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Helena Wells-Quinzel is H.G. Wells (indelibleink) wrote in makebelievelog,

"Thank you," Helena responded with a smile, looking at Myka. It was a genuine sentiment, much as the thank you Helena had given to Myka shortly before her death. Only Myka wouldn't be aware of that particular instance because to Myka, that never happened. Helena had never died and the Warehouse had never been destroyed.

At the mention of the texts, Helena nodded slightly. Loss was something Helena could never handle. She tended to keep everything locked deep inside until it came out in horrible ways. This topic was difficult for her, especially when it came to James. Taking a breath, Helena moved her hand, intending to take Myka's but she stopped herself mid-movement, remembering this Myka didn't remember having been here before. Helena redirected her hand to pick up her tea.

"Clint was a good friend. He was a good man. James was an exceptional young man. They are at least home now." Sipping her tea, Helena leaned back against the couch, her gaze fixated on the tea cup she held in her hands. "Both of them were killed in March, and I bore witness to both deaths. James died in my arms. He was only fifteen years old." Helena's voice was filled with pain at recalling the memory that hung so vividly within her mind. And she knew she wouldn't have to explain any further how badly she'd been affected by James' death. Myka knew what she'd been through with Christina. Despite the fact James and Clint had come back to life after the Reavers had left, that did not erase the memory of their deaths and both of them still weighed heavily on the Victorian woman. Tears began to well up within her dark eyes, but she refused to let them fall.