Chapter Text
Hélène despised how she hated Natasha. And then hated how she couldn't possibly loathe the young girl. Unfortunately, the charming girl reminded Hélène all too much of her younger self, before she married Pierre and her heart drained empty. Before she resorted to partying to cope with their marriage as Pierre had to drinking. A simpler time. A time when she was happy without having to force it or steal it from others. A time when Marya Dmitrevenya was in love with her. And she loved her the same.
Maybe she really never stopped loving her.
It didn't matter– it shouldn't matter. Regardless of how she felt, it was a well-known fact Marya could not stand Hélène even remotely anymore.
Things changed, Hélène supposed.
She herself changed as well. Yet, Marya didn't seem to change at all, besides the feelings and words she directed at Hélène. She didn't even look that different–maybe more mature; the playful spark in her eyes extinguished years and years ago.
At the Opera, Hélène saw Marya for the first time in months. caught Marya in the corner of her eye, speaking eagerly to the two young girls accompanying her, the spark twinkling back in her eyes. But reality sunk and the second time Hélène peaked back Marya’s eyes returned to looking serious, sharp, alert. It stung, too, a particular factor that frustrated Hélène greatly.
Why did she still care about this?!
Marya always seemed to be on her mind. Hélène tried to push her thoughts away, yet Marya herself was a fighter; she shouldn't be surprised the mere memory of her continues to embody that vigorous spirit. The very thought gave Hélène the motivation to at least hold a conversation with the Great Dame of Moscow.
This will bring closure, either way, this’ll stop my constant thinking of the damned woman regardless of how this goes.
Slinking through the crowded theatre, Hélène made her way towards Marya and company. A large middle-aged man in a military uniform blocked Hélène’s path. She stood on her tiptoes to peer over his shoulder. Only coincidence or fate could explain it was at that very moment Marya looked in that very direction and her eyes locked with Hélène’s. With the ferocity of a thousand dragons, Marya’s ice grey eyes bored into Hélène’s dark brown ones, with such an intensity it could make a grown man weep.
It was a good thing Hélène was not a grown man.
Never one to back down from a challenge, Hélène stared back, playfully batting her eyelashes. Marya glared back until she finally looked down to one of the young girls accompanying her pulling gently at her sleeve. The girl speaking to Marya was quite beautiful, her melodious voice floated over the crowd as she animatedly talked to Marya.
That must be Marya’s Natasha….charming .
Hélène remembered when Marya first found out about she was to be a godmother. Oh, even then she already adored her Natasha! The other girl standing next to Marya remained quiet, or perhaps her lips were moving but her voice was too soft to hear.
Natasha’s gaze flittered over to focus on Hélène.
“All that neck...all those pearls,” she gasped in awe.
Allowing small smirk to play upon her lips, Hélène gave a small nod to the girl.
“So beautiful… what a charming young girl- so enchanting,” she purred.
A bright blush crept across Natasha’s face.
Just as Hélène decided to spark a conversation with Marya’s beloved goddaughter, the man who was previously standing in front of Hélène walked away, creating an accessible gap through the crowd. Before Hélène could saunter over, Marya gracefully charged through the gap.
“Countess Bezukov,” she stated firmly.
Hélène felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle at the sound of Pierre’s— her surname. Marya was set in her old-fashioned ways so perhaps she did not intend to hurt Hélène as much as she just did.
Regardless, Hélène felt uncharacteristically vulnerable for a fraction of a second as the name rolled off of Marya’s tongue.
The dame turned back to the girls in introduction.
She waved an airy hand at Hélène. “Pierre’s wife.”
Marya craned her neck, her eyes searching. “And where is dear Pierre?
“He never used to forget us–”
“Oh, yes! Pierre that good man, a little sad, a little stout.” Natasha interjected.
Hélène widened the faulty grin plastered upon her lips. “He decided to stay home and study tonight.”
“He must come visit us!” insisted Natasha.
“I will implore him to do so,” Hélène let out a small laugh and gazed at the girl in admiration.
Marya pursed her lips and glared at Hélène.
“There's a woman one should stay away from,” she warned, shooting a dagger into Hélène’s heart.
Swiftly, she guided the two girls away, wrapping a protective arm around Natasha.
Hélène ignored the burning sensation in her throat. No one said closure would bring disclosure as well.
She decided to wait.