Archive of Our Own

Helena was used to losing people.

Helena was five when her pet mouse died; her mother and father couldn't bear to tell her the truth. They had attempted to replace it with a similar one, but she noticed the difference. She was seven when her father went off to fight in the Polarian war; her mother had warned her that he might never return. She was eight when her Grandad Jamie died of consumption; she could never forget the look on Grannie Florence’s face at his funeral. 

She was nine when her mother received the news that her father became a prisoner of war. Her mother, Catherine didn't take the news lightly, and because the Marleybonean military had no plan of saving her father, William, she took matters into her own hands. Her father and her new uncle John Russell, or “Lucky Jack,” were back in Marleybone a few months later.

Helena was used to losing people, but when she was ten she gained someone new. She gained a little sister, Neille. She remembered waiting in the parlor of the Templeton house with her Uncle late at night, far past her bedtime. She remembered hearing the screams of her mother as Jack tried to ease young Helena’s anxieties. She was prepared to hate the child that caused her mother so much pain as she was finally ushered to her mother and father's room, but then she saw her. 

When she laid her eyes upon the baby girl, all of the hate melted away. Her mother held out a baby girl within a bundle of white for Helena to hold, and she did. She held her little sister like a porcelain doll, like she was fragile and could break if held incorrectly. Neille had beautiful gray eyes like herself and her mother, and wisps of strawberry blonde hair like her father. Neille smiled at her and reached her miniature hands out to grasp Helena’s finger. She was so small her whole hand could wrap around her pinkie finger, Helena smiled back at her.

She was going to protect this girl, she was going to protect her sister if it was her last action in the Spiral, she swore upon the name of the good Queen.

Unfortunately, Helena’s luck didn't last long, and her streak of losing people took three more people from her. Her mother, father, and Uncle had all died in an unfortunate shipwreck only a month before she turned fifteen. She hoped and prayed for months that they would turn up back home one day, but hopes and prayers cannot undo death.

She and Neille were forced to move into her aunt and uncle, Ethel and Fredrick Griffith’s manor. And while Neille quickly became loved by them both, Helena was less lucky. She lacked the typical grace and poise of most girls her age, but her aunt was quick to mend the situation. She removed any trousers and “boyish” tops from her wardrobe and replaced them with ankle-length skirts and blouses. She was placed into a strict routine of lessons on manners, elegance, fashion, conversation, and violin. She hardly had any time to spend with her sister as her aunt made sure to keep the two as separate as possible, but Helena found a way.

Helena would sneak out of her room at night and find her way across the manor towards her younger sister's room and tell her stories of their mother and father. She made an oath and she was determined to keep it, even in the face of her cruel aunt Ethel.

When she reached the age of eighteen, and her sister eight, Helena requested to follow in her mother and father's footsteps and enlist in the service of Marleybone’s royal navy. Her aunt promptly refused, without much reason as to why. But Helena soon found it was because Ethel had found a suitable match for her niece. She planned to pawn her off into marriage as soon as she turned twenty-one and so benevolently let Helena know in advance. Helena of course objected to that horrid idea, but her aunt would hear none of it.

Helena was left with two options, to be wed to a man and be forced unwillingly into the role of the dutiful wife, or to run away. Her largest conflict lay with her sister, if she stayed, she could protect her from her aunt and uncle, but if she left, she could not. She stewed over this for the months up until she reached the age of nineteen and made her final decision the night before her birthday. She would not marry, she would not become what her aunt wanted her to become.

That night she packed a bag with a few changes of clothes and anything else she felt she might need, along with a few sentimental items. One is a silver hair comb her mother had gifted her. Another is a key on a leather string given to her by her father. When her bag was packed, she snuck across the manor towards her sister's room, and found Neille wide awake, despite the late hour.

Neille looked at her sister, looked at her packed bag and her travel cloak. The young girl lowered her head, “You’re leaving, aren't you?”

Helena sat her bag down and came to kneel in front of Neille, “I must Neille, if I had a choice in the matter I would stay, I promise I would.”

Her younger sister frowned but didn't protest. She threw her small arms around her sister’s neck, “I’ll miss you,” she sniffled.

Helena wrapped her arms protectively around her, “I’ll miss you too.” She carefully let go and reached behind her neck, lifting the key necklace from her neck and putting it around her sisters. “Keep this with you, wear it at all times, and no matter where I am, or what I am doing, you will know that I am always with you. Know that I will always protect you.”

“No matter what?”

“No matter what.” Helena smiled, taking her sister into another hug, possibly the last one she would ever receive in the years to come.

She left that night after she tucked her sister in goodnight and left a kiss on her forehead. She booked passage on a ship destined for Valencia. She would say she never once looked back, but that would be a lie.

By the time she turned twenty, she had joined and quickly risen through the ranks of the Armada. Catching the “eye” of its spymaster, Deacon, along the way. She had a gift for espionage, and he had calculated it would be a waste for someone with that potential, although human, to slip through his fingers. 

So she stood at attention in front of the clockwork elite, taking deep breaths to calm her erratic heart. She found herself grateful for the plain white volto mask, which hid her face from the world. Usually, she found it constricting, but in Deacon's presence, it allowed her to avoid the need of restraining her facial expressions.

Deacon studied her carefully, although Helena couldn't see his eyes, she could very well feel his gaze upon her. She stiffened, mimicking the stance of a regular Armada clockwork to the best of her ability, which admittedly, was very good.

“You requested my presence, sir.”

“You have no need of reminding me of my own orders, Templeton,” his cold robotic tone cut her off. 

She straightened, “It will not happen again, sir.”

“See that it does not.” Deacon thrummed his metal fingers on the top of his cane, “You are an anomaly, you are aware of this, are you not Templeton?”

Helena dipped her head, “Yes sir, I am aware.”

“And despite this, you have excelled beyond the expectations placed upon you. If I didn't know any better, I would think that you were no human at all. But unfortunately, we both know the truth of the matter, you are, and will remain human.” Deacon approached her steadily, “An unfortunate flaw, but it can be mended.”

Helena froze. This was a dangerous game she was playing and she knew it, she could very well be killed for speaking out of line. But this is what she had to do to survive, this is what she had to do to get back to her sister. “I don't understand, Sir. You just said I will remain human, so how can that be ‘mended’ as you put it?” She inquired cautiously.

“I need not explain to you that the Armada had created rather advanced technologies. We have found a way to…erase one's humanity, their mortality, in favor of creating the perfect soldier,” Deacon stood less than a foot in front of her now. “Or rather in your case, the perfect spy. Does that not sound like a solution, a mending of the situation you find yourself in?” He cocked his head, probably the only form of expression he was capable of if Helena could guess.

She stayed quiet for a moment, realizing just how little power she had in this situation. She had worked so hard to ensure something like this would not happen, and yet here she was. She didn't have much choice here, either she disagreed with Deacon's “cure” of her humanity and be put to death for disobedience, or possibly they would go through with it anyways even without her consent. She understood in that moment that the only way she ensured a chance to see her sister again was to continue to do what she had been doing: play the game.

“Yes, sir,” Helena nodded, “When do we begin?”

That day she was awarded a higher rank for her “cooperation” and found herself at the right hand of Deacon, moving at his beck and call. Helena was given a new mask, a white and gold volto mask with a black and white checkered pattern, she was ordered to never under any circumstance remove it, or face punishment from Kane himself. 

That day she was given a new name. The Rose .

She didn't know what year it was, she didn't know how much time had passed. Not that it mattered, all The Rose existed for was to complete orders. To accept the high-priority missions without a second thought, and complete them without failure. This mission would be no different; locate and bring back the remains of Castle, and take out anyone who stood in her way.

If The Rose had any questions about why Castle needed to be brought back, as the Clockwork Elite was known for undercover missions, she didn't voice them. She hadn't voiced a question since she put on the mask. She was going to bring back Castle, or face the consequences of failure which in her experience were…less than pleasant. Cruel electric shocks served as a cold reminder of what would await her if she were to fail.

She was perched silently on a rooftop overlooking the busy streets of Florenza. While she was aware of the ever-growing presence of the resistance, they were not her target this day. But if she took out a few if they were to get in her way, that wasn't a loss.

She studied the streets below carefully, as restricting as the mask was she became used to it, it hardly hindered her sight now. If memory serves, she was looking for a young woman with pale olive skin, honey-blonde hair, and heterochromatic eyes, the young woman went by the name of Ophelia Laurier. She had reportedly been the last person seen with Castle before the clockwork went off the grid. It shouldn't be that difficult, the majority of Valencia was populated by Unicorns and Guinea pigs, and humans took up a very small minority of the population. Even fewer had heterochromatic eyes. What a shame, she looked a few years younger than you .

The Rose jerked her head to the side, how many times had she learned by now? Don't think about the mission, just complete it . It’s easier if you just complete it .

Maybe it was a cruel twist of fate, but out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a head of honey-blonde hair, closely followed by a younger teen with bright, snow-white hair. Upon closer inspection, the girl with blonde hair matched the description and image of Ophelia Laurier. Who the girl with white hair was was inconsequential to The Rose, if she got in the way, she would die.

The Rose waited for Ophelia to get closer, readying herself for the leap to the ground below. Fortunately, the two girls did. Good, no chase, fewer witnesses, less clean up . She leaped to the hard cobblestone below as the girls walked into the alleyway between the two buildings. She noticed them both freeze. 

Ophelia turned around slowly, her heterochromatic eyes widening, backing up a step, holding onto the white-haired girl's arm. “You're The Rose, aren't you?”

She didn't bother to respond, only coming closer to the pair.

Ophelia muttered something in the white-haired girl's ear, the girl looked at her and shook her head, but Ophelia’s gaze was stern. The white-haired girl ran down the alley, not that The Rose paid her any mind, she wasn't her target. 

The Rose drew her sparkthrower pistol and aimed it directly at the young woman's chest, “Comply or die,” her voice rang out through her mask, robotic and unfamiliar.

“I’d rather die, thank you,” Ophelia stated defiantly taking a small device out of her messenger bag and launching it directly at The Rose, before promptly booking it down the alley.

The Rose dodged and rolled to the side to narrowly avoid the explosion the device emitted, before dashing after Ophelia in a game of cat and mouse. The girl was swift she would give her that, but The Rose caught up with ease. She aimed her sparkthrower carefully at a lamp post ahead of them both and calmly let it shoot its volts of electricity. The lamp post sparked alive before promptly toppling over, blocking Ophelia as she skidded to a halt, sliding her body to the right. The Rose followed pursuit.

Eventually, Ophelia managed to dodge into another alley, leaving The Rose open to an attack. She slid against the stonewall of the alley, before turning in, her sparkthrower poised in front of her ready to shoot. Ophelia was prepared, setting off a smoke bomb, obscuring The Rose's vision.

The Rose remained ready for an attack trying to keep her eye out for any movement as she circled. She wasn't careful enough, she hardly had any time to react as she felt herself being grabbed from behind and shoved to the ground. Her sparkthrower fell from her grasp and skidded on the cobblestone ground of the alley. She grunted as she wrestled with her attacker, hardly able to see through the smoke. Eventually, as the smoke dissipated, The Rose was pinned to the ground, with her back on the cold damp stone, and Ophelia above her.

Ophelia seemed out of breath as she asked between hungry gulps of air, “What do you want from me?”

The Rose didn't answer, instead, she attempted and failed to switch the positions of the two. For someone who looked fairly dainty, the young woman was incredibly strong.

“You're not going to answer, are you? Seriously at least the others they sent after me would repeat some half-assed Armada propaganda bullshit, are you mute or something?” Ophelia huffed, as The Rose stayed silent. “You're trying to find Castle,” she deduced, “aren't you?”

The Rose still didn't answer.

She saw a flash of anger in the young woman's heterochromatic eyes, “Look if you're going to go through the trouble of tracking me down and making me run for my life you might as well answer me dammit!” 

The Rose hardly noticed the fist coming toward her face, and when she noticed it was far too late to do anything. She felt the hard impact of Ophelia’s first against her cheekbone through the mask. She heard a small snap, and a gasp as she felt the weight on top of her disappear.

When she opened her eyes she saw a look of horror on the young woman's face as her hands hovered in front of her mouth. “You…you’re human” Ophelia stepped back, “You’re not a clockwork…”

The Rose bolted up, she felt the breeze graze her cheek for the first time in who knows how long. Helena raised a gloved hand to her flesh cheek in shock. This wasn't supposed to happen, your mask isn't supposed to come off under any circumstance, YOU’RE MASK IS NOT SUPPOSED TO COME OFF.

Ophelia hesitantly stepped forward, “What did they do to you, why…why are you helping them?” 

Questions upon questions flooded out of the blonde's mouth, falling upon deaf ears as Helena could only hear a ringing in her ears. This girl saw her face, bloody hell she hadn't seen her face in a long time. She had failed her mission, she had let her mask come off , and the only possible way she could redeem herself now was to kill the girl and find Castle another way. Maybe Deacon would be lenient with her then. She thought about the shocks… oh those horrible cruel shocks.

With Ophelia distracted Helena quickly grabbed her sparkthrower in her left hand and her mask in her right, aiming the weapon at the girl's chest. Ophelia looked around behind her for a swift exit, but there wasn't one, it was a dead end, and the only way out was past Helena. All Helena had to do was pull the trigger…but she couldn't. She had everything on the line, her life was on the line, and she couldn't pull the damn trigger.

Helena lowered her sparkthrower slowly and steadied herself against a nearby wall, “Go,” she croaked out. Her voice was tired and weak without the vocoder of her mask.

Ophelia took a step forward to Helena, “Miss, if you need help I could-”

“I said go, damnit!” She shouted in dismay, “Go now unless you want me to change my mind!”

She saw Ophelia hesitate in the corner of her eye, but eventually, the girl scurried away, probably to find the white-haired girl from earlier. Helena took a shaky breath, she found breathing different now that she wasn't wearing her mask. She gulped, trying to calm herself. 

How would she explain this to Deacon? She couldn't, she didn't think it was possible. She would be killed for this, this level of failure was unacceptable. He wouldn't let this stand.

Helena tried to compose herself, carefully placing her mask back upon her face. She was nothing without her mask. Nothing more than a worthless, error-riddled human. That's what she had to remind herself.

The Rose readied herself for the road back to Cadiz, and the cruel eclectic shocks that were sure to come as the price of her failure.

Sure enough, when she arrived back in Cadiz, she was ordered to present herself in front of Deacon to report on the outcome of her missions. The Rose had thought out a way to tell him of her failure to locate Castle, whether he would believe her or not remained to be seen. She was a good liar, but Deacon was better than she could ever be. Per the nature of him being a machine, and she human, despite her rigorous programming .

The Rose hesitated as they reached the door to Deacon's office, her hand hovering over the handle. Her thoughts raced faster than she could process them, and she silently cursed her stubbornly human nature. If she hadn't let Ophelia go, none of this would have happened, but she was soft, and now she had to pay the price.

You could run , the preposterous thought fleeted through her head. No, they would find her, the tracker they had implanted into her made sure of that. And the moment she stepped out of line Deacon would send an encouraging volt of electricity through it no matter how far he was. 

She carefully opened the door and stood at attention in the center of the room before Deacon’s desk. Deacon himself stood facing the window, his back to The Rose. Per how these meetings went, The Rose began her report;

“The mission did not go as initially planned sir,” she admitted carefully, “The subject of interest managed to escape, and I was unable to gather intel on Castle’s whereabouts.” The Rose lowered her head, “I apologize for this unacceptable behavior, and I swear I will find her, one way or another.”

Deacon had yet to face her, but his stance seemed to shift. “How did your target escape?”

The Rose stiffened, “I…” She didn't have an answer, the one she had formulated seemed to have escaped her. “I…” she stuttered.

He turned to face her then, one hand on his cane and the other…she tried not to think about what was in the other. “Do not force me to repeat myself, you will find the consequences of your incompetence to be worse, should you choose not to answer,” she had never heard him this angry before.

She gulped, trying to steady her heart. “I made the mistake of letting her get away, she had managed to…to,” she took a breath.

“To what?” She heard Deacon’s heavy footsteps grow closer.

“She managed to remove my mask, and in my shock I let her get away,” she admitted, her voice trembling even through the vocoder of her mask. “I apologize for my error, it will never happen again.”

“It will not,” Deacon seethed, “not only did you fail to locate Castle, not only did you let your humanly emotions get in your way, but you allowed your mask to be removed.”

“But sir-”

“Do not argue with me, Rose, you were given specific orders to never remove your mask, and failed.” Deacon slammed the end of his cane on the flooring in front of her, causing her to flinch as he cut off her excuse. “You say this will not happen again, but you have failed before and made the same petty oaths. You’re words hold little weight, as I have reason to believe this will happen again without proper intervention. ”

She stiffened, no please anything but that , she wanted to scream, she wanted to run. But her boots were rooted into the floor by the unseen force of fear. So she didn't scream, nor did she run, she only lowered her head, “I understand, sir,” she whispered.

“Remove your gloves and draw your pistol, I will assess the corrections which must be made.”

The Rose fell into the grotesque routine she prepared for. She removed her pristine white gloves and folded them carefully with trembling hands. She had to calm down, she had to be still, she had to be perfect . Fear was human, human’s were imperfect, therefore fear was unacceptable. She stuffed her gloves into the pocket of her coat, clenching her fists to try and will their shaking away, a difficult feat with Deacon examining her every move.

She carefully drew her pistol and fell into her shooting stance as she aimed straight in front of her. Her posture was stiff, her pistol extended in her left hand, her right balled in a fist with her nails digging painfully into her palms as it pressed into the small of her back. No matter how hard she gripped her pistol, her hand would not stop shaking. She bit her lip under her mask, praying to anyone who would listen that Deacon would overlook her small flaw. A useless prayer.

“There are failures within your programming,” Deacon stated robotically, aiming his pistol at her. The Rose knew Deacon’s sparkthrower all too well by now, it contained a higher voltage than the average, and was the culprit behind her torture and torment. “Intensive reprogramming must occur to mend these errors.”

First, he shot her shaking mainhand which grasped onto her weapon. 

Next her arm, then her shoulder, her chest, her offhand, her gut. 

Anything he labeled an imperfection, every error in her programming was shocked with an excruciating pain that spread like pins and needles throughout the rest of her body. She could hardly think, she could hardly see through her bleary eyes. She knew he was making remarks about her mistakes, but she couldn't hear him.

He moved on from her upper body to her lower. Her thighs, her knees, her ankles, nothing was spared. The stinging electricity made her legs go numb, and it took all of her balance for her to stay upright, spiral forbid she fell.  

No part of her body was spared, every time another shot of electricity racked her body, she shook more. She made more mistakes, more errors, and more things in need of being fixed, and reprogrammed. She didn’t know how long she stood there, in that room, she didn't know how long her torture lasted. She tried to distract herself from the pain, to think of a happy place, far, far away from here, but nothing worked. Nothing could distract her from the unbearable pain.

Finally, Deacon ended her torment, with one exceedingly painful blow to where her neck met her spine. Her nerves stood on end as she fought every fiber of her being to cry out in agony. She could taste blood on her tongue from her teeth biting down on her lips. 

Deacon hummed, “An improvement. Store your weapon and return to your quarters, you will be given new orders soon. And do remember, your next failure will be your last .”

The Rose didn't know how she made it out of that room, she didn't know how she made it down winding corridors and to her quarters. Her body convulsed and seized throughout the whole journey, with the walls as her only support. But she did. 

Her door slammed shut behind her as she collapsed to the floor, writhing in unbridled agony. All of her nerves were fried, her muscles ached, her head pounded, and her heart beat unevenly in her ears. She couldn't control her body's movements, she just wanted to stop, every movement she made sent another wave of shock, pain, and agony through her frail frame. 

Unfortunately, luck was not on her side. The Rose felt a wave of nausea pass over her, prompting her to make the painful crawl to her washroom, hardly making it in time. She managed to lean herself from her spot on the tile flooring into the toilet and lift her mask, as she retched into the bowl. 

As she coughed the remains of her bile up she roughly wiped her mouth with her jacket sleeve, before promptly throwing it off onto the tile next to her. She tucked her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, burying her head between them. She just wanted this all to end, the pain, the hurt, the shocks, all of it. She felt her body seize up before convulsing again and whimpered, rocking herself back and forth. 

She felt her mask dig into her knees and grunted. She wouldn't admit it out loud, but when the young woman knocked it off, it felt nice. In that brief moment of panic, she felt freer than she had in the past years. What would happen if she took it off again?

Carefully, The Rose lifted herself up, and with difficulty, she managed. She leaned on the sink counter before her mirror and took a breath, with one hand she reached up and hesitantly removed her mask. 

Immediately she felt the cool air hit her skin, it was…refreshing. Helena risked a glance at herself for the first time in almost three years now. Her skin looked sickly and pale, her sugar grey eyes held heavy darkened bags under them, and her lips were chapped and cracked, still bleeding from how heavily bitten they were. Her dark brown hair seemed mousy and unkempt, even in the tight bun it found itself in. Her figure was frail and thin. It looked like it could’ve been broken like a twig. Electrical burns peeked out from under her collar and cuffs.

She didn't look healthy. 

She didn't look human .

Helena lifted her pale hand to her cheek and winced as she grazed her fingers across her cheekbone, where a bruise had begun to form. She cursed as she noticed her nose beginning to bleed, quickly grabbing a tissue in an attempt to stop it. Her body convulsed once again as she held onto the counter in an attempt to steady herself.

When she felt able to move again, she removed the tissue once her nosebleed appeared to stop. She hesitated, looking at her reflection one more time. Helena placed her mask back upon her face and The Rose stared back at her.

Months later The Rose found herself on the rooftop of a brick Marleybonean building. Her orders were simple: take out the adopted daughter of a Marleybonean Lieutenant who had been causing trouble for the Armada to lessen his resolve. Simple enough.

The Rose lay in wait for her target on her stomach as flat against the stone rooftop as she could, her sparkthrowing sniper poised to aim at the window in the manor of the Lieutenant. She felt a sense of familiarity here, but forced it down, she couldn't make a mistake again, Deacon wouldn't be so lenient after the last time.

Finally, her target appeared, a young teenage girl with strawberry blonde hair sitting at her vanity beside the window. The Rose prepared her strike, peering through the scope of her sparkthrower. She froze, her finger halted in its motion to pull the trigger. On the young girl's chest, lying in front of her heart, was a key necklace. And not just any necklace.

Helena’s necklace, Neille’s necklace.

“Keep this with you, wear it at all times, and no matter where I am, or what I am doing, you will know that I am always with you. Know that I will always protect you.”

“No matter what?”

“No matter what.”

The Rose felt like she was suffocating under the weight of her mask, she threw her sparkthrower down, and with fumbling hands removed the blasted thing from her face. As the cool, damp air hit her face she finally was able to breathe. She stood up and leaned on a wooden box nearby gasping for air.

At that moment she made a choice, the first time she had made a choice for herself in three years now. She would not kill her sister. To hell with the Armada, to hell with Deacon, to hell with Kane himself for that matter. They had taken everything else from her, they would not take away her sister as well.

Helena didn't have much time to act, Deacon was watching her movements through the tracker implanted in her leg, if anything looked suspicious he would act accordingly. She moved carefully, strapped her sparkthrower across her back, and bit down on her mask as she crawled down the ladder on the side of the building. She crept down alleyways, if she remembered correctly, there should be a sewer entrance nearby. Luckily enough, she was right. She took a deep breath before her next step: removing the tracker.

It was a tricky business, the bloody thing had been implanted close to the veins in her thigh. But that wouldn't stop her, after all, she had done, if she died she died. But her sister would be safe. She took off her gloves and tied them together to make a makeshift tourniquet for herself. Hesitantly she drew a small knife from her pocket that she kept for emergencies and bit down on her jacket collar to prevent herself from screaming. And then she cut.

She worked quickly, stifling the urge to cry out in pain. When she found the tracker she carefully pulled it out, though not without severe damage to her leg. She glanced at it with blurry eyes, before chucking it into the sewer drain. Track that, Deacon. She worked quickly to wrap her makeshift tourniquet around her thigh, not that it seemed to do much, the silk material quickly became soaked as her knees buckled beneath her. She leaned against the wall for support.

She removed her jacket and Valencian pendant from her blouse, carefully wrapping her mask and pendant within her coat. There was a bag nearby she had been able to grab as she shoved her sparkthrowers, her knife, and the bundle of her coat within before placing it on her shoulder. 

She limped down the alleyway, her head feeling faint from blood loss, her legs wobbly as she moved. Helena could hardly stay up straight as dizziness and shortness of breath took over. She collapsed to the pavement as soon as she reached Regent Square. She didn't know what happened to her next as her consciousness faded in and out. All she knew was that Neille was safe.

Helena woke up a few days later in an infirmary, she was told by her nurse that she was lucky to have survived. At the rate she was losing blood, if she had been taken there a moment later, she wouldn't have survived. When the nurse asked what happened, Helena shook her head and lied, saying that she couldn't remember. The nurse frowned and gave her a sympathetic look, before asking if there was anything she needed. Helena asked for a sheet of parchment, an envelope, and a quill. When the nurse came back with the items she had requested, Helena hesitated before she began to write;

Neille,

I’m sorry I haven't been able to reach you in these past years. They have been hectic if anything. I cannot give you details now, and you will not be able to reach me until things have calmed down. But I want you to know that I am safe, that I am alive. I also must warn you of a danger coming for you and our Uncle.

Some very powerful people wish him silent and are willing to kill you for this to occur. I know Uncle has friends and allies that would protect you. Please tell him of this, I believe he should understand what to do. Uncle has always been a smart man and a much better person than our Aunt.

Know that I will always protect you, no matter how far I am, and that I love you.

I will try to reach out again soon, perhaps then I will be able to tell you where I reside, but for now, stay safe.

My Regards,

Helena Templeton

When she was discharged, Helena left her letter signed and sealed in the Griffith’s post box. She only stayed long enough to ensure her sister remained safe. After that, she left Marleybone behind once more

Helena was used to losing people, she was used to losing herself. But in the Kraken Skulls tavern at the age of twenty-three, she met someone new and began her journey to find herself along the way.

She sat at the bar, looking at the bounty board for any new rewards she could earn by herself. Turns out she had a knack for piracy, not that she was going to argue. Most bounties nowadays were either items of importance, taking out Clockwork menaces, on ships, and on the occasion other pirates. Helena found herself gravitating towards jobs focused on weakening the Armada, maybe out of guilt, maybe out of spite, perhaps both. But it was her choice.

She called over Skinny Pete, an ironic name due to the man's rather rotund figure, ordering a bottle of Yum for herself before she was interrupted.

“Make that two, please,” a woman's voice with an Avalonian accent, mixed with something Helena couldn't place interjected. She sat down to Helena’s left, the woman turned to Helena and winked, “I’ll pay for both, don't worry.”

Skinny Pete grumbled, “Do you have enough for ‘em this time, Devereaux?”

The woman laughed sitting a faded violet tricorn hat on the counter in front of her, “Of course, I do Pete, what do you take me for, a liar?”

He didn't look impressed and held out a large hand, “If that's what you want to call it.”

She rolled her eyes and pulled out the necessary gold pieces and dropped them into his hand. She leaned back on her stool, folding her legs over one another, “Happy?”

Pete bit into one of the coins and huffed, “Two bottles of yum, coming right up.” He shuffled away as the woman playfully waved him goodbye.

Helena glanced the woman over, she seemed to be only a few years younger than herself. She had long black hair tied up into a ponytail and side-swept bangs that framed her face in a flattering way. She had a pointy nose and peach skin, with charming seafoam green eyes that held an adventurous spark in them to hide the mischievous look in her gaze. She wore a black corset and blouse with a ruby spider brooch on her collar, her coat was violet and held on with several leather belts across her waist. One of which held a sheathed Darkmorian rapier. She wore black trousers with a Quillon dagger strapped to the side of her thigh and purple-heeled boots. She was pleasant to look at, to say the least.

The woman smiled, “Like what you see?” She teased.

Helena defensively rolled her eyes, “Hardly.”

The woman shook her head with a laugh, “Sorry I couldn't help myself,” she held out her hand, “Captain Erin Devereaux, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Helena extended her hand, “Helena Templeton.”

Erin lowered her head, planting a chaste kiss on the top of her hand, “A lovely name for a lovely lady.”

She retracted her hand, she felt her cheeks heat up. She was saved as Pete sat the two bottles of Yum in front of them. Grabbing hers, she took a sip and cleared her throat, “You said you were a Captain, yes?” Helena glanced around the tavern, “Where is your crew?”

Erin chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of her neck, taking a sip of her drink, “I dont have one.” She must have noticed Helena narrow her eyes and quickly added, “Not yet at least, I’m trying to find one. That's why I wanted to speak with you.”

Helena quirked an eyebrow, “Me?”

Erin nodded, “Yes, you! I’ve heard how good you are in a fight, the number of bounties you’ve brought in, and how you never seem to miss a shot. You’re the best musketeer I’ve had the honor of meeting, and I’d love for you to join me as my first mate.”

Helena blinked in shock, “We’ve just met,” she stated plainly, “do you even have a ship?”

“Uh, well, not yet.”

“Then from what I’m gathering, I would not gain much from this exchange. So tell me, Captain , what do I get out of this?” Helena inquired, raising a brow.

Erin was silent for a moment, Helena almost thought she had given up that easily, but she persisted. “Someone to have your back. You’ve been doing jobs alone right?” Helena nodded. “If we go together you’ll have someone to back you if something goes wrong. I’m a swashbuckler, I fight on the ground, you’re a musketeer, you fight from afar.”

Helena thought what Erin said over. That would be nice, to have someone to travel with, to talk to.  

Erin hesitantly put a hand on Helena’s shoulder, “Look you can stay here, finish your drink and move on to your next job, that's fine with me. But this is an opportunity for something more, I can't promise it will be easy, and it definitely won't be safe. But spiral, wouldn't it be fun?” She removed her hand and held it out for her to shake, “So what do you say?”

She didn't know what prompted her to do what she did next. She didn't know if it was the Yum in her system talking. She didn't know if it was the pleading look in Erin’s charming seafoam eyes. But Helena made a life-altering choice in that moment, she took Erin’s hand and shook it.

“I’d say you’ve found yourself a first mate, Captain .”