WHO: Bridget Grant → Helene Aquilla WHEN: Early afternoon of October 21 WHERE: Dunhaven Park SUMMARY: Bridget has her first memory, courtesy of a six-year-old Helene. WARNINGS: Brief mentions of violence, but nothing explicit
The weather had finally turned truly fall and that left Bridget wanting to leave her home and enjoy it, at least before the temperatures truly dropped and the threat of snow would blow into the sleepy town of Dunhaven. Her enjoyment of the weather had led her to the park, where she bought a sandwich from the food truck that had been parked down there and taken up residence at an empty picnic table. The sandwich was good and the fall breeze felt good on her skin as it sent strands of hair that had escaped her braid against her cheeks.
There was a shriek of laughter to her left, which drew Bridget's attention. She nudged her sunglasses a bit further up her nose as she peered in the direction of the jungle gym. On it were a smattering of children, all looking to be around five or six. Their parents were watching from the sidelines, barely paying attention as they talked among themselves and let their children burn off some of their high energy. Watching brought a smile to Bridget's face, even as she took a bite of her sandwich. Memories of years long passed came to mind of playing with her sisters in much the same manner as these children, running around as they played tag or raced across the monkey bars.
As her mind lingered on thoughts of her childhood, Bridget found herself drawn into another memory altogether, one she had never seen before.
At six-years-old, Helene Aquilla knew what it meant to have been chosen to be a Mask. She knew that it was an honor. It was something to be proud of. The fact that she was a girl only elevated that pride, even if she knew it also made it that much harder. She was in the extreme minority, surrounded by boys that viewed her as an easy target and a joke.
Helene had never liked being underestimated. It lit a fire within her. It made her want to prove herself that much more.
Still, in the culling pen, it was easy to feel that fire within her start to sputter. It was a place designed to knock the pride out of young Cadets, an exercise in putting them in their place and eliminating those that wouldn't be able to handle Blackcliff. If they were unable to handle some mud, ridicule, and fighting in the culling pen, there was no chance that they would be able to handle the trials that were to come as a student. There was no chance they would be able to someday succeed as a Mask. Helene was going to succeed. She was determined.
But she knew, even at only six-years-old, that she could not succeed alone. Not yet, at least. Helene needed an ally, someone that would help her, just as she would help him. As she dodged around a fist, her face streaked in mud, her eyes fell on just the boy that she knew would be her ally. Seconds later, she was at his side, ignoring the tremors in her hands that were either from the cold or the situation as a whole. Her pale blue eyes were wide as his gray eyes met hers.
"I'll watch your back, if you watch mine," Helene started, her voice confident despite their surroundings and the situation they had both found themselves in. "We can make it if we stick together."
Back in Dunhaven, Bridget came back to herself. She was still sitting at the picnic table, sandwich in her hand and her gaze fixed in the direction of the playing children. Another breeze touched her skin, sending a shudder through her body as she was reminded of the chill from the rain and the cold wind that swept through the culling pen.
Despite that Bridget had never experienced something like that before, it felt familiar. She had read on the network how some of the citizens of Dunhaven had been having dreams of another life, however explicit or vague they might have been while describing their experiences. Though it left her feeling unsettled, she didn't feel a panic as she might have without knowing that something similar had happened to others. That didn't make it much easier, however, especially when she thought of the events, felt herself staring at the boy through the eyes of a beaten and exhausted Helene Aquilla that just wanted a friend and ally, only to immediately recognize that the boy was, in some way or form, Elijah Marshall.