Work Text:
Prevailing
It was a completely normal day.
Birds had just begun to wake, uttering their plaintive cries before they would have to start singing. Dew droplets had frozen to the window, frosting the glass. It was almost like staring into a fairytale for Kya, who watched the twilight evolve into morning.
Kya was a vision, captured in a moment any artist would dream of. Her soft skin was bathed in the first morning rays, introducing the subtle tinge of her flesh to a picture of black, whites and greys. The gleam specifically caught around the gentle curve of her bare shoulder, giving her a natural halo none would ever see. Her forehead rested against the cold glass as her flint coloured eyes captured the small intricacies of the morning outside. Sunlight kissed her cheeks; caressed the gentle slope of her jaw and the expanse of her soft throat down to her collar. The shadows of her raven hair only emphasised the ethereal glow of her skin, shading her so perfectly one might find themselves unable to discern her from a classical painting. It was where she appeared to belong; somewhere that the moment could be captured forever. Yet, nobody would. Not this morning.
She kept her bare legs tucked underneath her, propping her up on the window seat as she watched the morning continue to evolve. She admired the steam rising from the footpaths and flowerbeds as the sun peaked higher. It was something one might see in a horror movie, the cheap steam effects, yet nature offered something far more peaceful. The serenity wasn’t ruined by the occasional early jogger, nor the early commuters in their suits on their quest for coffee before a gruelling day at work. More colour was introduced as the cars began to pass, rolling merrily down the roads with hopeful drivers. Maybe if they were early they’d get a better parking space. From the backs of the tall buildings bins got pushed out into the street and to the garbage trucks, manned by workers groggily trying to erase evidence of their visit before the population of Chicago awoke.
Indeed. It was a perfectly normal morning. It was almost a pity that Kya already knew it was going to turn into an exhausting day.
It wasn’t idle fancy or pessimism which dictated Kya’s belief. No, it was a slow crescendo. It was a belief born of weeks living beneath the cloying storm clouds, with every day that little bit worse. Every day, she had survived with the heavy feeling of dread building in her chest, pulling at her mind until the need to fix what was wrong in her galaxy became all consuming. Even then, Kya realised she could not do a single thing to prevent the storm. All she could do was be sidelined and watch, waiting for the lightning to strike before she could put out the flame. Waiting was agonising in the worst sense, not only for Kya, but for Helena as well. As horrible as Kya knew the storm was going to be, she was well and truly ready for the rain. For the wait to be over.
It had started out as something entirely mundane. Something millions of people did every moment in the Winter months. Shivering. Indeed, Kya had noticed how Helena shivered more and more frequently, despite the fact her magic kept her comfortably warm. The shivers did not stem from bursts of wind, or the seemingly ever-falling obese droplets of rain that blanketed Chicago. No. These shivers stemmed from words; syllables that sounded just a touch too familiar. Words spoken in just the right way, at just the right time. The structures of sentences did not matter, not once Helena’s ears had picked up that first sound. As time went on, it had only gotten worse. Soon, touches were met with flinching, as if physical contact scalded Helena’s pale skin. Skin which quickly became covered in too many layers. Between magic and fabric, Helena suffered unbearable heat daily. It was not uncommon for Kya to discover sweat drenched clothing neatly folded on the bathroom counter, and Helena standing beneath an icy spray of water. Never fully undressed, Kya noted.
Things had disintegrated even further than that. Helena began to lower her gaze, lower her voice and her expression. Her face was the same impassive mask Kya had seen in the courts. There were pauses between responses; words carefully chosen as to not offend. Her sentences were kept short. The less she said, the less she could be punished for. Then, Helena started to remain silent, unless spoken to directly. Never disagreed with those perceived in power. Then, ceased expressing personal opinion. She parroted the response she believed people wanted, even going against her own views for some individuals. Anything to please them. Only the softest, most desperate mumbles of opinion escaped her. Unconscious pleas that Kya leapt to serve before Helena could attempt to retract her words with a fearful apology.
It came later than Kya had expected. Even though she’d been braced for it, nothing could stop the American from flinching as if she may leap out of her skin once the pained, fearful scream broke the quiet morning.
Amidst a sea of dark cotton sheets sat Helena Klein. Well, “sat” was overly generous. Too peaceful for the dreadful scene Kya bore witness to. Not a single muscle in Helena’s body was still. Those muscles that didn’t actively move twitched beneath her clammy skin; a vicious undercurrent to the harsh paced breaths and half formed screams that followed. Words were mutilated by a constricting throat, scattered through breaths so fast that it seemed that retaining air would be impossible. Strong shoulders that often bore the weight of worlds had collapsed inwards, caving around a heaving chest. Ample breasts were noticeably crushed by Helena’s knees, which she had drawn to her chest. Knees, thighs and ankles all pressed so tightly together that pale skin turned colourless beneath the pressure of her tightly locked hands.
Kya knew the strength of those legs. She had spent years watching the vicious kicks in combat, or how they cuddled the sides of a horse. How Helena could march for an entire day, then bare the weight of another in her lap during more tender moments. It tore at Kya’s heart to see them now; trying to forge an iron wall to keep hordes of invasive trauma at bay. To keep someone out. It was the little details of the scene that scarred Kya’s mind. Helena’s ankles rubbed together, never crossing. She couldn’t afford the split second her tangled limbs might cost if she had to kick. Or flee. Toes curled, gathering the sheets beneath them, clawing to the vestige of safety. If her feet were beneath her, she wasn’t on her back. Wasn’t bound. Wasn’t prone for the following torment.
“N-haaah gaah! K-” Helena’s gasped syllables continued to break Kya’s heart. Helena was always an eloquent speaker, with a rich accented voice which never failed to enthral. Kya was almost certain that Helena could read a phone book and still have the American population swooning. Her words were carefully chosen and sincere, her dialect often reminiscent of the most classical poets. She crafted each sentence with purpose, seemingly on instinct. Words were so important to Helena. In every spell she crafted, in every heated whisper or soulful plea. Helena had been robbed of her voice many times, sometimes literally. To watch such a powerful woman, a warrior, robbed once more was perhaps one of the harshest things Kya had ever been forced to witness. And forced she was. No matter how she wished she could tear her eyes away, the horrific beauty kept her captivated. To look away would be a crime unforgivable. A betrayal to every promise Kya had ever whispered in the face of terror and shadows. At the time, Kya’s words had been the spark. They had bolstered the ember of Helena’s hope, allowing it to burn once more. To cast a glow that kept the darkness at bay. In truth, Kya knew that they would again. Eventually, she’d be able to utter those small promises and comforts which she had bound her soul to. For now, however, Helena was not the only one stripped of words.
Oh, how Kya longed to speak. She longed to lunge into the fray, sword raised against any who would harm Helena. If only what tore at Helena had form, then Kya could help beat it back. Not only could, she would. She would tear at every monster with her bare hands if only to give Helena a moment of respite. Alas, Kya could not move. Her hands were not designed to capture shadows, no more than a sieve was designed to capture water. However, her hands could cast shadows. Could create corners for the danger to hide. At this time, Helena’s mind could not decipher between pale and bloodless. Between the chipped nails of a working woman, and the talons of an evil Queen.
Kya wished beyond anything that she could approach, that she could wrap herself around Helena; become a shield against the night terrors. That the warmth of a loving hug would be enough to drag Helena back to reality. It was human instinct to offer physical comfort to those you cared about. This could never be, however, much to Kya’s pain. At the moment, Helena was gone. Trapped in a vestige of her past. A touch as light as a dove landing on one’s shoulder would likely be received as if it were the talons of a hawk. And words? Helena would not, could not hear words. Not when her demons roared and chanted for the blood of her innocence. Blood which had already been let from Helena long ago.
Tears poured silently down Kya’s pale cheeks; starting out blazing hot, only for the lingering trails to become colder than ice. It took effort to endure, to resist the ever-growing urge to rub at her sticky eyelashes and stinging eyes. As much as Helena was trapped in her past, she was still aware of the present. If Kya moved it would undoubtedly draw Helena’s attention. A hand raised to wipe away tears could be received as a hand raised to strike. The first of many blows Helena would have to endure if she couldn’t escape. Weak as she seemed now, Helena was a warrior. She would fight against any perceived threat, and right now she would take the entire world as a danger. Including Kya.
“Please... no... no. Please. Please, please, please! No! Not- NO!” The first coherent sentence Helena managed to utter drew a soft sob from Kya. So, it was that kind of terror. Helena’s first coherent sentence let Kya know the tone of her flashback. What type of Helena’s pain Kya would most likely be soothing. Were Helena to utter an apology, Kya knew it was guilt she would have to focus on. That Helena was tormented by the faces of those she had been forced to hurt or had hurt in her defence. Those she felt did not deserve their fate at her monstrous hands. Helena had been older then, perhaps broken enough that her mind had split and protected her consciousness from the worst of her deeds. These were the easiest to comfort, the mildest of her attacks. Pleading took several tones. Sometimes it was for forgiveness, for failure. Trying to soften the blows of punishment she never deserved. In these cases, Kya had to reinforce Helena had done nothing wrong. That she was not a failure. Whilst bad, Kya had almost perfected turning all of Helena’s degrading logic back on itself. Words were powerful enough to cut through, though it was often Helena herself to came to the conclusions. Kya’s validation was enough. Then... then there was this. The worst type of begging. The memories of when Helena had been reduced to a living toy for sadistic desires. The pains inflicted had scarred so deeply that a decade had not soothed them. Helena had been so young, so vulnerable when this had started. Her mind twisted in such cruel manners that she had thought this violation love. A love she had wholeheartedly returned. There was no reason to these. Nothing Kya could say to soften the fact that, to begin with, Helena was consenting. Helena would not always hear that she had been conditioned. That someone had abused their knowledge and power over her to make it seem like she was asking for the abuse she received in place of affection. Logic could not pierce these murky waters every time, if logic was welcomed at all. In this case, all Kya could do was wait until Helena came back to herself, then allow Helena to feel in control of their interaction.
It hurt. As if Kya’s chest was slowly inflating with blood. The pressure increased until Kya half feared her chest would explode like an overfilled balloon. Every breath was wet and gurgling as Kya drowned in her own tears. People often threw the insult of “animal” at someone eating with their hands or unruly children. Kya could almost laugh at them. None of those people knew what an animal truly was. She doubted that they’d listened to a graceful woman speak of times she was forced to eat from the floor for simply misspelling a word, or for begging the pain to stop after hours of knives across her skin. That they’d seen a woman who’d fought to save others reduced to a clawing mess in her own bed, soaked in her own fluids. They’d never watched a human gouge their own skin with short nails, desperately trying to clean their soul by tearing tainted flesh away. By bathing in their own self drawn blood. Kya doubted they’d ever have to help a near unconscious woman into the shower, then detangle a rat’s nest of moonlight hair. Surely, these people didn’t have an emergency box to help lure a human out of the deepest pits of fear. It was laughable they’d compare someone speaking with their mouth full to someone stripped of their humanity the ways Helena had been, the way her traumatic panic attacks continued to do.
Kya couldn’t help but acknowledge the burning behind her neck. It was almost like a twinge that crept along her neck to the base of her skull. Physically, it never changed, yet the emotional stabs that followed were akin to a knife stabbing into her brain. What right did Kya have to feel sorry for herself? To hate how powerless she felt whilst Helena went through this? Yes, it hurt, but this wasn’t about her. Kya only had to endure this when Helena’s body no longer could. But Helena? Helena dealt with this every day. Helena had survived horrors most people couldn’t comprehend, yet here Kya sat, feeling sorry for herself because she couldn’t be the angelic hero? Was she really so immature? Was her saviour complex so all-encompassing that it had to become her identity?
Kya took a breath to calm herself, barely noticing that the room had grown quiet. No, she reminded herself. It was not self-centred to feel pained that she could not help the person she loved. Her pain for Helena’s suffering was not born of a sense of failure, nor was it rejecting that Helena might never stop having such episodes. Kya had accepted that almost the moment their relationship had begun. Helena’s pain was part of them, even if they wished otherwise. It wasn’t for Kya to fix or change. This was why Kya watched every attack. Not out of some misguided hope to cure Helena like some miracle worker. Not because of some comforting words whispered in an effort to soothe. But because loving Helena meant accepting these attacks as part of life. It meant respecting that Helena’s trauma was never going away, no matter how far Helena came. The trauma left behind was part of Helena, just as much as the whip scars across her back. Kya was never going to ignore or deny its existence. Instead, she lingered to balance it. So that, when Helena called, she’d be there to soothe the pain. To give Helena a moment where the world was not on her lone shoulders.
Another breath. Quiet. Only the softest sound of hurried breaths, short and sharp. It was a sound reminiscent of a little girl in a horror film hiding from the monster; that suspended moment of horror before the music burst to life and the villain appeared right beside the helpless victim. The act of lifting her head to watch Helena felt akin to stretching a rubber band between one’s fingers, just waiting for the elastic to snap and all hell to break loose.
At least Helena looked softer now. If Kya was a ghost in the pale morning light, then Helena was an angel with shadows wings curling around her. Moonlight blonde hair tangled around her flushed face, complimented by the gleam of teeth peaking from naturally darkened lips. Shallow lines roamed her entire body, evidence of her own nails raking across her skin. The angel had defeated the demon this night, given only the crescents at her ankles even bled. White had turned to grey over Helena’s torso, her shirt damp with sweat. All this was insignificant to the oceans of sapphire blue which fought to reclaim the space invaded by blown pupils. Even with eyes filled with fear, something resembling clarity lapped at the thin ring of colour, a sharp awareness that pierced through everything once Helena’s gaze landed on Kya.
“Kya?” She seemed to plead; voice scratchy from how long she screamed. It was the first step, the sirens song that infused Kya’s limbs. Limbs that aimed to betray her as she began to rise to her feet.
“Mistress?” that word tasted foul on Kya’s tongue. It was not a playfully uttered word, nor a lovingly granted title. It was a test. A trigger. It was a risk, calculated for but a second. Kya loathed what she did, as she did every time. Unfortunately, it was the safest of two evils. This let Kya better understand the nature of Helena’s terror without having to directly ask. A breath. The tilt of a confused head. A steady blink. There was no flinch, no hiss. That helped. Wherever Helena had gone, it was more recent. It was not where consent was murky, where Helena would blame herself. It had been later, where Helena had no longer had the will to fight. A place Helena had dragged herself out of to protect Kya. The American could work with this, it meant Helena wasn’t at her lowest. She could handle the next step.
“Helena. Can you tell me where you are?” Kya requested, her mind silently pleading that Helena could follow the task. This was a distraction, a simple thing to redirect Helena’s focus to her environment instead of her memory. Once Helena had reassociated, it was safe to approach. Before then, the risk of Helena panicking again was too high.
“Bed… the sheets are dishevelled.” Helena’s response was almost as painful as a blow to Kya. Too short. Not precise enough. Still at risk of escalating. Kya swallowed, watching as Helena’s head turned around the room, eyes feasting on every small detail. Kya couldn’t quite decide if Helena was more like a meerkat scouting, or the calculating wolf. Whether she was still prey, or if she was a huntress attempting to lure her prey closer before striking. Was she the refined beast, or herself?
“That’s good, Helena. Would you please tell me where this bed is?” Kya had to praise. Lure Helena into a more rational state. The way Kya’s heart was pounding in her chest felt as if she were baiting a leopard. One wrong step and Helena could lash out. Or rather, Helena would slip back into that darkness nipping at her heels. Kya didn’t know which possibility was worse for Helena.
“Our residence… home. I’m inside, aren’t I, Kya? I see the window.” Helena’s words were slow, controlled with each breath she took. No longer did she take in the environment, or rather not with turns of her head. Instead, her eyes focused on every reflective surface, watching the doors through shadows.
“Yes. I am at home. You’re here, Gentle Heart. We are safe.” Helena’s gentle realisation earned a breath of relief. This was good.
“Yeah. We’re safe, Helena. What do you need? Do you want me to come closer?” Kya kept her questions neutral, avoiding any implication of her own desires. If Helena thought it was what Kya wanted, she was likely to agree to anything. A state that had been beaten into her, then abused. Kya refused to take that opening, refused to let Helena give that surrender. Kya had seen Helena’s conscious surrender, those moments she allowed herself to be guided or controlled. Where the fortress welcomed another. After seeing those precious moments, how could Kya even dream of taking a manufactured one? How could she violate that sacred trust?
“I am not certain… I crave having you near... But... hands...” She never voiced the request, letting the lack of actual words hang between them for the fraction of a second.
“Not a problem.” Kya was almost too eager to agree, her smile calm and radiant as she began her slow approach. It wasn’t hard for her to put the pieces together. There were only two reasons Helena would ever wish for Kya’s hands to be bound. One was quickly excluded, given the mood. Obviously, whatever had haunted Helena this time had included having her hands bound. Ankles too, judging by the scratches.
The carpet was soft beneath Kya’s feet, comforting every step until she reached the foot of the bed. There, she waited, allowing Helena to process. She watched the blues of Helena’s eyes grow clearer, shifting from instinctual panic to remaining fear. From the belief she was in danger, to merely adrenalized. Helena’s body trembled, having nowhere for her energy to escape. Nowhere but fidgeting with the sheets in clenched fists. Words were not needed as Kya dropped to her knees, intentionally keeping her smile calm, touched with her typical goofy affection. By now, she didn’t need to look to know where the special box was. A box she dragged into the light.
To anybody else, the box would probably cause a flood of confusion. The assortment of objects did not belong together in any coherent world. On top of the pile lingered silken rope, coloured to match a rainbow and soft enough it would not leave marks behind on Kya’s flesh. Beside it, several bottles of water, of which Kya took two, along with a tube of cream. After this, she froze, calculating the other objects. The goofiest sleep mask she had ever seen, with large cartoon eyes drawn across the outside. A small length of leather, thick and dented with human teeth marks. A pen, filled with glossy blue ink, chewed down the length of the pen. Several small notebooks, each with different covers. One was covered with faux fur, whereas another was woven with sequins that depicted stars in the night sky. A children’s picture book telling the tale of a kitten chasing a ball of yarn. Beside the books, a small recording device, complete with a headset. The headset appeared to be able to be connected to another device, a music player of sorts. Several assorted kitchen utensils were tucked besides a miniature cricket bat, along with a stone that had been sculptured to replicate a basketball. Finally, a thick blanket was folded at the bottom, supporting the contents of this box.
“Rope. Cream. Water. Anything else?” Kya asked in her usual cheerful voice. This wasn’t something scary for her. This was the relief after the storm, where she could find her joy. Finally, she had ability to be useful. She could finally bring some form of comfort. Helena didn’t speak for a while, long enough for Kya to pop the supplies on the bed. She knew Helena was actively thinking, given the crease in her brow. An expression that often fell into something Kya couldn’t name, but she knew it would mean Helena was actively hating herself again. Actively judging the methods they were using.
“I’m so sorry, Kya. This isn’t natural. This can-”
“Don’t.” Kya gave her gentle yet stern warning, silencing the blonde.
“Helena, I give my full consent to this. You are not forcing me or doing anything I wouldn’t agree to. Right now, I wouldn’t care if this was illegal. This helps you feel safe and doesn’t hurt anybody. Besides, people pay to watch hot women tie up other girls. It can’t be that bad, right?” Kya tried her best to remain calm and serious, she truly did, but her mouth ran away with her. At her end statement, Helena gave a weak laugh, shaking her head in bemusement.
“More to the fools whom share such moments.” She commented shakily, reaching to take the supplies Kya had provided. With a soft gesture of her head, Helena invited Kya closer. The American kicked the box aside and walked to Helena. Before she could stop herself, her hands reached out to brush erratic strands of Helena’s hair back into the winter gold mass. The briefest touch of silk was addictive, enthralling even, but the closest to touching Helena she was willing to come without verbal consent.
“Are you saying you wouldn’t want to share?” Kya taunted, offering her wrists to Helena. The touch of rope barely registered compared to the warmth of Helena’s clammy hands. Too warm. To the point of hot. Still, the touch was so gentle and lingering, as if Helena was taking a moment to simply feel Kya’s heartbeat. A finger resting along the veins of Kya’s wrist before rope embraced her forearms. The silky texture was hardly foreign, nor trapping. Somehow, what was often considered something erotic was actually calming. It removed the chance her hands would wander into a triggering location, removed the possibility of mistakes. It also gave Helena a task, something to focus her keen mind on along with her dextrous hands. The series of knots were too dizzying for Kya to even dare to watch, instead she focused on Helena’s face. On how the blue was winning once more in her captivating eyes.
“You overestimate my generosity, if you truly believe I would share my soul in such a way. I would sooner see it in your hands alongside my heart, than exposed to the leering of others.” Helena’s answer was predictable, yet it still brought a large smile to Kya’s face.
“May I touch you?” Kya’s question was delivered tenderly. The words were not thoughtlessly blurted, not as they had been in the past, yet it didn’t make them any easier to contain. For everything Helena needed in that moment, Kya too had needs. The need to be closer, to soothe the tormented soul before her. Words were not enough, not when she had an array of senses to feed. She needed to be useful. To feel Helena begin to settle. To know the storm, for now, had passed.
“Of course. I am alarmed it took you this long to voice such a desire.” Helena voiced her thoughts with an arched brow a moment before Kya playfully lurched forwards. The American rested her forehead to Helena’s blistering shoulder, ignoring the feeling of sweat slicked skin in favour of cuddling closer.
“I wanted to make sure you were ok first. That was a longer one.” Kya confessed, unable to lift her head to look into Helena’s eyes. All at once, she was too aware of Helena’s pounding heart, of the feeling of static between their bodies. For a time, Helena did not speak. She simply wrapped her arms around Kya’s smaller frame, pulling the girl into her lap. Helena squeezed Kya’s body to hers, treating Kya like a child might treat their most treasured teddy bear. The warmth of the gesture was enough to fill the silence, to lull both women into a sense of comfort. Helena’s chin eventually came to rest over Kya’s shoulder, her head tilted so that her temple rested against Kya’s midnight locks.
“How long?” Helena eventually broke the silence, lifting her head so that she could gaze at Kya’s face. Of course, she wouldn’t allow herself to miss Kya’s reaction. Wouldn’t spare herself the pain of seeing what her condition had done to Kya. A quick glance towards the clock gave Kya her answer.
“Twenty minutes after you woke. But you started tossing a few hours ago.”
“Hmm. That explains the exhaustion I am suffering. Are these too tight?” Helena’s voice was softer, lowered enough that Kya would have missed the words if she had not been hanging on Helena’s every reaction. Experimentally, Kya gave the ropes a tug. As expected, they did not give an inch. Kya’s wrists in the loops were hardly required for the bondage to hold its shape, yet they found belonging simply enough. The ropes reminded Kya of Helena’s grasp, firm but never painful. Gentle, but unmistakable.
“Not at all. Digits are all functional.” Kya dutifully reported, wiggling her fingers playfully as Helena delivered the end of the rope between Kya’s waiting palms. All it would take was the slightest pull and the knots would come undone. For all Helena’s fear, she still tempered her own need for safety enough to grant Kya hers without needing to be asked. All that truly kept Kya bound was her own desire and willingness to be. It was, perhaps, what their relationship boiled down to. For every illusion they cast of Helena’s dominance, there was always an escape, both immediate and gradual. Helena always left herself vulnerable, even when she needed to be shown she was not. The rope, merely a trick to her layered mind. A sign of utter trust.
“I would loathe for that to change.” Helena jested weakly.
“Oh. So, you want me for my hands. That isn’t a lesbian joke of old.” Kya sighed, shaking her head in mock dismay as Helena chuckled. It was soft; low and rough in her throat, but it was a start. It was enough for Kya’s smile to become even more radiant. Warmth embraced her, lulling Kya to close her eyes as she left her hands extended. After a moment, the ropes around her wrists slackened, Helena changed the knots. Bound them. Undid them. Repeated the pattern.
“Alas, my wicked schemes are laid bare.” Helena quipped. It was touching, that Helena fought her exhaustion enough to try. Even after everything, she chose to fight. To fight every shadow in her mind, every demon devouring her from within. Her short nails dug into what remained of her humanity, and she clung with all her might. A small joke here, or a gentle smile after the exhaustion of another war within.
“It’s ok to be bare, Helena. I’m not about to run. Remember, I am not afraid of what was done to you. This is just part of us, and I wouldn’t trade us for anyone else. I’m here, no matter how many nightmares you have.” Kya sighed, turning her own head to watch Helena’s expression. She already knew what would happen. Yet, no matter how many times one watched the Sun rise, the beauty never diminished. It was the same now, for the expression Kya knew Helena would try to give her. No matter the actual result, the effort was beautiful. It was wholehearted. For this, Kya would gladly miss every sunrise.
“That, Gentle Heart, is my only salvation. That you stand by my side.” Helena sighed, her lips twitching into an almost hollow replica of a smile. That was alright. Eventually, Helena would give a genuine smile. Mischief would dance in her eyes once again, even roughen the timbre of her voice. Eventually that husk would be intentional, not a by-product of a sore throat. Until then, Kya was satisfied to keep smiling. To keep offering whatever she could to bring Helena back towards her humanity. To the land of the living.