,” she replied. 

“Very well, then,” Helena said. She licked her teeth, letting the sharp point of her left canine prod into the thick muscle of her own tongue. “Since you’re drawing nothing I suppose you won’t want any more supplies once you start running low.” 

She watched Helly squirm with that. Perhaps forcing Helly to admit she was grateful for something was mean, duplicitous even, but she didn’t quite care. She was walking a line between limitless lenience and the need—primary and instinctual—to remind Helly that she was hers. Helly would learn whether she wanted to or not, but it was up to her how easily it went down. 

Helly’s jaw clenched and released, then she sighed. “I’m drawing a deer.” Clipped. Short. 

Helena ignored her tone and followed Helly’s eyes as she glanced over to the plush deer in the corner. “That’s nice. Would you like to show me?” 

“Do I have to?” 

Helena was eager for Helly to understand implicitly that there was no denying her, that her questions were out of unnecessary politeness and nothing more. Until then, she’d humour her. 

She laughed first. “I’d like to see.” 

Begrudgingly, Helly held up the page she’d been scribbling on. In the dark graphite, between the smudged-in shadows of tall trees, Helly had drawn a fawn. It stood before bushes bearing nondescript fruit, the background towering taller and making it appear all the more miniature and newborn. Helena was endeared by it immediately, its wide eyes that stared at her right off the page. 

She saw Helly in the grooves left by the pencil, her irises in the eyes and her softness in the curve of its ears. 

“That’s gorgeous, darling,” Helena said. She saw something pleased flash across Helly’s face briefly before it sharpened once more. “You’re quite the artist.” 

“Thank you,” Helly mumbled. 

The paper rustled as she shoved it back down onto the bed, laying it face down on the book she was using as a hard surface beneath it. Helena hadn’t seen which one it was when she’d come in, but the only one big enough to be used that way was an old edition of The Velveteen Rabbit. The one she’d plucked from a grieving mother’s bedside after feeding on her. 

She wasn’t usually so sentimental, but she also wasn’t one who made a habit of mercy killing. It had been fitting, she supposed. She’d felt strangely about leaving the book to be disposed of along with her other possessions when they inevitably presumed her dead, missing and never found as her body laid concealed expertly in the woods behind Helena’s estate. 

She hadn’t read it right away, and instead left it to gather dust for a few years before daring to peel open its glossy cover. When she finally did, she’d grown attached almost immediately. Perhaps she missed her childhood long ago, or maybe she was affected just slightly by the tragedy of the situation from which she’d procured such a gorgeously bound book. 

She hadn’t done anything like it again, steered clear of anything woeful to avoid the sticky feeling of sentimentality. 

She’d gone back and forth about leaving it in here for Helly to read, unsure if she’d find it infantilizing or comforting, or perhaps even neither. After much deliberation and seeing Helly make use of it, though improperly, she was glad that she’d decided to add it to the small shelf. 

“I used to draw, you know,” Helena said then, speaking before she could truly decide if she wanted to disclose that modicum of truth about herself. “Actually, I used to be an artist.” 

It was true, her pieces had been sold to many aristocrats over the years before she fell back into obscurity. She’d taken a single cycle, her own twenty-five years and change to sell in the public eye before retreating into the shadows to be forgotten. Some of her peers had been braver than she’d been, had publicized their art more than once despite the risk. Some were still selling now, their fifth or sixth time around with a new name. 

She caught wind of them sometimes. Less so now. 

“Though I haven’t made anything worthwhile in a long time.” 

Helly tipped her head in question like Helena’s old dog used to—the one that she’d had to leave behind in her dreadful old home. She missed him then for the first time in centuries. 

“Why did you stop?” 

The words hummed in Helena’s head, flitted around and bounced against the inside of her skull. She didn’t really have an answer, at least nothing concrete enough to suit such a direct inquiry. 

“I grew tired of it,” she lied. “I found better company in my books.” 

The latter was true. Her library had grown exponentially once she put down roots in this home, and Helena had found solace in the stacks. She’d amassed an ungodly collection without preference for genre so long as it wasn’t biographical. As much death as she faced, there was something so acutely agonizing about growing fond of something that would certainly die. 

In all truth, that was a large part of why she stopped painting. She didn’t mind killing—she’d made her peace with such violence long, long ago—but she’d never quite come around to natural mortality. Not really. 

She’d learned quickly that portraits made her uneasy, the idea that not only the canvas as intended but she, too, would outlast them curdling in her stomach like sour milk. The transition to landscapes and still-lifes had been smooth after that, a certain truce made between herself and the hardy flora, but that hadn’t lasted long either. She was intimately familiar with the cycles of nature, the knowledge that the earth would always reclaim what once belonged to it, but seeing the rose bush she so frequently sat by outside her old home in England rotting in the spring when it should have been blooming red had taken that from her, too. 

So, she’d stored the paints and the brushes, her old works and the stretched canvases, shipped them over just shy of 150 years ago where they sat untouched in the depths of her home. 

“Do you have any of your paintings?” Helly asked then. 

Helena swallowed around memory. “Yes. I can show you them sometime, if you would like.” 

Helly nodded, and Helena’s heart soared. 

Then, out of nowhere, Helly doubled over. Groaned loudly. Pressed her face into the comforter and clenched her fists until her knuckles whitened. 

“Helly?” 

Helena shot to her feet, her book clattering to the floor as she stumbled forth to the bed. 

“Helly, sweetheart,” she said, hands reaching without warning for Helly’s scrunched-up face. “My darling girl…” 

She tugged Helly to the edge of the mattress until she could hold her properly, until Helly was secure in her arms. She was shivering, suddenly sweating profusely, body cold and hot all at once as she pressed herself into Helena’s embrace. 

“Shh, darling,” Helena cooed. “Tell me what’s wrong.” 

Helly’s hairline was slick with sweat. Helena pressed a kiss to it anyway, then reveled almost regrettably in the way Helly nuzzled in closer. It wasn’t the time for such self-indulgent thoughts, but Helena couldn’t help her relief at Helly’s sweetness, at her reflex to find safety in Helena’s embrace.

She rocked them both back and forth, her hand rubbing gentle circles to Helly’s back as she drew in deep, rattling breaths. “What hurts, sweet girl?” 

“My stomach,” Helly managed, quiet and shaky. 

Guilt hit Helena square in the chest. Helly was hungry, body craving fuel as it accepted the changes that came with her rebirth, and Helena had been starving her. 

Not purposefully, of course, she was just so used to eating once a week at most, accustomed to a limited feeding schedule after so long training herself to go without. Her last meal had been Helly, and two nights ago already. An empty heaviness had already settled in her stomach; Helena could only imagine what Helly was feeling. 

“I’m so sorry,” she muttered. “You must be starving.” 

Helly nodded, face pressed right into Helena’s bust as she did. 

“I’ll make it better, sweetheart,” she assured her, pressing another kiss to her temple this time. “You just rest and I’ll be back before you know it.” 

With that, she lowered Helly back down to the mattress. Her mind flicked to the decanter she’d fed Helly out of, then to the store of blood she usually kept in her otherwise desolate fridge in her altogether desolate kitchen, but both were irrelevant. The decanter was surely sitting on the coffee table in the living room, still, whatever leftover dregs that had once remained now dried, and she’d used the rest of her stores to fill it. 

She needed to hunt. 

“Try not to move, okay?” She was speaking softly, smoothing her hand across Helly’s forehead as she unstuck her bangs from her clammy skin. “You’ll feel better so soon.” 

⟡

Spring had slowly begun to leech its warmth into the deep-set cold of winter, but in the dark it didn’t make much difference. Helena had grown used to the delay in receiving the gifts of nature by now, always first to have small joys ripped away from her, even as simple as a warm breeze at night. 

Her boots crunched on the gravel that remained in the streets, leftover from the useless attempts made to de-ice the streets. Despite the melting snow, the physical memory of cars veering off the roads nearly every night of winter remained. It was the nights, especially, when temperatures dropped and visibility dipped, that sent them careening head-on into trees. The evidence of winter’s accidents was etched into the bark of nearly each one that lined the road. Helena sometimes took advantage of the bodies while the season permitted, already drained of life and on the brink. She simply eased the transition, coaxed them across and ended their pain. Just recently, she’d taken a gorgeous scarf from a woman with gorgeous dark hair after feeding on her. It wasn’t her colour necessarily, but it had been so soft in her hands as she unwrapped her lithe neck that she couldn’t just leave it behind. 

Now, there was no carnage left behind, no metal scraps on the slowly-exposing grass for her to sift through. She could still smell the blood that had once been frozen into the snow in the aftermath of each accident, perhaps even more so now as it melted and seeped into the grass. It was stale, rotted. Useless to her.

From her pocket, Helena pulled a brass timepiece and scanned the face. It was too late to make it to the bar in the centre of town now, and the drunken stragglers, in all honesty, tasted quite terrible. She couldn’t feed that to Helly, not now. 

She really did feel guilty for taking her time after waking now. This was her fault, a lapse in judgement that was entirely preventable. Remorse simmered, little pinpricks of discomfort under Helena’s skin. 

Usually, she had a better plan. Usually, she wouldn’t be out so late searching for something to eat. Helena would rather go hungry than debase herself this way, but it didn’t matter what she wanted, not when Helly needed her this way. 

She let herself into a house on the last avenue on the west side of town. 

⟡

Helena balanced a clean decanter, full of fresh blood, in the crook of her elbow as she unlocked the door to Helly’s room. It was warm, the residual body heat leeching into her flesh even through the thick container. She might have enjoyed it if she weren’t so concerned. 

The knob turned and Helena felt a pang of hunger at the sound of the blood sloshing against glass. The metallic taste of blood lingered between her teeth from the initial bite and made her mouth water. Her stomach growled, but she suppressed the urge to do anything about it. 

Helly was curled up on the bed when Helena stepped back inside, her knees tucked up against her stomach. She was delicate like this, even weaker in appearance than Helena cared to think about. 

“Sweetheart,” Helena pouted. “How are you feeling?”

Helly’s brow was knit together when she pulled her face out of the pillow she was lying on. “Hungry.” 

As Helly’s eyes searched her face, equal parts hopeful and afflicted, Helena wished she would have time to clean herself up. Though she couldn’t see herself, she knew there was blood on her face, dried down to her skin by now, and that her hair was mussed from the wind. She didn’t need Helly to concern herself with any of that. Hastily, she set the decanter and the small glass she’d been holding onto the bedside table, then she wiped at the corners of her mouth with her sleeve. 

“I know, sweetheart,” she frowned. The mattress dipped as she crawled up onto it. “I’m here now.” 

Like a young flower unfurling in the early morning sun, Helly’s spine decompressed. Her head came to rest gently in Helena’s lap, her light eyes staring up at her; in them, Helena saw her whole world. How quickly Helly had become the only thing she could ever care about. 

“You need to sit up, darling,” Helena cooed. “You shouldn’t drink laying down.” 

Helly groaned and sat up, her arms weak. Helena grabbed her beneath the armpits and helped her adjust until she was sitting properly in her lap, head tucked in under Helena’s chin. 

She smiled to herself as she poured, Helly’s glass filling with thick blood to the brim. “Here,” she said. “Drink.” 

And then Helly stiffened. 

She’d been so pliant, malleable in Helena’s lap. Whether weakened and needy from her pain or born of genuine affection, Helly had been willing. It was as if a switch flipped, her demeanour upending entirely as Helena brought the glass closer. 

Her muscles went taut and she turned, face pushing into Helena’s chest as she shook her head furiously. Quietly, Helena could hear her whimpering, near-silent pleas of ‘no’ eking out from a muffled mouth. 

“Sweetheart ,” Helena muttered, worry disquieting her and filling her chest to the brim until she couldn’t breathe. “This will make you feel better, Helly.” 

Helly shook her head again, but the movement was weak. 

“Please, darling,” Helena urged. “Have some for me, won’t you?” 

The behaviour reminded Helena starkly of her own, a resistance to succumb to the hunger, a fear of what she’d become. She’d buried her own memory of this terror deep, effectively hiding it in the recesses of her mind until she’d nearly forgotten. She remembered in full force now, though, as Helly denied the only thing that could sustain her. 

Concern turned to ice in Helena’s veins. The urgent thrum stopped in favour of something worse, something that plunged her into despair so severe she went blind with it. 

Her vision tunnelled on Helly’s face, her sweet, sweet face shoved into her breast for the entirely wrong reason. “Helly, sweetheart, I need you to eat.” 

Helly shook her head again, strong-willed and determined. There wasn’t much Helena could do to coax her into this without interfering directly, without making the decision for her. 

She caved and set the glass back on the bedside table. Into it, she dipped the tip of her index finger, gathering enough blood to coat it entirely, then she brought the finger to Helly’s lips. 

At the prodding fingernail on her lips, Helly squeezed her mouth shut. Helena probed again, and Helly flipped her head the other way. 

“Helly, please.” 

When Helly moved then, muscles twitching as she attempted to launch herself off the bed, Helena grabbed her. The light fabric of her once-pristine outfit stained red with the blood on Helena’s hand as she dragged her backward and pinned her down on the bed. 

Helena’s knees bracketed her hips, caged her in as she squirmed. Helena restrained her hands at her sides, too, and now Helly thrashed, no leverage and nowhere to go. She was rabid, wild eyes and dripping saliva. Her hunger was extreme, Helena could tell—only when she got so hungry she felt on the brink of insanity did she drool that way. Helly was worse off than she’d thought. 

The glass was in her hand again, the surface rippling as she dipped her thumb in now. Helly watched her with her full and hysteric attention, mouth knit shut as she tried to free her hands. Helena leaned forward, her bony knees digging harshly into the soft flesh of Helly’s forearms. 

When she hissed, her sharply taken breath inward drawing her mouth open, Helena shoved her thumb between her teeth. Helly bit down hard, hard enough that Helena winced, but then her tongue pressed against Helena’s skin and her eyes drooped. 

Her body settled, muscles relaxing as her tongue laved over Helena’s thumb. She sucked and Helena pushed it deeper, coaxing the paste further into Helly’s mouth. Her knuckles whitened around the stem of the goblet in her other hand as her body sang with relief, satisfaction taking her by storm as Helly suckled on the digit in her mouth just a little while longer. 

“Good girl,” Helena cooed. “It tastes good, doesn’t it?” 

Helly moaned and nodded, putty wrapping itself around Helena’s words. 

“Good,” Helena repeated. She eased her finger out of Helly’s mouth, eyes lingering on her face as her lips opened in an O at the loss, brow furrowing. “Have some more.” 

Helena took two fingers into the glass this time, scooped up the viscous liquid and dripped it over Helly’s mouth from above. Then, she pushed them down onto her tongue, sliding them into Helly’s prone mouth until she wrapped her lips around them and sucked. 

Helena’s eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed and overtaken by the feeling of Helly’s tongue working thoroughly around her fingers. At the exact same moment that Helena felt a moan bubbling in her throat, lips parted just so, Helly moaned, too. Their sounds blended, mixing until Helena couldn’t distinguish them in her ears. 

Even when she’d drank from Helly’s neck she hadn’t felt so close to her. As she prodded her fingers further into Helly’s mouth, felt her gag just slightly on the intrusion, heard their voices intertwine, she almost forgot who she was without her. Helly was part of her, an extension of herself that she swore to keep safe forever. 

How poetic it was to hold herself in her hands, to promise Helly she would care for her. 

“Very good, darling,” Helena cooed. She tapped her thumb on the side of Helly’s face, a gentle request for her fingers back. It didn’t work. “Baby,” she whispered, smiling down at Helly’s heavy-lidded, glassy eyes—she’d never called her that before, “open up. You’re still hungry.” 

Drowsily, Helly blinked. Helena tapped her thumb again and pulled just enough to disturb the stillness of Helly’s lips. She released her then; Helena wished selfishly that she wouldn’t have. 

“Sit up for me,” she instructed anyway. 

She had one hand free, and with it she guided Helly to sit against her once more. They were propped up against the headboard now, Helly sideways in Helena’s lap, knees tucked up and head against her shoulder. 

Helly felt smaller this way, more fragile. In all the time Helena had watched her—she’d lost count of how long it had been, exactly—she’d always been so strong, so self-sufficient. Now she was curled up against Helena’s body, patiently waiting for Helena to fix what was hurting. 

Helena’s breath hitched as her chest swelled, a balloon of joy and something nameless behind her sternum. “Here, sweetheart,” she said, hand smoothing up Helly’s back. “Drink up.” 

⟡

Helly’s bed was comfortable. Helena had, of course, been sure of this fact when she’d chosen this bed for her, but now that she was laying in it in the dark she knew better just how nice it truly was.

Helena’s wrist ached, a small price for the way she was laying. Propped up on her side, head resting on her hand, she was staring at Helly’s tired body through the shadows. Her other hand’s fingers were tracing featherlight circles on Helly’s arm, hypnotic for her just as much as it seemed to be for Helly. She wasn’t quite asleep, but Helena knew it would only be a matter of time. 

She’d had a big night, too many things happening in such a short window that Helena was surprised she hadn’t fallen asleep the second her head hit the pillow. Despite this, Helena was glad. She wanted Helly to feel her touch through the cotton of her nightgown—one of Helena’s old ones—and be lulled into her slumber by the comfort it brought. Occasionally, Helena would take a break from Helly’s arm and move up to her shoulder. Sometimes she went truly rogue and brushed gentle lines down the bridge of her nose. 

Helly sometimes scrunched her face up when she did that, and sometimes she giggled, mindless and exhausted, half-asleep and dreaming already. 

Helena hadn’t intended to spend so much time in Helly’s room, especially not after changing herself into her own pyjamas. But she couldn’t bring herself to part ways with the cherished creature who’d fallen into her for comfort not two hours prior. Leaving Helly, even to sleep just across the hall, felt like severing her own limb and leaving it behind. 

Her robe wound tight around her—not the feathered one, but a much plainer one made of crushed red velvet. She’d wrapped it over her silk, lace-hemmed shorts and matching tank top before returning with sleep clothes for Helly, and the way Helly had dragged her palms up the material on her arms had pleased her. She’d almost considered offering it to Helly to keep, if not for how adorable she was in the cream bishop-sleeved night dress Helena had saved just for her. 

She’d changed without fuss this time. When Helena had reached for her hand and helped her down off the bed, Helly had just smiled all watery and soft and allowed her to manoeuvre her out of her intricate clothing. Helena had narrated it for her, telling Helly each time she lifted her arm on her behalf as if she couldn’t feel it, or that she was taking off her panties when they were already halfway down her thighs. 

Helena had ignored the splotch of wetness she saw shining in them. 

When she’d pulled Helly’s nightgown over her head, Helly said nothing about the lack of provided underwear. Then Helena had taken down her mussed braids and pulled Helly’s hair back into a single plait that ran neatly down her spine. 

Helly’s body had been hot, almost squishy with it when Helena joined her beneath the blankets. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so warm. She hadn’t even known she’d been missing it desperately until she had it back. 

Helena couldn’t leave now, not with Helly so meek and cherubic laying right next to her. 

She stared, eyes fixed on Helly’s sleeping face as she traced patterns through her sleeves. Helly looked just like she had when Helena brought her home, when she’d laid her on the couch downstairs and waited for her to awaken to her new life. Now, though, Helena was waiting for her to go to sleep. Though the door was locked, opened only at Helena’s explicit behest, Helena wasn’t even tired knowing Helly might still be awake. 

This time, when Helena dragged a fingertip down Helly’s nose, the sound of her breath just deepened. She didn’t stir, didn’t move. Not even her eyelids twitched. Helena did it again, stroked the bridge with just a bit more pressure. Helly’s exhale stuttered, but she remained still. Asleep. 

Safe. 

Helena smiled to herself, to no one at all, darkness cloaking her on all sides. It was just her and Helly in the universe. Nothing else mattered. 

Slowly, so as not to disturb Helly next to her, Helena rolled onto her back. It hit her all at once then, as she stared up into the dark. There was a pressure she hadn’t had the opportunity to feel while she was so preoccupied. It was firmly planted in her lower stomach, a sort of radiating thrum she couldn’t remember ever feeling before. It was a very human feeling, carnal and dramatic in its urgency, so unlike anything Helena knew now. 

She squirmed, readjusting her hips as she grew more aware, as her body caught up with itself. She’d been so distracted by her darling Helly that she hadn’t had the chance to think about herself. Now that she could, she was imploding. 

Her brow furrowed and her knees, bony and exposed, knocked together as she turned onto her side once again. Her legs bent, torso curving, and then she felt something wet drip. 

It made sense then—the feeling, the tension so deep inside her it transcended her physical body. She remembered the dampness in Helly’s panties and understood. Helly’s need, the arousal she’d seen, was rubbing off on her, a virus unleashed on them both. She chuckled quietly to herself, hand coming up over her face as it swelled, as she felt herself throb just so. Of course it would be Helly to stir something up in her she hadn’t dreamed of feeling in centuries. She hadn’t gotten the chance, not really and never truly, and her hope had dwindled so long ago she had no lasting memory of its existence. 

Of course it was Helly who infected her with such terrifyingly mortal desire. 

Compelled by the pulsing, the need in her veins, the knowledge that it belonged to Helly, too, Helena leaned over. She loomed briefly over Helly’s sleeping face, her vulnerable form, and then kissed her lips. Just once. Chaste. 

Then again. Less so.

Helena’s tongue pushed into her mouth, past her plump lips and through her teeth until she tasted her spit and the aftertaste of blood. It was brief, much shorter than Helena wanted, and when she pulled away she had to stifle a moan at the loss. A string of saliva connected their mouths, wet and shining in Helena’s vision. She gathered it with her finger and took it into her mouth. 

She could tell, as she stared at Helly’s dormant face, that she liked it, that she was acknowledging the affection even in sleep. Her precious girl, so content and so easy. 

Gently, to be sure, to affirm her theory, Helena pushed her hand under the blankets until she found the hem of Helly’s nightgown. She pushed it up slowly, careful not to disrupt her, and let her fingers venture up between her legs. 

She didn’t go all the way, of course. Helena’s touch didn’t quite reach the place she knew she’d reach eventually, not tonight at least. Instead she stopped short, felt the insides of Helly’s thighs for what she suspected she’d find, and smirked when the pads of her fingers came away slick with Helly’s arousal. 

Helena licked her fingers clean and sighed at the taste, felt her own noise in a pang between her legs. 

Helly’s neck was lithe and exposed. That was the next place Helena looked, the spot she vied for as she leaned in once more. Her lips landed on the sinews there, the stretch of tendons and curve of her muscles, leaving wet splotches of saliva in their wake. Helly’s skin was still sweet as it had been the night she bit her—she tasted familiar, like the inside of Helena’s own mouth and the rest of her life. 

At the mirrored spot of Helly’s bite marks, the same place but on the right-hand side, Helena suctioned her lips. Helly might feel it in the morning, but she’d never see the mark Helena left behind. It wasn’t that Helena didn’t want her to know what she’d done, rather that she didn’t need to take credit for her indulgence of Helly’s needs. She was doing her a favour, a kindness. 

Helena let her hand venture, tentative and careful, down Helly’s body. From her neck she found her chest, fingers gliding over her sternum and down over her clothed stomach before coming back up to her breasts—her nipples were hard. 

She released Helly’s neck with a pop, perhaps too loud, and diverted her attention to Helly’s small breasts as she pulled the blankets down. There, as she’d seen before, were both her nipples visibly erect through her nightgown. She smiled at them, at their charming sensitivity, then craned her neck down to secure her lips around the left one through the fabric. She sucked gently at first, checking if Helly would stir at the sensation. When she didn’t, Helena sucked harder, let her tongue flick over it until the material was soaked with her saliva. 

As Helena pulled away, satisfied and ready to sleep, she decided to try her luck. She let her teeth clamp around Helly’s left nipple as she retreated, then she reveled in the sleepy gasp it elicited. 

Helly, ever obedient, slept right through it.

Chapter Text

For a week after, Helena slept in Helly’s bed. It seemed to be the only way to ensure Helly stayed on her best behaviour, for she hadn’t had any more outbursts since her second attempt to flee, and, selfishly, Helena quite liked having a warm body next to her while she slept. 

Helly spent her time drawing, and Helena even let her into the library at the end of the hall after so long holed up in her bedroom. It was a menial freedom, bridled and limited by Helena’s watchful eye, but Helly seemed grateful for it. She sat happily on the cushioned bay window on the far side, the one that looked out into clustered trees, and kept to herself for much of the night. Most nights, Helena busied herself reading on her chaise lounge—dark blue to match the rest of the room and unlike the rest of the house, leftover from a time long before. Taken directly from her old life. Stripped. Helena preferred the library this way, old like the books and the words inside them. 

At times, she caught Helly staring out the window—more than a glance, intense enough that her pencil would roll off her lap and onto the floor without her noticing. She would watch Helly watch nothing at all outside, sometimes seeing her tongue flick over her teeth or her brow furrow. 

She was adjusting, Helena knew, but it didn’t make it easier to see. More than anything, Helena wanted Helly to be comfortable, happy with her new environment, but she knew pushing would only reap resistance. Insistence had its time and its place, and that certainly wasn’t when Helly was calmly watching the stars float through the night sky before Helena beckoned her back to her room to feed. 

That hadn’t changed. Helena continued to feed Helly in her bedroom with the door locked just in case. She couldn’t fathom allowing her back downstairs, not yet, and she hadn’t ever trusted anyone—herself included—with blood in the library. 

The only thing visibly changed was the downstairs sitting room, which had finally been cleaned. At some point in the refreshingly one-note week, Helena had taken her leave with Helly still in the library to tidy the space. She’d vacuumed the dirt left by Helly’s bulky boots, washed the decanter and the glass, straightened the couch back to its old pristine state. She’d been pleased to see Helly still sitting peacefully on the windowsill, not a muscle moved from when she’d first left. 

Baby steps, Helena supposed. 

The true changes occurring within these walls were miniscule, so small and interior they should have been untraceable, but Helena was keen and observant. She kept track of all of Helly’s small improvements in quiet mental notes as she observed Helly from afar most of the time. She never acknowledged them outright, but would occasionally praise Helly in an opportune moment as if she hadn’t already noticed. It was a careful balance. 

She was observing Helly now, taking note of the way she shifted uncomfortably in place. Her pencil was bouncing between her fingers, the end bobbing up and down as she stared straight down at the page, distracted. Helena knew what was going on, had seen this each night—Helly was hungry. Usually, Helena granted Helly the kindness of prompting. Her response was always yes. 

She knew Helly better than Helly knew herself. Which meant that she knew, this time, if she waited, that Helly would ask. Helena glanced back down at her book and feigned concentration. 

Ten minutes went by, ticked away on the clock hanging high above the door frame. Helena remained silent, withdrawn in attendance of Helly’s initiative. 

After twelve minutes, Helly’s slight shifting to alleviate her discomfort proven futile, Helena heard her stomach groan. It was low and rumbly, loud enough to travel halfway across the library to her ears. She smirked as she stared at the same page she’d been reading for the past twenty minutes and tried not to be too amused. 

“Helena?” 

Helly’s small voice floated toward her, quieter than even the growling of her stomach. Meek and reserved. 

“Yes, darling?”

She looked up then and found Helly staring at her, her wide eyes piercing through the lamp-lit darkness. Her pencil was down, stacked on top of her paper next to her on the bench. 

“I’m hungry.” 

It was whispered, sounding sheepish and ashamed as it bounced off the dusty spines of the books on the shelves. Helena just smiled, doting and concerned as her brow knit together in place of the pride she truly felt. 

“Thank you for telling me, sweetheart,” she said. “I’ll go get you something to eat.” 

⟡

Helly was waiting in her room for Helena to return with warmed blood to feed her. It was leftover from her most recent hunt, three days old now, but still good. She’d need to go hunting again the next night, and this time she’d indulge, too. 

Until then, though, Helena would ignore the gnawing feeling in her own stomach in favour of tending to Helly’s. 

Helly was perched on her bed when Helena entered, heels knocking against the frame as she swung them. It was a nasty habit she’d picked up since her arrival, and as much as it annoyed Helena she didn’t have it in her to put a stop to it. 

Helena didn’t bother locking them in this time. Instead she just smiled at Helly and shut the door. 

“Come sit, darling.” 

Helly would have known what was expected of her even without the instruction, but Helena gave it nonetheless. In the corner of her eye, she saw Helly drop down to the hardwood with a quiet thump and scamper over. As Helena sank back into the chair she’d left behind, Helly sank to her knees at her feet.

She’d told Helly it was to avoid a mess on the bed, for facility’s sake. That she didn’t want to have to clean blood stains out of her comforter again. It was a small, almost irrelevant part of the truth. In all honesty, it was more difficult than having her in her lap, the angle awkward and straining on her wrists at times, but god did she love how Helly looked this way. 

From the angle, with Helly tipping her head back to catch her eye, she was entirely prone. Not even a minute twitch of an inconsequential muscle could get by Helena this way no matter how hard Helly tried to keep it from her. She saw, then, the way that her thighs twitched, her knees inching together for a moment before she settled. Then again when she set her hands on Helena’s closest knee. 

There was that need Helena had seen so many days before, the kind that ricocheted between her own legs in an intense echo, imploring her to address Helly’s desire. She’d felt it almost constantly since the first time, ebbing and flowing as they orbited each other at close range. 

Her own stomach flipped when she reached out to tuck a strand of Helly’s hair behind her ear. It was down now, cascading over her shoulders in waves from her braids, red and vibrant against the baby pink of her loose, knee-length dress. Beneath it, white cotton panties sat snug around Helly’s hips—Helena wondered if they bore evidence of the sure thrumming between her legs.

She made a show of pouring the blood into Helly’s glass. There was a much, much easier way to go about this, tall cups that she could fill and bring to Helly to drink in their entirety, but she refused. Until Helly learned to feed from the source, Helena would stand in, a reminder that her life was not taken so simply, that she would always depend on another. 

Helly pitched up on her haunches just slightly, raised up on her knees to near herself to Helena’s offering. She drank politely, careful to pay attention to Helena’s movements so as not to let any drip down her face. It was almost a shame that she’d gotten so good at it, that nothing spilled out of the corners of her mouth and slid down her chin. 

Sometimes Helena pretended it did anyway just so she could swipe her thumb across Helly’s pristine skin and watch how her cheeks pinkened out of embarrassment. She never shamed her for it, would never even dare to imply she was lesser for such a silly mistake. Instead she’d dote on her, sweet and cooing so that Helly remembered how much she needed her. 

“Slowly now, sweetheart,” Helena whispered. 

Helly gulped, always overzealous and enthusiastic. Face softened, mushy and rotten with sweetness, Helena smiled. She knew Helly couldn’t help it, that she was an empty pit just like Helena had once been, so she couldn’t bring herself to even begin to scold her for her lack of manners. If she truly cared, she could take the glass away and encourage Helly to be patient, but she didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t. 

The mere concept of denying Helly was blasphemous. So when Helly’s hands, eager and shy, lifted from Helena’s knees and reached for the glass, she didn’t have it in her to say no. 

“You want to do it yourself?” Helena prompted. The glass was nearly empty as she pulled it off Helly’s red lips. Her tongue was even brighter when it jutted out to lick across her bottom lip. 

“Yes,” Helly nodded. “Please. I’ll be careful.” 

Her eyes glinted, bright and full of that vigour Helena lacked. Fireflies twinkled in them as she watched Helena top up the thick, warmed liquid, deep and burgundy and visceral and teeming just below the rim. 

“Both hands now,” Helena murmured. She passed it off slowly, fingers hanging on long after Helly’s own hands had secured themselves around the bowl. “Not too fast.” 

“I know.” 

There was casual annoyance in Helly’s voice, a tonal eye roll that spoke of comfort and calm that hit Helena square in the stomach. So different from Helly’s dichotomous obedience and outright insurgence, it rang in Helena’s ears as proof of her integration. There, on her knees at Helena’s feet drinking the blood she’d so graciously procured for her, Helly was opening up. 

Helena watched the tightly drawn petals of her precious flower bow out, peel away from each other as she accepted Helena and the life they shared, even if for only this moment. 

Then, the blood spilled over. 

Down the sides of Helly’s face and onto her clothing, beneath the neckline of her dress, dripping down her forearms stood red lines, streaking and staunch and staining before Helly could even right the offending container. 

Helly hissed, panic hoisting her lashes high against her brow. “I’m sorry,” she said first, desperately, eyes huge and round and sorry. “Forgive me,” she said next, half correction and half emphasis. Her lip wobbled. 

“Silly girl,” Helena tutted, shaking her head as she removed the glass from Helly’s trembling hands. “This is why I help you, isn’t that right?” 

She watched as Helly’s brow furrowed, confusion diffusing across her features. Perhaps she’d anticipated anger, the very notion of which Helena resented, or perhaps she was coming to terms with the knowledge that Helena always and steadfastly knew what was best. Both of them had known, Helena without a doubt more consciously, that Helly’s attempted independence would be short lived. 

This was why Helena doted on her, why she treated her with such attention—she knew Helly needed it, that she was too keen and too restless to be trusted to take care of herself. She needed Helena to keep her in line, to remind her that she was better when she allowed herself to be dependent. 

“Stand up, darling,” Helena continued. The glass dripped once onto the rug, the liquid disappearing into the lines of the hardwood. “Take this into the bathroom carefully and wait.” 

Helly tread carefully on her needly legs away from Helena, glass dripping into her waiting palm. 

⟡

“Watch your elbow.” 

Helly frowned as she looked at the offending limb, foamed soap clinging to her elbow where it dangled over the edge of the bathtub. She tucked it in, heeding Helena’s warning just in time for it to slough off and into the sudsy water around her. She wrinkled her nose, her little bunny twitch, and looked at Helena in a sort of unspoken ‘you were right’. 

She’d been getting a lot of those lately. 

The water was warm around Helena’s hand. Almost as warm as Helly’s furnace of a body pressed up against her as they slept—she’d always peel away by morning as if it had never happened, but Helena’s sore bones and cold body ensured she woke at least twice before night fell again. She let her fingers linger beneath the white-streaked surface and cleaved to the feeling. 

“Rinse your hair, too,” Helena said. “You haven’t washed it in far too long.” 

Nor had she, but Helena wasn’t the one with blood spattered down the front of her body. 

Helly tipped back, upper body tilting until her shoulders submerged beneath the water. Helena coaxed her gently with a hand on her forehead—skin already desperately cold—to tip her head back along with it. 

She ran her fingers through Helly’s hair, softer with the mild soap lacing the water, and combed through a few stray knots while she could. Helly lingered that way, eyes slipped shut, as Helena pressed the pads of her fingers to her scalp and ensured her entire head was soaked through. 

This had been the one way Helena had never seen Helly. Her bathroom had had a window, but it was fogged over, the glass stippled and forbidding intrusion. She’d always wondered if Helly took showers or baths, wasn’t sure she’d ever ask. She hadn’t been able to decipher the answer, either, when Helly had looked at her like she had two heads for telling her she’d need to bathe (‘I didn’t know we needed to do that anymore’). It didn’t quite matter; not a single tub in Helena’s home had a shower anyway. 

She seemed content enough with the water lapping at her forehead nonetheless. 

“Up now, darling,” Helena instructed with a gentle tap to Helena’s shoulder. “Let me wash your hair.” 

There was still evidence of blood on Helly’s skin, the tracks stuck to her chest and her stomach even beneath the water. Helly thumbed at one as Helena squeezed a palmful of rose-scented shampoo into her palm. 

“I’ll get to those eventually,” she said. “Turn around.” 

Water sloshed up and over the edge of the clawfoot tub when Helly swiveled to turn her back. She ignored it, the puddle seeping into the bathmat next to her knee, and rubbed her palms together. The lather came out from between her fingers in an instant, bubbles filling her palms when she separated them. 

Helly sighed when she slid the foam into the roots of her hair, when she worked firm circles with each fingertip into her scalp. 

It wasn’t until Helena had washed and conditioned Helly’s hair two times over that she even bothered lending any attention to the original purpose of the task. The air was humid with the smell of roses, steam floating up from the twice-refilled tub that was now freshly warmed. Helly was on her knees and shivering enough to send droplets of gathering water sliding down her skin as Helena swiped over her stomach with a soapy cloth. 

Helly withstood the chill without complaint, ever agreeable while Helena’s soft touch lingered. She’d grown more accustomed to it, maybe even liked it now, and Helena took full advantage. At first, it was a bare palm against her stomach, then a lingering touch along her hip. It was different without the excuse of clothing, more intimate. More direct. The press of Helena’s skin to Helly’s was more profound, as if the simple fact that desire rather than necessity fueled the contact could fundamentally change the way it felt. Somehow, impossibly, it did. 

Helly squeezed her legs together then, knees squeaking at the porcelain as they twitched closer. The water sloshed again, more jagged as it hit the sides with a clap. There it was again, the need that pushed and pulled. Helena felt the tide coming in all at once when she looked up to find Helly with her sweet little fang sticking out, gnawing on her bottom lip. 

“Are you alright, sweetheart?”

Helena’s voice betrayed her, lilting with too much amusement. She let her brow pull together for good measure anyway, though she was sure Helly could see right through her. Luckily for both of them, Helena knew what she needed deep down, what she might never express nor fulfil without a little push. 

“Yeah,” Helly replied quickly. Her cheeks pinkened, caught. “All good. Cold.” 

“I know,” Helena pouted, “you poor thing. I can help.”

A hopeful look crossed Helly’s face, all angelic and grateful, as Helena’s feather-light touch traversed the outside of her exposed thigh. Helena could see hunger brewing below the surface, Helly’s eyes reflecting the same wanton ache she’d been grappling with for days. She didn’t hesitate before dragging her fingers so, so gently from Helly’s hip inward, further and further until her hand was pushing between quivering thighs. 

Helly gasped then, her hands shooting out to grab at Helena’s wrist. Helena’s free hand echoed Helly’s resistance, snatching up both her hands in one fell swoop as she ventured deeper to find melting warmth beneath her fingertips. 

“Don’t be shy, darling,” Helena cooed. She felt Helly struggle and frowned. “I know how badly you’ve needed me. Let me make you feel good.” 

She needed to. Desperately. Helena had been sitting with the knowledge of Helly’s need for a week, suppressing the urge to fulfil the unspoken wish that thrummed so strongly in Helly it had been passed onto her, but she was having no such luck. 

Helly’s cheeks were bright pink, reddish and prominently embarrassed. “Please stop,” she muttered, almost too quietly to be heard. 

“I promise it will make you feel so much better, baby,” Helena pushed. Her fingers had gathered Helly’s arousal by now, warm and sticky with need. “Let me in.” 

Without meaning to, Helena’s fingers brushed across Helly’s clit—she moaned, head pitching forth on an unstable neck momentarily before snapping back up. 

“Not today, please.” 

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Helena reassured her, her grip on Helly’s wrists softening until they were holding hands. The blush had mottled down onto Helly’s chest where it mingled with the sweet marks Helena had been leaving for her. “You don’t need to hide this from me.” 

Helly’s eyes squeezed shut just as her legs did. “Please.”

“Alright, darling,” Helena ceded at last. She knew Helly would admit it eventually, but until then she would take the loss. “Let’s get you dried off, then.” 

⟡

Helly looked impossibly more delicate in Helena’s bed than she did in her own. On Helena’s king-size mattress, among the thick pillows and under the plush duvet, she nearly disappeared. Helena smiled to herself as she watched Helly breathing deeply, chest rising and falling with just slight perceptibility under the layers of covers. 

She’d hesitated to let her sleep there, yet unsure if it was still too soon, but the weighty movement of her poor limbs and the droop of her eyelids had been enough to convince her. It would have been cruel to make Helly wait, to send her away to her room after she’d been so well-behaved all night. 

No one else had ever been in this bed before. It was strange to see a body there, occupying the side Helena never did. Even after centuries of solitude, Helena still kept herself trained to the side closest to the door, body small and contained, an unfortunate side-effect of her short-lived marriage to a rotten man. She thought about him very little, her departure a welcome gift she’d never regretted despite its disconcerting cause, but he remained stuck in the grooves and gaps of her psyche. 

His white hair woke her up from sleep sometimes, equally as terrifying as her maker. She dreamed of them both equally, often at once so they morphed together into something even more sinister. It was always at its worst when she’d eaten, the blood sitting heavy in her stomach sparking her mind to life and dredging up the memories she suppressed with all her might. She fed only once every seven days because of it, the only balance she could manage of sickening contorted flashbacks haunting her sleep and the hunger pangs that doubled her over at random.

The dreams hadn’t returned since Helly. 

The lamp on Helena’s bedside flickered. It was dim, dim enough that when she turned to her dresser the top was plunged into darkness by her shadow. Her rings, the plain steel around her left thumb and the showy oval onyx with the split band from her right middle finger, plinked into the dish in their reserved places. There were others there, a few gold ones—including her old wedding ring—she rarely found use for anymore and a handful of steel pieces she’d grown tired of over the years. Her favourites adorned her fingers at all times, the black stone and the metal matching the earrings she never took out, and that was enough for her. 

From her neck, she lifted the key and placed it in with the rest of her old necklaces. She wondered if it would really be so bad if it got lost in there, among the dust and tangled chains. She pictured Helly freely roaming the estate, uninhibited by Helena’s helicopterish observation, and allowed herself to feel a single rush of giddy contentment. 

Soon. 

In all truth, she didn’t like keeping Helly under lock and key. It reminded her too much of when she was freshly married, when she’d been locked in her room for hours at a time to be kept out of the way. The maids were kind to her, always bringing her food she’d do nothing but poke at and brewing her tea she’d leave to go cold. At times, her favourite of them all, the prettiest, would take the key from the top of the doorframe and slip inside, risking her neck for a game of chess that she’d always lose. Helena still wasn’t sure if she’d been made to win out of pity or talent. She hadn’t played since she fled that wretched place. 

There, she’d been hidden away, stashed for convenience, waiting to be seen and never heard only when she was of use. A doll kept in a box, removed only to be shown off. It was different with Helly, though, Helena knew. She was doing this for Helly’s sake. It was a smothering sort of limitation, the kind employed out of an abundance of caution and deep-seated care. It was temporary. 

Helena draped her robe over the footstool in the middle of the room, the one belonging to the chair that still sat in Helly’s room. The floor creaked as she walked by, the one spot in the entire upstairs that did, and sighed when her weight shifted away. Sometimes she wondered if the house was tired of having her in it, if the walls would exhale their relief when she finally left. She’d spent too much time here with nothing to show for it—no one would miss her if she left. 

But she had Helly now. Nothing else mattered, not truly. Nothing more than the changeling in her bed. 

Helena drew the covers back on her side and Helly’s curls shifted around her face with the puff of air it elicited. She looked sweet with her hair taken care of, styled properly with quality products Helena never used on her own hair. She had before, in the 80s as a way to blend in on the off time she’d needed to be seen outside, but never again. She’d hoarded the expensive bottles and concoctions since, sealed tightly to preserve them as best she could. They worked well in Helly’s hair, her curls finally defined and bouncy rather than dry and flat. 

She should have pulled Helly’s hair up out of her face, but for now the silk pillowcase beneath her head would do. Any other time, she would have had more foresight, but Helly had been so exhausted, practically nodding off by the time her hair was finally dry, that it would have been cruel to keep her up any longer. She’d already nodded off during their last round of hangman before she could strike out on veneration. 

Helly glued herself to Helena’s side as soon as she got under the covers. It was unclear if it was due to the dipping mattress, caving under even Helena’s slight weight, or a manifestation of Helly’s unconscious desire for closeness, but Helena accepted it nonetheless. It had been happening each day, Helly’s warm and well-fed body sticking to Helena in her sleep and dragging Helena under with her. 

Air puffed out of Helena’s nose in a weak laugh—Helly was charming even in sleep, her stubbornness still integral and obvious, but sweeter in a way that made Helena want to squeeze her face between her hands. Usually this was it, just Helly’s face resting on her shoulder, open-mouthed and drooling as she quietly snored on and off in cycles. Helena had already grown used to the background noise, Helly’s presence soothing her more than even the record player she’d once hauled upstairs in a feeble attempt to create white noise. 

This time, though, Helly shifted further. Without waking, breath even, she hoisted her leg up and over Helena’s hips, her arm slinging across her body along with it. Her nightgown had hiked up, leaving her legs bare and exposed. Helena felt something hot between Helly’s legs, something wet seeping through the thin fabric of her own nightgown from the apex of Helly’s thighs. 

Poor thing… if only she would have let Helena help her before. 

There was only one thing to do, really, no other options left when Helly was imploring her to fix the problem. This was her body’s way of telling Helena what it needed, an admission that she’d been too meek and embarrassed to concede before when help was offered. Helena, of course, would never hold that against her—if this was what she needed, then Helena would provide. 

Helly rolled onto her back gracelessly, her willowy limbs tangling up in themselves as Helena guided her sleep-logged body back onto her pillow. She was gentle enough not to wake her, but Helena’s breath stalled, too, when Helly’s hitched in her chest. 

The blankets were peeled back now, leaving Helly exposed, tiny goosebumps littering the skin of her legs where her nightgown should have covered. It didn’t though, because Helena was pushing it up her legs again, revealing her hips and lower stomach to her prying eye. Helly’s legs had already fallen open, body relaxed in her slumber, and even in the dark Helena could see how her cunt shone with arousal. Helena felt her need, had been feeling it, could only imagine the kind of discipline that had been required to deny herself for this long. 

Helly wasn’t one to deny herself, Helena knew. When she’d watched her, she’d seen her through the dark each night when she slipped a hand into her boxers, when she came, spent and sweating, and fell lifeless against her mattress. She’d known it was only a matter of time before Helly’s body outweighed her will. 

Her hands dipped to Helly’s knees and she pushed them open more. Carefully, on her stomach now, Helena kissed up her thighs, leaving the insides of both covered in her saliva by the time she was finished. She ignored Helly’s pussy for a while, occasionally peering up to see her clit twitch or to watch a drop of her arousal seep out from between swollen lips. It was pornographic, a sight Helena had only ever dreamed of seeing this close. She wished she’d snagged the polaroid camera from Helly’s old bedside before bringing her home. 

When her mouth finally made contact, lips pressed square to Helly’s clit, she heard Helly moan. She didn’t stop, couldn’t, but she let herself reach for Helly’s hand and squeeze. Reassurance, perhaps, that it would be alright. Or maybe a promise that it would feel good. 

She wondered then if Helly was dreaming of her. Decided she must be when she licked a line up Helly’s slit with a flat tongue and Helly squeezed her hand back. 

Helena licked again, then another time in quick succession. She was lapping at Helly’s pussy now, uncontrolled in her pursuit of her pleasure, lost in her need to show Helly how much she cared. This would be thankless, something she would never get credit for, but it would be worth it when Helly awoke satisfied and craving something she couldn’t name.

If Helly had been awake, if she’d taken up her offer in the bathroom, Helena would have drawn this out, would have made Helly ask her explicitly for release just to hear her admit it was Helena’s to give. But Helly wasn’t awake, and with her laboured breathing and the rippling of the muscles in her stomach, the way her thighs continued to tense by Helena’s ears, Helena knew there would be no waiting. She took Helly’s clit into her mouth and sucked, and then she felt it. Helly’s body stiffened, muscles quivering as they all clenched in unison, and Helena knew it was over. She’d given Helly what she needed, the pleasure she’d denied and ignored until Helena simply had to take matters into her own hands. 

She eased her down as best she could, but Helly’s body had grown heavy. She was dead asleep again, all but unresponsive despite the wet mess between her legs that leaked onto the bed under her. There would be more soon—Helena would do this again and again until Helly was forced to admit what she needed—but still she sagged at the loss. Helly’s taste was still in her mouth, the silken feeling of her still on her tongue, and she wanted more. She ignored the strained twitches of Helly’s exhausted muscles and lapped up the leftover wetness to curb the craving. 

It almost worked.

Chapter Text

Helly had objected to the thin gloves Helena had forced onto her hands, but the cold air bit. Helena knew she appreciated them, that she regretted her little tantrum in the foyer before Helena had had to take matters into her own hands. 

“Can’t we just pick up someone drunk outside the bar?” 

Helly murmured it, the request whipped into Helena’s ear with the wind. She’d been complaining since they’d stepped outside, her sulking hunger making her into poor company. 

“I have to teach you on someone with their wits about them,” Helena replied simply. “And drunk blood tastes like shit.” 

She didn’t tell Helly that she did sometimes find them close to the dingy dive bars littered on the outskirts of town, only ever catching them on the way in to avoid the acrid taste of alcohol in their blood. She didn’t say, either, that otherwise she hunted almost exclusively at the shitty, run-down motels of which they’d already passed three. Both were too risky for a first hunt, too many variables to consider. Helena had chosen this one carefully. 

Helly didn’t reply. 

It had been a month since Helly had moved in. Helena hadn’t intended to wait this long before bringing Helly out, hadn’t meant to let her get so entitled and comfortable with the ease she’d been manufacturing for her, but she’d found it hard to break the rhythm of their quiet nights in. She was already mourning Helly’s innocence, what she herself would lose once Helly had experienced the visceral rush of feeding straight from the source. 

They were standing outside a small home. It would have been quaint if not for the run down exterior and the lawn of overgrown grass that laid in a slicked-down crosshatch, still wet from the melting snow and intermittent rain. It was sprinkling now, small raindrops spitting on their heads and dripping off bare tree branches that drooped near the windows. The bed joints of the brown brick along all its sides were muddy-looking, dust wetted by the elements clinging to the textured surface. From the end of the drive, through shadows that swallowed the place whole thanks to a burnt out streetlight, Helena stared at the green front door. Behind it, down the hall and to the left, slept a middle-aged couple. 

New to town, they had just gotten possession of the house. A week before, when Helena first came across their curtainless windows, all their boxes were still packed. Only their duffel bags had laid open on the bedroom floor, not even an air mattress set up for them to sleep on. If Helena played it right, no one would even know they’d disappeared, not really. Not for a long time. This was an easy target. They’d feed on one tonight and drain the other, bring it back to the estate to be dealt with in due time. 

In and out. 

A raindrop fell on the tip of Helly’s nose. Helena watched it slip down the side, watched her twitch and wipe it off in annoyance. Her skin burned red with irritation, scratched by her glove and her inability to be gentle. 

Helena was stalling. They’d been standing outside for nearly twenty minutes, just staring, and Helly was obviously growing impatient. Her shoes—a sturdy pair of brand-new, shiny black Mary Janes—squeaked as she rocked back and forth on her heels, the sound breaking up the quiet pattering and otherwise silent atmosphere. Helena wanted to scold her for moving so much, tell her she might make her knees sore if she kept it up, but for some reason she stayed silent. Helly’s hands landed back in her pockets, shoulders hunching up by her freezing ears as she exhaled loudly. Too loudly. 

Time to bite the bullet, Helena supposed. 

“We’ll go in the back door,” she said. No nonsense. Helly perked up. “It’s less suspicious to find a back entrance unlocked. Once we’re in, you’ll go through the kitchen and to your right. You will not speak until they have both been bitten and drained.” 

She’d never seen Helly like this, hanging onto every one of her words with such attention it almost scared her. Her eyes were bright and focused, determined like she’d been when she’d first woken up. This would fill the gaps, complete what Helly had been missing this whole time. 

“You take the woman,” she continued. She didn’t tell Helly her name, didn’t tell her about the dark hair she’d need to brush out of the way to get at her neck or about the baby they’d recently lost that prompted the move. Didn’t tell her that when she’d scoped this house she’d heard her weep silently into her pillow after an argument with her husband, nor that this had been her fourth miscarriage. “She sleeps closer to the door and more soundly than he does. You drink as much as you need while I drain him. Don’t make a mess.” 

It wasn’t a question, there was nothing up for discussion, but Helly nodded. “Lead the way.” 

Helena scoffed at her, taken aback momentarily by her forwardness. She decided a second later that she liked it, liked Helly when she was direct and clear; allegiant and willing instead of defiant. 

They trudged around the side of the house, unconcerned with the squelched footprints left behind in the squishy grass. The proof of their presence, the disturbance to the muddy green, was only visible for a few seconds behind them, the ground swelling back to its original state as if they’d never been there at all. Even if something lingered, it would blend in, the peculiar details of the couple’s disappearance cloaking them in mystery until it all washed away with the budding spring. Helena wished more of her transgressions could be smoothed over that way—the duchess that prompted her flight from England, the heiress she’d killed to obtain questionable possession of the estate she still lived on. This season was so forgiving. Helena strove to be the same, but her grocery list of grudges dating back nearly 500 years forbade. 

The back door was locked. She’d known it would be, had been perched along the fence at the back between evergreen branches when the man locked it and tugged on the handle before bed two nights prior. That had been the first and only time she’d seen the couple happy, the first and only time she felt that perverse, human twinge of regret for choosing them. It washed away quickly with her disgust as she watched his hand wrap itself around her slight waist, possessive in a way no mortal should be entitled to. She could have been happier without him. 

Helena pulled a pin from her hair. It glinted, moonlight that had only just begun to peek out from between clouds shining off the slender length. It slid soundlessly into the lock and she twisted, a slight metallic grinding vibrating up her arm as she jiggled it up and down with practiced precision. Helly watched wordlessly, face severe, and Helena could almost hear her thinking. There would be an endless list of questions for her later, but until they reached the safety of their shared home Helly’s curiosity would have to wait. 

They moved in silence, save for the gentle moan of the door creaking open, the hinges stuck in a time of empty stillness to which they’d soon return. Helena shook her head almost imperceptibly as Helly reached behind her for the doorknob. 

“Don’t,” she breathed, the sound of her teeth closing around the T louder than the word. Then, she mouthed, “For later.” 

Helly nodded quickly, brows hiking with understanding. She seemed strangely in her element this way, clearly well-suited to this life whether she believed it or not. Though this wasn’t the time nor the place, Helena felt her ribs squeeze. At first it was pride, genuine admiration of Helly’s marvellous adjustment, but quickly it slipped into pure adoration. This was the result of Helena’s nurturing, Helly’s imminent success indicative of her reciprocal love. Helly was her child, sweet and innocent and now ready to learn about the real world. Helena would be there to hold her hand, to remind her that she would return home in the end no matter what happened, that Helena’s comforting embrace would be waiting on the other side. 

A breeze wafted in from the open back door. It pushed it open just slightly, another creaking noise piercing the air. It wasn’t too loud, but Helena knew it would be enough to wake someone if they waited too long. 

“Take off your gloves,” she murmured. 

She spared a glance back at Helly as she picked the black fabric on each fingertip, then she outstretched her hand. She bent her fingers back over her palm, a beckoning gesture, when Helly looked at her questioningly. The small mittens fell into her grasp a moment later. Helena shoved them into her pocket, then took Helly’s warm hand in her own. 

Against her palm, she felt Helly struggle, her fingers clench and release and strain as she tried to pry her hand out of Helena’s grip. She simply held on tighter and thinned her mouth, their eyes locking for a long, tense moment before Helly relaxed. Helena led them deeper into the house that way, Helly trailing behind as if on a leash as Helena navigated the halls in the dark. 

From the back, the house felt almost entirely unfamiliar. The only other time she’d been inside, she’d come down through the attic, a broken window permitting her entry a few days prior. She hadn’t told Helly this, of course, lest she become overzealous and fixated on the unusual skills she may or may not develop eventually. Helena wished, then, that she’d just come in the back door that time, too, because she nearly took them into the wrong room three times before halting outside the main bedroom. 

Through the thin wood door, old and in dire need of replacement, she could hear them both breathing. Loudly. Thrumming beneath it was the sound of two hearts beating. 

“Do you hear it?”

Helly cocked her head to the side. “Hear what?” 

“Listen.” 

Helena’s free hand came up near her mouth, a single finger pressing to her lips in a silent implorement to hush. Mouth closing around an unspoken response, chin tucking down, Helly obliged. Helena saw it on her face as it registered, as she heard the sound of life in the next room, a sixth sense that transcended hearing and hit her square in the gut as it had Helena once long ago. 

Helly smiled, a strangely watery expression pulling at her face. 

They both nodded, and Helena couldn’t tell who was mirroring who. 

The knob was cold in Helena’s palm. She gripped it for a moment and waited, felt the metal warm up and stick to her skin, then, slowly, she bent her wrist. The latch clicked as it released from the frame, the door opening inward two inches before it groaned. Helena froze. 

In the corner of her eye, she saw Helly’s chest tense with a hitched breath. They waited, an understanding that transcended words as they hovered outside the door. Helena felt Helly’s presence prickling at the back of her neck—she was crowding the gap in the door, peeking in over Helena’s shoulder. The room remained still. 

Then Helena pushed the door open swiftly and all at once, quickly but carefully enough not to let the knob hit the wall. As she stepped through, Helly reached for her hand, fingertips grazing Helena’s until Helena took it and squeezed. She tried not to react too much, refused to look back in case acknowledging the contact deterred her from prompting it again. Her heart pinched anyway. 

The bed sat to the right of the door. It was new to the room, but old and used. A king-sized mattress atop a frame of blond wood. Two bodies beneath an olive green comforter. Just as they had when they’d still been sleeping in too-small sleeping bags on the floor, the woman was closest to the door. The man, a coward, slept with his back turned. 

Helly’s gait faltered as Helena stepped forward, a miniscule stutter Helena wouldn’t have seen if not for how her arm was tugged back. She glanced back and nodded encouragingly, a smile ghosting on her lips as she took in Helly’s reluctance. 

“It’s alright.” 

Quiet, but effective. Helly let herself be led to the edge of the bed where Helena left her. 

Helena tread carefully around the foot of the bed, cringing when the floorboards squeaked. She was quick, facing Helly in a near-mirror a moment later, both their hands hanging at their sides as they stared down at their sleeping victims. Over the bed, their eyes met. Helena’s brow lifted and her chin dipped. 

“After you,” she murmured. 

Helly nodded solemnly and bent down. Her hair, which Helena had left down, perhaps regrettably, cascaded down from behind her shoulder and covered her. Helena missed the sight of her sweet face as she neared the woman’s exposed neck, missed the sight of her pink lips as she opened her mouth. 

She saw her teeth, though, as she widened her jaw and bit down on her neck. 

The woman gasped, body stiffening visibly as her arms shot out in either direction and ruined Helena’s chance to savour the sight of Helly’s first feed. She sighed and reached down, snagged the man by his shoulder roughly and ripped him out of bed. He jerked awake, his face warping in fear as he laid eyes on Helena. Her teeth were bared, grip harsh and unyielding. He opened his mouth to scream and Helena secured her teeth around his neck. 

He wailed anyway, persistent in the way only a man ever was, and grabbed for Helena’s clothing, but it was all in vain. She sucked, cruel and uninhibited, until he went limp. 

“You’re a monster!” 

Helly’s voice rang out, shrill and insistent and beating sharply against Helena’s ear drums. Helena’s tunnel vision cleared, her eyes widening as she took Helly in against the blooming flavour of iron on her tongue. She was upright, the woman abandoned, and backing away from the bed. 

Blood stained her mouth, and the last time Helena had seen her this was she’d been ravenous, so hungry it had twisted her face into something feral and starved. Now, as Helena took in her expression, all she found was revulsion. 

The same look she’d seen the first night; total regression. 

 “This is fucking sick!” 

“Helly—”

Hands clutched to her chest, Helly spat, “This is evil.”

The woman was awake now, eyes snapped open wide with her hand clutching the bloody surface wound on her neck. Helly had barely bitten her, the punctures small and pathetic. She was frantic, looking back and forth between them both; at Helena holding her husband up by the head with her teeth retracting from his neck and at Helly, who stood frozen on the opposite side of the bed, the woman’s blood dripping down her chin. Stupid girl. 

A roiling shriek rang out in the small space, too loud and too disturbed. If it woke anyone, there’d be no question that something was fundamentally, deeply, wholly wrong. Helly stood useless as she screamed, useless as she melted into the wallpaper behind her. She was recoiling, rejecting her most basic function at both their expenses, and Helena felt rage humming in her gut. 

It swelled, boiling as Helly brought her hands over her face. She tore her eyes away, her gaze abandoning Helly’s petrified and foolish form where it sank into darkness, and homed in on the woman. The woman’s dark hair was obscuring half her face, but the other revealed horror, terror so primal it reminded Helena of the look in Helly’s eye that first night. She was shuffling toward the edge of the bed, away from the blood pouring down her husband’s side. She was Helena’s problem now. 

Helena let the man’s limp body fall, hitting the floor with a crumpling thud as she reached across the mattress and snagged the front of the woman’s shirt. It was graceless, debasing in its unchoreographed stiltedness, but that was, for once, the least of her concerns. She was thrashing, limbs shooting out in all directions as Helena dragged her closer, secured her mouth over the fresh, barely bitten wound in her neck. She screamed louder, then, almost as if a switch had been flipped, stopped in an instant as Helena sucked, her body finally succumbing to the blood loss and the shock. 

The silence was deafening. Then Helena heard Helly sniffle. She snapped her eyes up, swallowing a mouthful of warm, vital blood, to see Helly crouched and shaking in the corner by the door. 

Helena nearly unhinged her jaw when she released the strained tendons of the woman’s neck. Blood spurted all over her without delay, drenching her favourite coat in thick red. 

She barely gave Helly another glance as she tossed the lifeless body in her hands across the bed and onto the floor. “Eat.” 

Even in the dark, completely covered in shadows, Helena saw how Helly’s face whitened. Her eyes were wet, lip trembling, body quivering as she stared at the tangle of limbs and pooling blood. Pathetic. Completely ungrateful. 

Helly spared her one last, desperation-filled glance before collapsing to the floor, unconscious. 

⟡

Helly’s door opened unceremoniously, unlocked and shoved open by Helena’s unimpressed hand. She’d locked Helly, still passed out, inside when she’d made it home after cleaning up her mess; her incompetence, her sudden disgust. Her unwillingness to stifle the long-dead human part of her for her own survival.

Helena’s own failure. 

“Helly?” 

She wasn’t on her bed anymore, but her pillow remained indented in the shape of her head in the place Helena had laid her. A moment of concern was shattered when she heard a hiccuped breath. On the opposite side of the bed, she found Helly on the floor sulking with her knees tucked up against her chest, blood still smeared across her mouth and tears still running down her cheeks. 

She stood by the foot of the bed and stared at Helly, towering over her with her hand planted on her hip. She stared, waiting for Helly to acknowledge her, to hear her sweet plea for forgiveness, and sighed when it never came. 

“Are you finished?” She asked. “I’m incredibly disappointed in you.” 

Helly sniffed. “I fucking hate you.” 

A scoff escaped Helena’s mouth before she could stop it. “Okay.” 

“You’re disgusting,” Helly spat. Then, quieter, she mumbled, “Barbaric.” 

“There is no other way, sweetheart,” Helena cooed. Despite her disappointment, she couldn’t help the thawing of her icy exterior at the sight of Helly’s tears. Her pink cheeks were so darling all wet like this. “It’s how we survive.” 

She tried reaching for Helly’s face to wipe her tears, but Helly flinched, pressed herself closer to the wall. “Get the fuck away from me.” 

“Do not speak to me that way.” 

“You’re a fucking animal.” 

“Watch your tone.” 

Helly’s jaw set, and then Helena doubled over, a jolt of electric pain darting up her leg. Helly’s heel had collided with her shin, catching her off guard, and suddenly she was bolting around the bed and out of the room. 

“You can’t run from me!” 

“Fucking watch me!” 

Helena grunted, a guttural noise that might have affirmed Helly’s accusation if she’d been in the room, and straightened. She limped a bit, leg aching between shooting pains—they were dulling, but not fast enough. She could hear Helly descending the staircase, feet loud on the wood, and squeaking on the railing. 

Too evolved to dwell on something as menial as physical pain, Helly inhaled deeply and moved. She ran, taking the stairs two at a time in pursuit of the pattering sound of Helly’s feet. Then, she heard a clattering noise, the hollowish sound of something scattering across the floor inside the living room. She burst through the door, eyes scanning the room before finding Helly on the far side, back to the door. On the floor at her feet, a broken rocking chair.

Wood had splintered, dusting the floor in a slivery mess of shards and fibres. Large chunks were strewn around, the damage more and more obvious the closer Helena got. She was stalking over, steps loud, but it seemed Helly had finished running. 

The cushions were thrown across the room, the side of one of them just grazing the wood sticking out of the cold and long-ignored hearth, just a hair away from the coal gathered at the edge. Helena stopped, sidetracked, on her way to clear it away. 

“What do you think you’re doing? Damaging my things…” Helena was close now, her hand reaching for Helly’s shoulder. “That chair was—” 

Helly had a long, jagged piece of wood held in both her hands, the uneven point pressed hard against her sternum. One of the slats, broken and sharp, posed right before her heart. Helena’s face fell, body plunged into ice cold water as terror gripped her for the first time in centuries. 

She grabbed onto Helly and whipped her around. 

“You impotent child,” Helena hissed, tugging once at the makeshift stake to see if Helly would cave. “Ungrateful—” she yanked the stake from her hands and shoved her to the floor— “petulant thing.” 

She was towering over Helly now, looming over her crumpled body and staring her straight in the face. Her knuckles whitened around the front of her dress when she grabbed onto her and lifted, hoisting her up until she was left half-dangling in the air and unable to plant her feet. Helena seethed, blind with rage at Helly’s betrayal, at her disdain for the gift she’d been so graciously given. 

“You disgust me with your self-centredn—”

Helly spat in her face then, so Helena released her and let her fall once again. Helly yelped as she hit the floor, elbow slamming into the hardwood. 

“You’ve broken my heart, and this is how you treat me? Don’t you see all I’ve done for you?” 

The sound of Helly’s palms smacking into the floor was loud as she backed away, socked feet slipping as she scuttled blindly backwards. “You ruined my life!”

“I saved you!” 

The stake in Helena’s hand clattered to the floor then, a hollow sound as it bounced and rolled under the couch. Helly would clean up this ridiculous mess soon. 

“Fuck you.” 

Helly turned over then, hands and knees sliding as she struggled to her feet. Helena grabbed her ankle and yanked, let her head hit the floor as she tugged and watched her orange curls bounce at the impact. 

“There is no way out,” Helena said simply. She ignored the way Helly was cowering, the way she winced and clutched her head. “You must accept reality, Helly.”

She didn’t approach Helly again, let her shake on the floor, rocking back and forth as she clutched her head. It was pathetic, really, to see her reacting with such volatility. She’d feigned appreciation, put up a facade of happiness, taken freely from Helena without hesitation, and only now was she showing her true colours. 

Selfish brat. Trying to take a life that didn’t belong to her, quite literally spitting in the face of her saviour. This was a betrayal, plain and simple. Helena’s kindness, her willingness, her love all taken advantage of and thrown back at her stained, without a care. 

“Please let me go.” 

And she had the gall to act like the victim. 

“I understand you’re unhappy with the life you’ve been given.” And still, after everything, Helena softened for her precious angel, fallen from grace but soon redeemed. “But I make the decisions,” she murmured. 

Helly peeked out from behind her hands just in time to see Helena approaching her, hands out. She made a move to retreat, but Helena was faster. She took Helly’s face in her hands and smiled sweetly. 

“You do not. You belong to me.” 

She took Helly by the hair then, ignoring the way she shouted and strained and thrashed as she dragged her past the staircase leading to their rooms. Trusting Helly with the luxuries of her own bedroom was out of the question, clearly too generous for such a thoughtless girl, so instead Helena took her down into the mostly-abandoned wing on the other side. One even she rarely visited—one Helly had only seen in passing. The long hall began to the left of the kitchen and held a few unused spare rooms and storage closets, but Helena vied for the wine cellar that hid just beneath the walk-in fridge. 

There were no windows down there, just a thick door at the top of a rickety set of stairs. It was dark, dank, and completely isolated. Empty, without a single barrel to prove its retired function—Helly had had them all cleared out within the first week of her residence in the house, uninterested and annoyed. Much of the home was useless to her. 

It was colder down this way, the floors covered in a thin layer of dust that kicked up as Helly squirmed. Her hands were grappling at Helena’s, nails clawing at her skin in a futile attempt at freedom. So wasteful, such a useless expenditure of energy she would surely regret soon. 

The door creaked open, hinges rusted but strong, and she tossed Helly down the stairs amid a clamour of objections and squeals. Helly’s body, limp and defenseless, thumped as she tumbled toward the concrete with nothing to break her fall. The floor was cold and unforgiving. Helly watched her lift her head, an injured animal plunged into desperate darkness. 

Through the black, their eyes locked. For just a moment, Helena saw Helly as a helpless fawn, a deer in the headlights or with a target imprinted on its head, and her heart twinged. She allowed the feeling to wash over her just once, one solitary second of upset as she watched tears well in her sweet companion’s eyes. Her precious pearl she’d protect without question, her darling girl who hadn’t yet understood what she was being shielded from. 

She’d learn now. 

As soon as Helly opened her mouth, face contorted with despair, the soft, weak flesh of Helena’s insides hardened. 

“Helena, pleas—” 

She slammed the door shut, the padlock swinging as she turned the key and removed it swiftly. “Goodnight, Helly.” 

Chapter Text

The sound of Helena’s heels tapping against the stairs stirred Helly awake. She was laying at the foot of the staircase, her head resting on her hands, but she shifted as Helena neared. 

The flight wasn’t long, but Helena was taking each step slowly as if she were announcing her presence. Helly’s face pinched before she lifted her head and stared, eyes bleary and squinting before widening fast. It was almost comical to see how quickly she scuttled back and glued herself to the far wall, back pressed against it and body pressed into a tight ball. 

Helena knew Helly was looking at her, though she couldn’t quite see her eyes. She lingered, movements growing languid as she allowed Helly to take her in—the stiletto heels that raised her an easy four inches taller, the corseted dress and copious jewelry gracing her hands and wrists. They were items from an older time, when Helena had still sought to intimidate. They’d served no purpose in her closet for a long, long while. Until now, that is. 

“Good morning, Helly.” 

She was at the bottom now, paused with an oil lamp in her hand. It was ceramic, handpainted. The flame flickered as Helly lifted it higher. She could see Helly clearer now, the way she peeked out from behind her hands, the way she shook just slightly like a kicked puppy. 

Helly’s response was a weak sniffle. A quiet sob. Both prompted Helena to roll her eyes. 

She felt bad. She really did. Helly was her companion after all, the one person she’d chosen to care for and love unconditionally. Nothing had changed, of course, but Helly might not know that yet. She didn’t regret the punishment—in fact, Helena wondered if she’d been too kind to Helly to only make her think about what she’d done wrong. Perhaps a firm hand on her bare bottom beforehand would have been wiser. 

It was too late to change it now. 

“It’s polite to say good morning back, you know.” 

Still nothing. Helly glared at her through the small gap she’d left herself to look through. 

Helena scoffed, amused and cross in equal measure. “I hope you took the time to think about what you have done.” 

“Fuck you.” 

Helly’s tone was pointed, but weak. Helena just sighed. 

“It caused me much strife to keep you down here,” she offered. 

“You’re a fucking animal.” 

Rich… “I would suggest that you reevaluate that statement, given your current predicament.” 

Helly looked out from behind her hands then, a hardened look on her face. “Fine. You’re a fucking monster.” 

“You didn’t seem to mind too much when this monster was feeding you and clothing you and keeping you warm. I could have let you die.” 

“You said you chose me.” 

“That I did. But don’t let that get to your head. I can keep you down here forever if need be.” 

She didn’t mean it, but she raised her brow wistfully like she did. It pained her to say such a thing, to lie outright to Helly this way, but it was needed. Helly had been hers for too long not to understand what Helena had done for her. 

“If you hate me so much you should have just let me die.” 

Helena dropped the lamp then, the porcelain shattering on the floor as the flame went out. The cellar plunged into darkness as Helena lunged forward and slapped Helly square across the face. Her rings collided with Helly’s cheekbone, a miscalculated shot, but she didn’t dare apologize. She didn’t even flinch when Helly yelped and clutched her face, just bent down until their foreheads nearly touched. 

“You are a spoiled brat,” Helena said slowly. She slapped Helly again when she looked away, careful to miss her cheekbone, and ignored the tears that began slipping down her cheeks. “Your life is a privilege reserved to me alone and that is final. I have been patient with you, and I do not appreciate the way you treat me in return. You owe me everyth—” Helly looked away again then, jaw set, and Helena snarled. “Look at me—” she snagged Helly’s face and forced eye contact— “when I’m speaking to you.” 

Fear swelled in Helly’s face the same way it had the night before, and Helena felt her breath stutter. Frightening Helly clearly wasn’t working, so Helena pivoted. Her grip on Helly’s face, though, remained firm and bruising. 

Gently, so gently, she used her other hand to brush the stray curls out of Helly’s eyes, her fingernails grazing her forehead as she did. She looked so darling with her cheeks smushed this way, almost too young, too sweet for the loathsome behaviour she’d been exhibiting. 

“That’s better, hm?” She said sweetly, smiling at Helly’s tearful eyes. Such dramatics. “Stop crying, darling, you’ve hurt my feelings so much already. I don’t appreciate the hysterics. I hope your night down here reminded you of how kind I’ve been to you. You know, some don’t even allow their pets a bed to sleep in, and here I’ve been allowing you on my pillow. So ungrateful…” she trailed off, musing as she remembered how warm Helly was in bed with her. “I’ve brought you food. For after you apologize… if you can behave yourself.” 

She released Helly’s face then, both hands reaching back for the burgundy bodice of her dress. There was a pocket there, along the seam on her left side. She dug into it, fingertips slipping against the material momentarily before easing beneath it. Helly was watching her, rapt and entranced, when she finally pulled a flask out from the folds. 

There was blood inside, though much less than she’d usually allot. After everything, it seemed appropriate to restrict Helly just a bit; enough that she’d be reliant on Helena as soon as she awoke the next evening. It was a calculated scale-back, not quite a punishment even though it would be received as such. 

The flask was steel, heavy and shining. She’d taken it from the coat pocket of one of her victims shortly after she’d moved into the estate. It had some old family crest she didn’t recognize engraved into it, though the lines were faded now, worn over time after so long of Helena compulsively tracing it with her thumb. 

Helly’s hands darted forth. Helena slapped them away. 

“Not yet,” she scolded. “Patience, sweetheart. You do know this is the blood of the woman you failed to drain last night, don’t you?” 

Conflict teased Helly’s features, drew her brow downward and brought her tongue to the front of her elongated right canine. It was the same thing Helena did when she was thinking. Then, decidedly, Helly crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Come now, Helly,” Helena frowned. “You’re hungry.” 

“I’m not.” 

Helly’s stomach growled. 

“Lying is unbecoming of you, darling girl.”

The flask glinted. The only light available was coming from upstairs, the door to the cellar ajar. It cast strange shadows across Helly’s face as she watched the container sway in Helena’s grip. Her hand reached out again. 

This time Helena grabbed her wrist. “Apologize first.” 

Helly shook her head, defiant as ever even as her stomach growled. There was a fire in Helly’s face that Helena couldn’t rebuke—as frustrated as it made her, she was in awe of Helly’s spirit. Still, she pushed. Helena never lost. 

“Repent,” Helena said, more firmly this time. “You’ve worn down my patience and my kindness. I will not allow you to treat me this way any longer.” 

Shoulders slumped, Helly swallowed. She stared at the flask with wide pupils, her irises all but eclipsed with her hunger, and finally she sighed. 

“Forgive me,” she said once, flatly, the hand in Helena’s grasp going limp. 

Helena’s mouth thinned, unimpressed. “I’m afraid you don’t mean it.” 

In her lap, Helly’s other hand twitched. “Forgive me,” she repeated, somehow solemn and hopeful all at once. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Forgive me, Helena.”

She wasn’t sure how she could trust Helly’s words anymore, how to know if she truly wanted Helena’s forgiveness or if she was just putting on a show. How could Helena express her sorrow for her necessary malice if Helly refused to listen? 

The flask hit the hard concrete floor with a metallic thunk as Helena offered both her hands to Helly. She was closer now, crouched down right in front of Helly, her knees touching Helly’s where they were bent and guarding her chest. She was cowering again, always cowering when she felt guilty, a caged animal cornered. Her petulant little girl. 

“Show me,” Helena said. 

The order came from nowhere—frustration, perhaps, or maybe exhaustion—and it shocked Helena to hear the words from her own mouth. They had been spoken to her many times by the same man that had taught her that wretched way to apologize. She’d shortened the long speech she used to have to repeat until her jaw ached and her cheeks stung from the salt of her tears, had thought that she’d removed herself enough from the memory to leave the rest behind. His words (“I cannot believe you are sorry if you do not show me, Helena”) rang in her head now and lingered bitter on her tongue. They were from another time, spoken first in another language entirely, but in Helena’s head they were so rife and so visceral that he might as well have been in the room. 

“Show me,” Helena echoed, much quieter, more coaxing. “I hear your words but I need to see them too.” 

She wouldn’t let it hurt Helly the way it used to hurt her.

Helena shook the stinging feeling of a palm on the back of her head, that suffocating trapped tingling that made her want to gag on nothing at all, and smiled at Helly once more. 

“Show me you can be kind.” 

Helly took her hands gently then, like she might have thought Helena was made of porcelain, like she was afraid she might shatter if she handled her too hard. Helena all but held her breath as Helly lifted her hands toward her mouth, as her lips kissed at each of Helena’s knuckles with languid care. She was soft, the same sort of soft she was in the first minutes of wakefulness when she was still folded up and pressed into Helena’s side.

There were always a few moments of quietude that were warm like the sunshine of late afternoon that still clung to Helena’s fleeting memory. Warm like it only ever could be when the sky was orange and invigorated by the very thing that could kill Helena without trying. Helly had dredged that memory up, one of a day spent at the lake with her husband nowhere to be found. One she thought she’d forgotten. It had called to her like a wordless earworm, a melody she couldn’t place. It had taken two weeks of Helly carefully nestled next to her, warm and malleable, for Helena to finally pull the memory from the depths of her mind. 

Her kisses felt like that very sunshine had on her skin. A feeling Helena never in her centuries of lightless life thought she’d ever get again. 

So as not to disturb the careful placement of feather-light kisses that had begun to move up from her knuckles to her right arm, Helena stayed perfectly still. In all honesty, she wanted to pull Helly into her arms and hold her there for a while, apologize for how harsh she’d been and tell her she would do her best to make her happy. She didn’t. 

Helly smiled up at Helena when she reached her right elbow, then resumed from her left elbow moving downward. No one had ever been so outwardly affectionate to her, not this way—only Helly had ever truly shown her care. It was strange, but not unwelcome. By the time Helly had made it halfway back down to her left hand, Helena was already craving more. How quickly the unfamiliar turned addictive. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Helena said. Her voice was raspy, muddled by thick saliva that she swallowed quickly. “You’re forgiven.” 

“Thank you,” Helly nodded. She grimaced a moment later when her stomach growled. “I—”

“I know, darling,” Helena assured her. She reached for the flask and opened it, held it toward Helly as she took her by the back of the head. “Drink.” 

Eager and impatient, Helly’s knees fell to the concrete and she leaned forward. Her tongue jutted out ahead of her lips as she neared the flask, practically begging Helena without words to tip its contents into her mouth already. Helena obliged, allowed the thick blood to flow past Helly’s lips. 

She watched Helly’s eyes as they widened in recognition, confirmation that Helena hadn’t just been goading her when she’d said the blood belonged to Helly’s failed victim. Helena expected her to spit it out, braced herself for more resistance, but nothing more happened. Instead, Helly’s hunger seemed to deepen, her eyes darker and more desperate as she swallowed three mouthfuls in quick succession. 

Perhaps she wasn’t as averse to this life as she tried to convince herself she was. 

Though Helena adored the sight of Helly so possessed, she lowered the flask. “Slowly now,” she murmured. “Not too fast or you’ll get a stomach ache.” 

Helly’s brow furrowed as she released the rim and stared up at Helena. “Really?” 

“Yes, silly girl,” Helena laughed. She used her thumb to clean up a stray smear from the side of Helly’s mouth, then realized it was attached to the blood crusted to her face from before. “Especially when you’re this hungry.” 

Helly licked her lips. “Slowly?” 

“Slowly.” 

She let Helly drink again, tutting quietly when she got too carried away. It was sweet to fall back in tandem this way, to brush aside the strange tension and power struggle in favour of something familiar. Helena felt things repairing as Helly fed, felt the resentment seep into the unforgiving concrete to rot away forever. 

She’d never had this with anyone before. Never before had Helena been granted quiet understanding, unconditional forgiveness. She wasn’t even sure she had it yet; it was hard to know what Helly did in earnest anymore, what parts of her were real or just put on for show. There was still healing to do, pieces broken off that wouldn’t just click back into place. Helly would make it up to her soon enough. 

“That’s all I’m allowing you tonight,” Helena said, once Helly had finished. “I do hope you understand that I’m doing this in your best interest.” 

Helly looked at her for a long while, scrutinizing as if she were trying to determine if Helena was telling the truth. It was dark, so Helena couldn’t be completely sure, but as she screwed the top back on the flask and stuffed it back into the corset she thought she saw Helly’s lips twitch into a smile. 

⟡

It took twenty minutes to clean the dried blood from Helly’s face. Helena worked a washcloth over her skin over and over with a gentle touch, careful not to irritate the blooming bruise on her cheek, until it disappeared. The water in her bowl had turned pink with it, stained just like her trust. 

Helena tried not to think about her own reluctance to buy into Helly’s good behaviour. She’d been so sweet, willing and pliant since their partial and longing reconciliation in the cellar, but Helena still wasn’t sure. Her skepticism burned, skin turning to pins and needles each time she was reminded of Helly’s perfidy like it was her own fault somehow. Deep down Helena knew it was, in some twisted way. She’d failed Helly somewhere along the way and it was up to her to pave the way to absolution. 

“You’ll sleep with me again tonight,” Helena said. She was speaking to Helly, but it came out like she was reminding herself of something. “Back to normal, right?” 

Helly nodded her agreement and Helena smiled, cupped Helly’s clean cheek and resisted the urge to squeeze. Then she actually did squeeze when Helly leaned into the contact, nuzzled against her palm as her eyes fluttered shut. It was late already, and Helena could tell without a doubt that Helly was exhausted. She liked Helly this way, less sharp and a bit hazy around the edges. This drowsiness, the kind Helly fell into before bed, was very different from the yawning warmth of post-sleep. This one was almost accidental, coming from a place so deep it could only surface when Helly had been hollowed out from the day. Helena was never sure if she meant to be so sweet, if the lingering touches and soft, dreamy eyes were meant for her or purely symptomatic, but she knew Helly too well to entertain her anxieties to the fullest. 

Somewhere at the core of all this, Helena knew there was truth. 

It helped with the doubt, with remembering why she’d done all this. For this Helly. 

For herself. 

“Do we have to try again right away?” Helly asked then. 

Helena had wandered away, was slowly removing her jewelry and letting each piece fall into its assigned place. She saw the key she kept for Helly’s room in there among her necklaces and stared as she replayed the question in her head. 

She didn’t look back when she spoke, though she knew Helly was watching her. 

“Why do you ask?” It wasn’t an answer. 

“I’m afraid.” 

Helena knew it to be true, of course, had seen it in her face and heard it in her voice, but the admission made it real. More real than she was prepared for it to be. She dug her right fang into her tongue until it ached and she tasted her own blood and unclasped her necklace, stalling. 

“I understand,” was all she said; decisive and true, though unhelpful. 

“Were you ever afraid?” 

“A long time ago,” Helena replied simply. She neglected to mention the fear she felt now, the fear she’d been feeling each day since Helly arrived. 

“So you know what I’m feeling?” 

Helly was pushing, seeking something in Helena’s history she couldn’t put her finger on. She turned and raked her eyes over the young girl perched on the edge of her bed, at the dated cotton nightgown and the mussed curls atop her head, at the way her hands were shoved beneath her knees and the way her legs swung. 

“Sit like a lady,” Helena said quietly, an echo from a time long before Helly she hadn’t intended to voice. “I suppose I do.” 

In truth, she didn’t know. No one had been there to care for her the way she cared for Helly. After she’d been turned, her maker had fled, gleeful to have infected her with himself this way. She’d been abandoned in yet another moment of need, a mess of fallen skirts and blood all over the floor of her bedchamber. 

She’d had to teach herself to feed the next night, when the hunger had grown so bad she thought she might die. She hadn’t stuck around to see the turmoil in the estate when her awful husband turned up dead in his bed the next morning. 

The memory of his taste in her mouth, filling her senses in that foul way he so often did, still made her stomach turn. She’d thrown it all up in the garden as she fled. 

Helly was so lucky not to have been burdened with such horrible things, to have been freed from her material life and granted immortality so peacefully. It was almost hard not to resent her for it—Helena might have if she weren’t the one responsible for Helly’s comfort and happiness. 

That, of course, was also the reason why guilt teemed in her throat the way it did. As much as Helly resisted, this was her failure foremost. She’d punished Helly for her ingratitude already. 

“I’m not upset that you’re afraid, darling.” 

Helly’s head tipped sideways the way Helena had grown to expect. Instead of elaborating, Helena crossed the space between her dresser and the bed, half-expecting Helly to flinch as she approached. She didn’t. 

“Untie my corset.” 

Deft, dutiful fingers reached for Helena’s waist without hesitation, finding the ends of the ribbon and working the knot Helena had tied thrice over in an attempt to keep it tight. It would have been easier for both of them if Helena turned around, if she let Helly see the back of the garment, but she didn’t. She might have if Helly’s tongue hadn’t immediately poked out from between her lips, if she hadn’t stared right up into Helena’s eyes as if she were begging her to notice her obedience. 

“Good girl,” Helena purred. 

She let her hand come up to pet the back of Helly’s head, stroking her hair as Helly worked blindly to free her from the tight cinch of her dress. In her obsession with dressing Helly for her eyes, primping her like a doll she should keep in a display case, Helena had overlooked the intimate nature of allowing herself to be aided the same way. She liked it, maybe just as much as she liked treating Helly like a mannequin for her extensive collection of carefully curated outfits. 

When Helly was finished, Helena kissed her cheek right where her ring had collided with the bone. She wouldn’t apologize for the injury, but she could let Helly have that. 

Helena’s back was turned again when she returned to Helly’s question. “I anticipated a certain degree of fear, darling. That’s not why I’m disappointed in you.” 

She heard Helly shifting on the bed behind her, but she didn’t look back. Instead, Helena busied herself peeling her dress off, letting it fall to a heap on the floor, and picking a soft pair of pyjamas from her drawer. 

“You were needlessly cruel to me in that house. After everything I’ve done for you, feeding you, clothing you, caring for you while you resist my kindness, you were mean. I doubt that you tried very hard at all to learn, and it was a slap in the face to see how ungrateful you are.” 

Though her words bit, her tone remained soft. It was rare for her to be so in control of her emotions, to allow the recollected anger to simmer without boiling over. When she finally turned back around, Helly was frowning. She’d drawn into herself, head drooping and shoulders slumped. 

“Careful of your posture, sweetheart,” Helena prodded gently. 

Helly’s face was downturned when she looked up and pulled her shoulders back, tears brimming in her waterline. “I’m very thankful for your kindness, Helena,” she said. 

“I know you are, somewhere in there, but you do a poor job of showing it.”

When the tears spilled over, Helly’s face crumpling with the sheer force of her grief, Helena abandoned the mindless tidying she’d been busied by in an effort to appear disinterested and returned to the bedside. Her chest ached as Helly cried, leaning into her arms before she’d even offered them. 

“Sweetheart…” 

Helena rubbed her back with a gentle hand, soothing her as her body shook. She hadn’t meant to make Helly feel so bad, had merely wanted her to understand where her anger came from. She’d succeeded, but at what cost? 

“You’ll be better, won’t you darling?” Helena pleaded. She cupped Helly’s face then, pulling away to wipe the incessant tears with her thumbs and kiss her mottled cheeks. “Say you’ll be better.” 

“I will,” Helly murmured, mouth thick with saliva. “I promise.” 

“Good girl,” Helena cooed. “My sweet Helly. As much as you hurt me, I, too, was mean, and I’m sorry,” Helena murmured, still clutching Helly’s face. Their foreheads were pressing together now, and wide, wide eyes stared back, hopeful and sweet. “Let me make it up to you.” 

Little lines formed between Helly’s brows then. “How?” 

A laugh lilted from Helena’s mouth, dark and deep and dripping with something unspoken. She dropped her hands from Helly’s face, satisfied with the way her tears had dried, and wrapped around Helly’s slight waist. There was a possessive edge to her touch, one that even Helena herself recognized as she palmed Helly’s body, but she let it be. She wanted Helly to feel it now, awake under her touch for once. 

“Let me make you feel good, darling.” 

She was speaking so close to Helly’s face that her words reverberated off Helly’s lips, entered her mouth as it dropped open. Surprise, then understanding as Helena licked her lips. 

“You don’t need t—” 

“Shh, sweetheart,” Helena murmured. Her hands were moving down now, down Helly’s thighs as she reached for the hem of her nightgown. “Nonsense, I want to make you feel good. I’ve done it before, you know.”

Her gaze had fallen to Helly’s legs, and she didn’t look up as she pushed her hands beneath her skirt. Helly’s skin exploded into gooseflesh then, the small bumps following Helena’s touch as it moved deeper. 

“I—” Helly gasped— “I know.” 

Helena’s breath hitched on the way in and she looked up, looked at Helly’s to find her cheeks flushed red and her chest heaving. “You know?” 

“I wake up to your…” Helly looked away, turned her head as the flush spread down her neck, “inside me sometimes.” 

Helena’s grin was toothy, thrilled and ravenous. “It feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” 

Still refusing to meet Helena’s eye, Helly shook her head. If Helena hadn’t already known she was lying, she might have been offended. Instead, she leaned in, kissed Helly’s cheek once more. 

“Come now,” she cooed. She kissed down Helly’s neck and then bit down on her ear lobe. “Don’t be shy, tell me you want it.” 

Helly’s eyes squeezed shut before she nodded. “I want it.” 

And Helena kissed her. Properly. Took her by the neck and kissed her slowly, tongue easing into her mouth as it bowed open in welcome. Finally, finally, Helly was giving this to her consciously, at last her deep seated desire had surfaced. Helena’s chest thrummed with excitement when Helly kissed her back, her soft hands falling to her silk-covered waist, warm and pleading. 

She’d never kissed anyone this way before, not once in her centuries of experience had she been handled so gently in return. Helly melted into her the way she did in sleep and leaned into her the way Helena had only ever dreamed she would. Her hands were still on Helly’s thighs, and she let her fingers dig into the flesh there, soft and malleable under her touch. When she let her fingertips dip down, further between them to where she knew she’d find her wet and waiting, Helly moaned into her mouth. 

“Lay back,” Helena mumbled, lips stumbling on Helly’s clumsily. “On the pillows.” 

It was frantic, Helena awkward as she clambered up after Helly, chasing her and pouncing as soon as she made it onto the mountain of pillows against the headboard. She bracketed her hips with her knees, egged on by Helly’s wandering hands as they covered her body in tingling warmth and slipped beneath her clothing. She was moaning now, too, the sounds swallowed by Helly’s eager tongue the same way she swallowed Helly’s noises. At times, in the heat of it, as she felt her own thighs dampen with a recognition of Helly’s need, she couldn’t quite tell which one of them had made the sound. 

She felt herself integrating with Helly’s body, her mind winding itself around Helly’s until they were blurry and inseparable. It was then that Helly’s hips canted upward, chasing Helena’s touch implicitly as it had begun to do each time they crawled into bed together. 

In response, Helena let her hands drift. They’d been resting on Helly’s face, holding her in place, but she couldn’t wait any longer now. She moved them down Helly’s body, tracing the sides of her like she was trying to memorize the curve of her waist and the gentle dips on each side of her hips. She planted them there, pinching and toying with the thick fabric of her nightgown until Helly broke away from her lips, breathless. 

“You don’t need to, Helena,” she said sweetly, so modest and giving. 

Helena just smiled. “You need it, darling girl.” 

She crawled backwards then, freeing Helly’s thighs from the limits of her knees as she eased herself onto her stomach between them. She picked up Helly’s legs by her calves and eased them over her shoulders before pushing her skirt up to her hips. 

Her cunt was dripping. There was a wet spot on the back of her skirt—Helena watched as she dripped, watched a drop of arousal run down and stain the fabric. 

“Fuck,” she mumbled. “You’re so beautiful.” 

Helly’s face was red again when she looked up, embarrassment clouding the pleasure she’d seen in her features only moments before. Helena mouthed at her thigh in consolation, coaxing her back to the moment with wet, saliva filled kisses to the sensitive flesh close to her cunt. 

“Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart,” she cooed. “I’ve done this before.” 

“I know,” Helly breathed. “I’m sorry.”

Helena nipped at her thigh then and watched as Helly squeaked. “Don’t apologize. Just let me make you feel good, okay? Relax…”

That was all she said before leaning in, before laving a line up Helly’s cunt with her warm, wet tongue. When Helly moaned, uninhibited and loud, Helena knew it would be okay. She did it again just to hear the noise one more time, then again for good measure. Helly’s clit twitched with each one, begging her for attention that she gave it a moment later. 

Helly’s head was thrown back by the time Helena secured her lips around her clit and sucked, body overcome with long-awaited pleasure. Though she’d gotten it in her sleep and at times awake, Helena knew this was the first time she’d truly feel it in its entirety. She didn’t tease, didn’t drag it out, just let Helly ride her pleasure out on her tongue. 

When Helly’s hands came down to her hair and pulled—much more roughly than Helena should have allowed—she eased her fingers inside and felt her come around them. 

She made her come twice more just like that without a break, wringing every last drop of pleasure from Helly’s body until she passed out, asleep against the pillows. Helena just stared at her like that, cunt pink and swollen and wet, body limp and inviting, for a long while as she licked her fingers clean.

She tucked Helly into bed after, planted a kiss on her cheek and bade her goodnight. Satisfied, more truly than before, at long last.

Chapter Text

Helena woke to a warmly lit room questioning if she’d fallen asleep with the lights on. It happened sometimes, usually when she stayed up too long reading, but not at all since Helly had taken residence in her home. Though—it wouldn’t have surprised her. She’d been so exhausted the past few days. Her eyes burned as she blinked the sleep and shock out of them, vision blurry and unadjusted. She missed the warmth of her pillow when she lifted her head, then, with a jolt, realized she was missing Helly’s warmth, too. 

She sat up quickly, panic setting in as she stared at the empty spot on the bed next to her. This had been her biggest fear since Helly arrived, even worse now that she knew escape wasn’t the only thing on her mind. 

“Helena?” 

Helly’s voice. She turned her head toward the sound, confused and frantic as panic buzzed across her skin. Helly was sitting on her chair, legs tucked up beneath her with her sketchbook in her lap. It was a new addition to the collection she kept in a box next to the bay window bench in the library, a gift from Helena she’d used copiously in the weeks since she’d received it. 

“Oh.” It was more of a sigh than anything, an exhale of a breath she felt tensing each and every muscle in her body. “I’m sorry, darling. Good morning.” 

The greeting was something silly she’d picked up from Helly. She’d never had anyone around when she woke, and had always found referring to the late evening as morning to be ridiculous, but so long as it pleased Helly she’d go along with it. 

“Good morning,” Helly said sweetly. “Lay back down now.” 

Helena bristled. “Excuse me?” 

“I’m drawing you,” Helly laughed. Quickly, she flipped her sketchbook around, barely leaving Helena enough time to catch a rough sketch of her sleeping face. “Can I finish?” 

Helena thawed at that, the brief offense she’d taken at Helly’s tone melting into flattery in an instant. “Of course, sweetheart.”

She lowered herself back down to the pillow and closed her eyes. The backs of her eyelids were a pretty orange colour, almost like Helly’s and her hair. She tried not to move, breath kept shallow, as she listened to the faint scratch of Helly’s pencil against the thick page. 

She’d gotten used to the sound. It faded into the background of a lot of Helena’s days, blending into the monotony they shared. It was almost domestic, if she ignored the glaring differences between this life and one Helly might have expected to be living. She hoped Helly appreciated the similarities, the slow days spent together that melded into one long stretch of comfort. 

She hadn’t had an incident since the first and only time they’d tried to hunt together, after all. Helena hoped to keep it that way, had been delaying the inevitable since in favour of doting on Helly a while longer. 

“Have you drawn me before?” Helena asked then. 

It wasn’t something she’d wondered before, an impossibility before this moment from her perspective, but now, sitting extra still for Helly to sketch, she couldn’t help but be curious. In her travels, Helena had been painted, drawn, sculpted before, but never so intimately, so personally. She was familiar with the process, the stillness required, but she’d never felt so exposed.

She liked it. 

Helly’s pencil stopped moving. “A few times when we’re in the library,” she offered. “You’re always smiling at the page, I dunno if you know you’re doing it, but it’s sweet.” 

Helena hadn’t known. It was strange to be told something about herself by someone who’d only known her for a short time. There was little she hadn’t learned over the years, few things that got by without her noticing. As much as it unsettled her, she felt her cheeks warm, pleasantly bashful. 

“I didn’t know I did that,” she replied simply. “Would you let me see the sketches?”

“Maybe.” 

“Will you let me see this one when it’s finished?” 

“Maybe.” 

“What if I show you one of my paintings?” 

“Yes.” Helly’s reply was a giggle, as if she’d gotten what she’d wanted. 

“You could have just asked, you know,” Helena said in feigned annoyance. She peeked from behind her eyelids and rolled her eyes when she saw Helly smiling cheekily. 

“Close your eyes!”

“I am!” 

“You weren’t.” 

“Fine.” 

A beat passed. Helena heard Helly’s pencil meet the page once more, but her pace was slow, almost pensive. 

“Would you pose for me? Besides this, I mean.” 

Oh. “Of course I would, sweetheart. I have things for you to paint with, too, if you want.” 

Helly didn’t reply, but Helena didn’t push. She’d seen the makeshift studio space in the corner of Helly’s old room, newspaper covering the floors and palettes scattered across an uneven folding table, her easel floating out far enough to catch the light from the window. 

She’d imagined that last part, a stretch from the orangeish lamplight Helly’s perpetually uncovered windows let in. It was nice to picture Helly in her element—she wanted to see it outside her mind’s eye soon. 

Helena’s own paints were in a bin somewhere in storage along with her plethora of finished paintings and half-bare canvases. They would surely be dried, but she’d seen Helly reinvigorate second-hand materials enough times to know she’d make do just fine. She didn’t tell her any of this, though, just laid still and let herself be sketched; a pleasure she hadn’t known she’d missed. 

⟡

Helena rifled through a fifth chest. She’d all but torn through the storage room, wooden lids open on containers scattered across the floor left as evidence of her frustration. She knew her paints were in here somewhere, though she couldn’t remember where. She should have gotten around to organizing the bins when she still remembered their contents, but it had turned into one of those tasks that was easier to ignore than address. 

It wasn’t her fault that the moving crew she’d hired were inept. Had they listened to her instructions (“Lightest ones on top!” and, eventually, “I won’t have myself crushed under these due to your incompetence!”), she wouldn’t have been in this mess. She’d been careful to pack her art supplies with proper padding, and knew that in a perfect world they should have been easy to find, but she couldn’t really trust anyone but herself on that front, she supposed. 

She sighed and threw open the top of another. 

“Is this yours?” 

Helly’s voice startled her just slightly. Too quickly, Helena whipped around, turning quickly on her heel until she was facing Helly head-on. She blinked, then noticed Helly holding up one of her old pieces. 

On the canvas, in oil, was one of the first and only portraits Helena had ever done. As time passed, she found it increasingly difficult to paint people she knew she’d lose, those who would disappear into the folds of time as she continued unscathed. This one, though, had been painted when she’d been young enough to be optimistic. 

The painted woman had striking hair—strawberry blonde with streaks of silver like Helena had never seen before. Even centuries later, she had yet to come across someone else so unique. At that time she’d still cared enough to mingle among people, and she’d seen the woman first late at night on her way home from a play. 

She’d recognized her from the audience—the one seated close to the front who had been so engaged that Helena found herself paying more attention to her than the lanky young man on stage goading Macbeth into killing the king. She’d have rather seen this woman up there acting it out, and now, in retrospect, was saddened that she would never have gotten the chance. 

“Her name was Harmony,” Helena said, adjusting for Helly’s modern ear. “Our paths crossed one night after a play at the Globe. She was in the street recounting the lines better than the boys onstage.” Helly’s eyes bugged out of her head, and Helena just laughed. “I told you I’m old.” 

“She’s beautiful,” Helly redirected. 

Smooth—Helena couldn’t tell for whose sake. “She was.”

“Did she pose for this?” 

“No,” Helena answered. “I couldn’t risk bringing her into my home—”

“So you were anal back then, too?” 

Helena barked a laugh. “I was careful, thank you.” She glared at Helly and watched her swallow a smirk. “I just remembered her face.” 

And still do.

“Did you feed on her?” 

“No,” Helena said firmly. “I did consider turning her, but it seemed cruel. She had a family.” 

“Right.”

Tension settled momentarily, like Helena had said something wrong. It irked her, just slightly—she’d taken Helly before she’d had the chance to concern herself with such frivolities. Family was temporary. This was forever. 

She was put off, just a bit, something strange buzzing between her ears. She half expected something to crash down around them, proof of the dysfunction she feared, but no such carnage befell them. Anyway, she’d been vulnerable enough, given Helly enough to chew on, so she turned back around to resume sifting through the bin behind her. 

“Now let’s find you those brushes.” 

⟡

Helly was sipping blood from a straw Helena hadn’t even known she had. She’d found it lying in a drawer, perhaps something she’d taken out of curiosity and since forgotten about completely. It was white with red stripes, but every time Helly sipped the whole straw darkened to burgundy. Helena watched it happen, smirked just slightly at the sight, amused. 

“You’re wobbling again,” Helly mumbled. 

“Speak up,” Helena scolded halfheartedly. 

“Stand still.” 

Touché.

Helena was posing for Helly now, standing in the centre of the empty space off the end of her bed on a box and a few books. She’d allowed Helly to pick her clothes—a simple merlot-coloured dress with a square neckline, a basque waistline, and long skirt that drowned her slender legs. Helly had pinned up the front of the skirt, exposing the black beneath it, to reveal her tall black heels and her, quote, ‘great calves’. 

She had her arms picked up, hands clasped in front of her, and her legs crossed. Helly had turned her just a bit so her shoulders were square to the corner, but told her to look right at her. They kept catching each others’ eye and smiling, laughing if one of them remained stubborn. 

Her ankles ached. More than usual. She was used to the burning in the soles of her feet and the strain in every joint of her lower half, but this was worse. Standing still exacerbated the discomfort, made it throb with each beat of her heart until it was the only thing she could focus on in between the bursts of light conversation Helly had been initiating. Helena steeled herself, cleared her throat gently as she licked her teeth and refused to sway. She was good at this, at shouldering the pain and pretending like nothing was wrong. 

It had been drilled into her in her youth that her pain was symptomatic of her existence. Her first pair of pinchy, ill-fitting high-heeled shoes had been forced onto her feet at seven, her first menstrual cramps at thirteen, the consummation of her marriage some time after. All necessary evils allotted only to the fairer sex, consequence of her birth. Inevitable. 

She’d been spared the pain of childbirth, the splitting agony replaced by a different sort of birth as she herself died and returned, but her turning had been painful just the same. Helena still wore high heels almost daily, a habit she couldn’t shake, the heels of her feet on the floor an unfamiliar and disquieting feeling she just couldn’t shake. The stiff corsets and tight hairstyles, though, she often did away with, replaced well enough by the hunger she wasn’t sure she’d ever tame. 

Somewhere along the way, long ago—before she’d been turned, she was sure—the pain had become integral. The suffering was in her DNA, woven in between the light of her eyes and the fiery colour of her hair. Her eternal life was eternal suffering in equal measure, a punishment and a gift as most things turned out to be. 

Helly wouldn’t suffer the same fate. She stood two feet flat on the floor, full stomach, loose clothing. Her cheeks were still full, a layer of fat still sitting low on her stomach. Helena was glad to spare her from the persistent dread. 

Her stomach growled then, a nauseating response to her thoughts.

“Are you hungry?” Helly asked. Her sweet face, rounder in the cheeks than Helena’s had ever been, peeked around the easel with a frown etched onto it. 

“No.”

That was that. Final. Unquestionable. She’d learned that tone early. It had been her governess’ favourite, imparted onto Helena from overuse. Though she could barely fathom it now, there had been a time when Helena, too, had been curious just like Helly. She’d been full of vim and vigour and dreams for a long while, longer than she should have been. She wasn’t that girl anymore, too old and too refined in her experience to justify such frivolity, but Helly could be. In fact, Helena hoped she would be. 

If she kept Helly guarded, shielded from the outside world without Helena’s express presence, she might be able to keep her that way forever. Her precious pearl, her innocent darling. 

Saliva rushed into Helena’s mouth as Helly took a long sip from her glass. 

This was the first time she’d been allowed to eat on her own, Helena always involved in some way or another, and Helena told herself that was why she was so fixated on the syrupy red dripping down the inside walls of the clear glass. She watched with rapt attention as she drank again, mouth filling with it before she swallowed visibly. The bob of her throat as it descended into her stomach was downright provocative, too visceral even from ten feet away. 

She sniffed, allowed herself to bring a hand up to her face and scratch needlessly at her nose in a feeble diversion. Her tongue swiped across her bottom lip, teeth aching, as she lowered her arm back into position. A stray drop of saliva escaped from the corner of her mouth and dripped, falling from Helena’s chin before she’d even registered its existence. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, wiping at the moisture with an inattentive hand. “I was in a bit of a reverie.” 

Helly narrowed her eyes at Helena then, almost accusatory with how piercing her gaze became. “Sure…” 

To Helena’s relief, Helly didn’t push any further. She quieted, stilled, picked up the brush she’d laid idle on the tray and gathered more paint in the stiff bristles. Helena watched, a welcome distraction that pulled her out of her own head and away from her tender body—even if only for five minutes at a time before a cramp in her stomach threatened to double her over at the waist. 

Each time it happened, her ankles wobbled, heels shaking just so beneath her weight. It wasn’t unusual to sway, slight modifications to the pose always inevitable in these scenarios, but Helena knew if these persisted for too long that Helly would notice. She already had, brow furrowing just so whenever she caught Helena’s hands twitching as she resisted the urge to both clutch her clenching stomach and throw her arms out for balance. 

She never did either. Helena had too much self-control for that, the only skill she’d ever been consistently praised for. All she could count on was her complete, unwavering authority over even her most primal instincts, body at her mercy for better or for worse. 

It had been more than a week since she’d eaten, though, she realized amidst another all-consuming pang of hunger. Her schedule had been thrown off for the past two weeks thanks to her own overeager need to please Helly. She usually went out every two nights, give or take twenty-four hours depending on how hungry Helly was, but she’d been so adamant on keeping Helly in bed that she’d forgotten to go out. Since then, she’d been out of whack. 

Last week, she ate a day late, delayed by her adjusted schedule. She’d told herself it was just one time, that in seven days she’d allow herself to feed again. It had been ten, and she wasn’t due to hunt until tomorrow. 

She felt lightheaded then, unsteady as if her muscles had been waiting for acknowledgement of their lack before giving out. Her knees went this time, buckling completely, and Helena fell forward, off the makeshift pedestal she’d been standing on and onto the floor where she barely caught herself upright. 

“Helena!”

Humiliation glowed bright and hot in her gut, and she hurried to compose herself as soon as she was sure enough of her footing. “I’m fine, Helly,” she snapped. Then, she shook her head and said much softer, “I’m alright.” 

“Are you sure? If you’re uncomfortable we can change the way you’re standing, or—” 

“I said I’m fine, darling,” Helena assured her, infusing her voice with a feigned lilt in hopes of it coming across as laughter. She looked up at her, attention torn from the way she’d been smoothing her skirt, and smiled. “Just clumsy, is all.” 

It was a bold-faced lie, the complete opposite of the truth and Helly would know it. Whether she’d be called out on it or not was the real question; Helena braced for impact. 

“As long as you’re sure,” Helly replied reluctantly. “I’m done the shape anyway. I mean, it really wouldn’t change much if you sat down for a while. Or you could take a brea—” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Helena laughed, “I’m f— fuck!”

Just as Helena had lifted her foot to step up onto the stack, her vision went black. She missed and tripped, stumbling forward blindly on a pathetic yelp she was sure had already burned itself into Helly’s memory. 

“Shit, Helena.” Helly caught her, forearms stable and strong as she clutched onto Helena’s waist. “What’s going on with you? Are you sick?” 

Helena protested the help, tried to squirm away, but Helly was stronger than her like this. Her defenses were down, body weak and incapable, so she couldn’t fight it when Helly lowered her gently to the floor. 

It was strange to be held this way, to have Helly’s muscular thighs under her head as she slowly regained the half-consciousness she’d lost. The tables were turned, and Helena had never felt more vulnerable. 

“I’m sorry, Helly,” she murmured. The first thing she saw when her vision came back was Helly staring down at her. “I promise I’m fine.” 

“You’re not.” 

“Just help me up, I swear I’m—” 

“Tell me what’s going on,” Helly pushed, somehow kind even with the urgency in her tone. 

“I haven’t eaten in a while,” Helena said, unable to fight her prompting in her fragile state, mumbling it in hopes Helly might mishear her. Or maybe she was just too shaky to speak right. “But it’s really fine, I’m going out tomorrow, and—” 

“Bullshit.”

“Wha—” 

“Bullshit. You’re not fine.” 

Helly lowered Helena’s head to the floor and stood, abandoning Helena where she was laying helplessly on the floor. She was out to sea, dizzy and nauseous and floating away, the watery tendrils of unconsciousness threatening to pull her under. 

Helly had disappeared from her periphery, but her footsteps echoed, audibly distancing, and Helena wondered if she might die. For the first time in centuries, Helena feared for her life. 

It was a sickening feeling, visceral and nauseating and entirely overwhelming. Her cheeks were wet, eyes brimming with the useless water left in her body that did nothing to sate the scraping hunger—not even as she licked her lips, tongue dry, and tasted the salt did she feel relief. 

Desperate. 

The beat of an empty heart pounding in her ears, veins constricting around nothing at all, collapsed in on themselves as they pushed whatever blackened sludge remained in her sorry body. How quickly it all went south. How quickly Helly gave up on her. 

She would have felt betrayed if she’d had the energy to do anything but stare straight up at the glistening chandelier hanging down from the ceiling. 

“You’re crying.” 

Helly’s face above her, getting closer. She was frowning, her brow knit as if in concern. Empathy. 

Helena’s face scrunched at the prospect, at the whiplash of being proven wrong so suddenly. Wet warmth squeezed between her eyelids, quivered beneath her eyes, and she made a sort of whining noise she’d never heard herself make before. 

“I’m sorry,” she said again, compulsive and desperate. “Please forgive me, Helly.” She was rolling feebly onto her stomach now, hands grappling at hardwood, mumbling under her breath as her ears rang. “Forgive me for the harm I’ve caused this world—”

“Helena.” 

Helly…

She was at her side again, sitting close enough to hoist Helena by the underarms until she was laying against her. She was warm, so warm, and her skin was so soft…

How could she have ever doubted her? 

“Drink.” 

Helly’s words were distant, almost worlds away. They drifted like feathers into Helena’s ears, soft and light and pure, and Helena obliged. 

She parted her lips when she felt Helly tap at her mouth and felt the straw settle on her tongue. 

“That’s it, just drink.” 

Helena listened even though it desecrated the very nature of their relationship. She was too out of it to argue, feverish in her hunger. The flavour of salt and iron exploded across her tongue, more intense than she’d ever tasted it before, and she moaned loudly, hands coming up to clutch at Helly’s around the glass as if she might take it from her. It was a paranoid fear, one that made no real sense, but in that moment it was Helena’s biggest concern. 

She drank quickly, too quickly. She knew better. Her stomach hurt when it began to fill, shocked and momentarily paralyzed by the sudden nourishment. 

Helly must have noticed her wincing, because suddenly her saccharine voice was dancing in the air toward Helena’s ears again, cooing and hushing her as a gentle finger traced the side of her face. “Slowly, Helena. It’s like you told me, right? Don’t wanna hurt your stomach.” 

Compelled and drunk—a feeling she hadn’t had in god knows how long—Helena slowed. She breathed between sips, coaxed by Helly’s murmuring, and let her eyes fall closed. 

This was embarrassing, Helena knew. She’d be overcome and deeply affected by how vulnerable she’d been later, and a nagging sort of regret already itched in the back of her head, but for some reason she couldn’t feel it just yet. It loomed just out of reach, easy to ignore but unlikely to remain at bay; Helena shunned it anyway, let herself bask in Helly’s unnecessary affection instead. 

The straw gurgled once she’d drained the contents. 

“Do you need more?” Helly asked then. Helena could hear her walking on eggshells, the question spoken like she was handling a live explosive. 

She’d indulged so much already. “That’s quite alright,” Helena replied. 

Helly didn’t reply. Helena was glad she didn’t. 

Her strength was already replenishing, the half-serving—for her, at least—of blood had filled her shrinking stomach just enough to tide her over until the next day, maybe even longer. If she could get away with it, she might delay eating another day to be sure. 

Sensation was returning to her body, her muscles fleetingly sore as proof of her deficiency, but her mind was still hazy. Her thoughts moved slowly, molasses on her synapses in a sickeningly sticky coating that just wouldn’t budge. The only thing clear to her was Helly; Helly’s hands, Helly’s body, Helly’s eyes as she looked over her over and over again on a loop. 

It reminded Helena of the way she cared for Helly, the intense doting and the incessant attention. She liked it, felt it filling some of the innumerable cavities she discovered in droves each day she spent with Helly at her side. 

Even so full, she was so empty. 

She smiled then, dreamy and fuzzy as she stared up at Helly’s face. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Helly said. “It’s what you’d do for me.” 

The simplicity of it made Helena’s chest swell, such sweet sentiment wrapped up in plainness, spoken as if it were obvious. No one had ever done anything so kind for Helena, not without an expectation of reciprocation. Her darling Helly… 

“My sweet girl,” Helena smiled. 

She tried to push herself up then, to tuck her feet in so they could face each other, but Helena’s shoe dragged on the floor and she flinched. Stopped. Sucked her cheeks sheepishly. 

“My feet hurt.” It was an admission she’d never have made under any other circumstances, still delirious.  

“You’re always wearing those shoes,” Helly sighed. “If you want to pose again you shouldn’t wear them. I can paint them separately.” 

She’d never been given the option to opt out of discomfort, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Either way, Helena didn’t have it in her to deny it.

“Okay, darling.” 

Helly kissed her lips softly, the first kiss she’d ever initiated, and Helena was worried she had truly died and that this was her reward. She’d take it over the fire and brimstone she was so frequently promised.