Post by Helena Sawyer on Jul 10, 2017 4:59:42 GMT
June 12, 2017
Grace walked into the apartment, sighing as she dropped her bags on the counter. The place had been lonely without Michelle there, but she was taking some time out of her rehab and recovery to visit a few friends out of town. They'd been talking via Facebook, and that at least made the distance feel a little smaller. Grace looked over at a table near the entryway a small picture of herself with Michelle, a fond grin spreading across her face as memories came rushing back to her.
Grace shakes her head, snapping herself out of her reverie, and her gaze drifted back towards the counter, where a small two-tier rack of prescription bottles sat. Michelle's were empty, taken with her when she left, but the upper rack held four bottles, all in various states of filled. A momentary panic flashed through Grace's mind, and she reached out, pulling each bottle from its rack and carefully reading the label, muttering to herself under her breath. "Spiro, estradiol, Ativan, Lunesta. Perfect."
Replacing the bottles in the rack, Grace walked over to the couch, greeting the meowing cat that sprang up onto the cushions to meet her. "Heya Merrill. How's my pretty kitty?" The cat meowed back, and Grace smiled, sitting down and scratching the cat behind her ears. Merrill purred contentedly, burrowing into Grace's side, and her free hand twirled the remote up, turning on the TV. "Let's see what's on right now, huh? Probably a bunch of junk, but if we spend all our free time with Netflix that cable subscription's useless."
As Grace flipped through the channels, a familiar name caught her eye: Monday Night Sacrifice. She hadn't really thought about IWF in months, not since Michelle promised that she was going to take things more carefully. A little community theater here, a guest spot on a USA series there...things were calm, things were safe. Still... A rhetorical "Why the hell not?" escaped Grace's lips, and she pushed the Select button, pulling up Sacrifice on her TV.
The image on her screen was of an unfamiliar woman in MMA gear, a microphone in her hand and a confident smirk on her face. Grace snorted. "Christ, five months and they hire a new crop of people. God, that business just chews through people, doesn't it?" She leans back, ears perking up as "Blue" by The Birthday Massacre begins playing. "Nice taste in music, though..." she murmurs, grinning down at Merrill by her side.
On the TV, the crowd roars, and Grace looks up just in time to hear Alison Valance's announcement. "And her opponent! Making her return to IWF, from Amityville, New York, weighing in at 151 pounds, she is the Daughter of Misery..."
Grace's eyes widened, and a whispered, disbelieving "No..." floated from her lips as Alison finished speaking.
"...Helena Sawyer!"
Grace's hand flew to her phone, and almost as if on autopilot, dialed Michelle's number. She muttered under her breath, shaking her head and tapping her foot as her pulse raced. "Come on, please, pick up, let this be a joke..." Even as she pressed the phone to her face, her eyes remained fixed on the screen, where she saw Michelle—no, Helena—walking down the ramp, grinning like a maniac. It went to voicemail immediately, and Michelle's voicemail message came up Grace's voice tumbled from her mouth, carrying with it the combination of anxiety, anger, and concern that love brings with it.
"Shelly...we need to talk."
We open on Helena Sawyer standing in the middle of a bullring, wearing a modified bullfighter's outfit and facepaint to match, an ornate design of black, white, and gold. In her right hand she holds a short sword, and in her left a vibrant red cape. She grins, spinning on her heel as she looks around the empty stadium.
"Did you miss me, IWF? I missed you. I missed you so. But that's the danger of pain. Sometimes, when you learn an important lesson...you need to take time to digest it. So I took my time. I took the time to learn what happens when you provoke a dragon. I learned what happens when you walk into her den, to steal from her hoard the brightest, shiniest jewel. And it hurt. Oh...oh yes, it hurt. But I'm thankful for it. Do you know why?"
She tilts her head to the side, a small smile on her face, and Helena stalks forward a few steps, a low murmur beginning to build all around her as she speaks.
"Because without it, I wouldn't have realized what I was missing. Every day I was gone, this...void, this hole in me, began to grow. And it grew, and it grew, until it was an abyss, threatening to pull me in and devour me. I tried to fill it. I looked far and wide for something, anything to push it back...but I knew in my heart only one thing could fill it."
Helena grins, giggling a bit as she approaches the camera, eyes fixed on it. She blinks, and when her eyes open, instead of their normal hazel they're a gleaming gold, shot through with snaking tendrils of red. Her grin grows even wider as she leans into the camera, practically cooing.
"It was YOU! It's always been you. Even before I knew you, it was you. All of you. The dragon, the preaching prude, the siren...and my forget-me-not. I'm so proud of you, Pandora. So, so proud of you...and when I realized that I needed you? When I realized I needed...all of you?"
Helena grins, twirling the cape with a flourish and swirling it over the camera. When it's withdrawn, the arena has suddenly filled with figures, smoky and shadowy, their voices united in an echoing, slightly distant cheer. Helena giggles, sketching bows to the crowd, before looking back to the camera with a smile.
"I had to come back! And it felt so good to get that love. So, so good. But Kyla...she was just tiny fish. There were always bigger and meaner. And I thought I had one hooked with her words. I was looking forward to teaching Alicia Lukas..."
Her face briefly contorts in an enraged snarl before reverting to its dissonantly cheery expression.
"But she wriggled away, and now...now I get to dance with Abigail Spencer. Teacher to teacher, preacher to preacher, daughter to daughter...slaughter to slaughter. This is going to be so much fun, Abby! Don't you all agree?"
Helena gestures to the crowd, who let out a hissing, sibilant roar. She grins, nodding, and begins to pace in a slow circle, gesturing grandly with the saber as she speaks.
"Abby, Abby, Abby...Abigail, you think you know family. Tell me, Abby. Do you think your lessons are sinking in? I've heard about your instruction methods. There's something there...a core of promise, but it's just...not working. Have they really learned anything from you? Have they grown? Are they better men? I'd say...hm. Well, I haven't seen them around, or I'd say for myself, but you seem to have them so beat under your thumb that they've just taken their banjos and gone home! Now who will play for us, Abigail? Kate Steele?"
The crowd jeers at the attempt at humor, and Helena waves them off, shaking her head.
"As if you could do better! Abigail...you claim inspiration from a Father above. We all know who the real power is there, though. Who made the decision that cast humanity out of Paradise? Who birthed the so-called savior? And before either of them...the one they refuse to speak of except in hushed whispers. The true mother of us all. The one who was taught the first lesson, the cruelest and most necessary lesson: to learn, you must suffer. And she learned that lesson...by being cast out again. Leaving...her...alone."
With another grand sweeping gesture, the crowd behind Helena swirls and vanishes, leaving her alone in the middle of the arena once more. She twirls the saber, a grin on her face as she lopes in a circle.
"The Mother is always looking for more children to take into her garden. If you want to learn, you only need to ask. She's always ready for you, Abby. You just need to be brave enough to take her hand and walk forth into the darkness. You'll have to walk a broken, rough road, over thorns and coals, but at the end of the road...ohh, I've seen glimpses of its beauty, Abby. Your Lord's promises are so much farther away. You can find it here, on Earth."
Helena sighs, removing her hat, and tosses it aside, before dropping the cape at her feet. She stalks towards the camera again, eyes intently locked down the lens, a languid grin on her face.
"You can leave your attempts to follow the rules of man behind. Embrace a greater way of life. Let the pain speak to you, as it speaks to me. Or you can ignore it. Shut yourself out from the truth, continue to live the lie you've lived for so long...I thought I knew how things were, Abigail, but I have seen the truth. I have seen the light, birthed in fire and blood, and it is beautiful. Either you can live in pain...or die a martyr for a lost cause. Either way, you and I are going to dance...and we'll find out who the real Sacrifice is."
With that, Helena draws back, thrusting the sword into the camera with a peal of laughter as we smash to black.
Grace walked into the apartment, sighing as she dropped her bags on the counter. The place had been lonely without Michelle there, but she was taking some time out of her rehab and recovery to visit a few friends out of town. They'd been talking via Facebook, and that at least made the distance feel a little smaller. Grace looked over at a table near the entryway a small picture of herself with Michelle, a fond grin spreading across her face as memories came rushing back to her.
Grace shakes her head, snapping herself out of her reverie, and her gaze drifted back towards the counter, where a small two-tier rack of prescription bottles sat. Michelle's were empty, taken with her when she left, but the upper rack held four bottles, all in various states of filled. A momentary panic flashed through Grace's mind, and she reached out, pulling each bottle from its rack and carefully reading the label, muttering to herself under her breath. "Spiro, estradiol, Ativan, Lunesta. Perfect."
Replacing the bottles in the rack, Grace walked over to the couch, greeting the meowing cat that sprang up onto the cushions to meet her. "Heya Merrill. How's my pretty kitty?" The cat meowed back, and Grace smiled, sitting down and scratching the cat behind her ears. Merrill purred contentedly, burrowing into Grace's side, and her free hand twirled the remote up, turning on the TV. "Let's see what's on right now, huh? Probably a bunch of junk, but if we spend all our free time with Netflix that cable subscription's useless."
As Grace flipped through the channels, a familiar name caught her eye: Monday Night Sacrifice. She hadn't really thought about IWF in months, not since Michelle promised that she was going to take things more carefully. A little community theater here, a guest spot on a USA series there...things were calm, things were safe. Still... A rhetorical "Why the hell not?" escaped Grace's lips, and she pushed the Select button, pulling up Sacrifice on her TV.
The image on her screen was of an unfamiliar woman in MMA gear, a microphone in her hand and a confident smirk on her face. Grace snorted. "Christ, five months and they hire a new crop of people. God, that business just chews through people, doesn't it?" She leans back, ears perking up as "Blue" by The Birthday Massacre begins playing. "Nice taste in music, though..." she murmurs, grinning down at Merrill by her side.
On the TV, the crowd roars, and Grace looks up just in time to hear Alison Valance's announcement. "And her opponent! Making her return to IWF, from Amityville, New York, weighing in at 151 pounds, she is the Daughter of Misery..."
Grace's eyes widened, and a whispered, disbelieving "No..." floated from her lips as Alison finished speaking.
"...Helena Sawyer!"
Grace's hand flew to her phone, and almost as if on autopilot, dialed Michelle's number. She muttered under her breath, shaking her head and tapping her foot as her pulse raced. "Come on, please, pick up, let this be a joke..." Even as she pressed the phone to her face, her eyes remained fixed on the screen, where she saw Michelle—no, Helena—walking down the ramp, grinning like a maniac. It went to voicemail immediately, and Michelle's voicemail message came up Grace's voice tumbled from her mouth, carrying with it the combination of anxiety, anger, and concern that love brings with it.
"Shelly...we need to talk."
We open on Helena Sawyer standing in the middle of a bullring, wearing a modified bullfighter's outfit and facepaint to match, an ornate design of black, white, and gold. In her right hand she holds a short sword, and in her left a vibrant red cape. She grins, spinning on her heel as she looks around the empty stadium.
"Did you miss me, IWF? I missed you. I missed you so. But that's the danger of pain. Sometimes, when you learn an important lesson...you need to take time to digest it. So I took my time. I took the time to learn what happens when you provoke a dragon. I learned what happens when you walk into her den, to steal from her hoard the brightest, shiniest jewel. And it hurt. Oh...oh yes, it hurt. But I'm thankful for it. Do you know why?"
She tilts her head to the side, a small smile on her face, and Helena stalks forward a few steps, a low murmur beginning to build all around her as she speaks.
"Because without it, I wouldn't have realized what I was missing. Every day I was gone, this...void, this hole in me, began to grow. And it grew, and it grew, until it was an abyss, threatening to pull me in and devour me. I tried to fill it. I looked far and wide for something, anything to push it back...but I knew in my heart only one thing could fill it."
Helena grins, giggling a bit as she approaches the camera, eyes fixed on it. She blinks, and when her eyes open, instead of their normal hazel they're a gleaming gold, shot through with snaking tendrils of red. Her grin grows even wider as she leans into the camera, practically cooing.
"It was YOU! It's always been you. Even before I knew you, it was you. All of you. The dragon, the preaching prude, the siren...and my forget-me-not. I'm so proud of you, Pandora. So, so proud of you...and when I realized that I needed you? When I realized I needed...all of you?"
Helena grins, twirling the cape with a flourish and swirling it over the camera. When it's withdrawn, the arena has suddenly filled with figures, smoky and shadowy, their voices united in an echoing, slightly distant cheer. Helena giggles, sketching bows to the crowd, before looking back to the camera with a smile.
"I had to come back! And it felt so good to get that love. So, so good. But Kyla...she was just tiny fish. There were always bigger and meaner. And I thought I had one hooked with her words. I was looking forward to teaching Alicia Lukas..."
Her face briefly contorts in an enraged snarl before reverting to its dissonantly cheery expression.
"But she wriggled away, and now...now I get to dance with Abigail Spencer. Teacher to teacher, preacher to preacher, daughter to daughter...slaughter to slaughter. This is going to be so much fun, Abby! Don't you all agree?"
Helena gestures to the crowd, who let out a hissing, sibilant roar. She grins, nodding, and begins to pace in a slow circle, gesturing grandly with the saber as she speaks.
"Abby, Abby, Abby...Abigail, you think you know family. Tell me, Abby. Do you think your lessons are sinking in? I've heard about your instruction methods. There's something there...a core of promise, but it's just...not working. Have they really learned anything from you? Have they grown? Are they better men? I'd say...hm. Well, I haven't seen them around, or I'd say for myself, but you seem to have them so beat under your thumb that they've just taken their banjos and gone home! Now who will play for us, Abigail? Kate Steele?"
The crowd jeers at the attempt at humor, and Helena waves them off, shaking her head.
"As if you could do better! Abigail...you claim inspiration from a Father above. We all know who the real power is there, though. Who made the decision that cast humanity out of Paradise? Who birthed the so-called savior? And before either of them...the one they refuse to speak of except in hushed whispers. The true mother of us all. The one who was taught the first lesson, the cruelest and most necessary lesson: to learn, you must suffer. And she learned that lesson...by being cast out again. Leaving...her...alone."
With another grand sweeping gesture, the crowd behind Helena swirls and vanishes, leaving her alone in the middle of the arena once more. She twirls the saber, a grin on her face as she lopes in a circle.
"The Mother is always looking for more children to take into her garden. If you want to learn, you only need to ask. She's always ready for you, Abby. You just need to be brave enough to take her hand and walk forth into the darkness. You'll have to walk a broken, rough road, over thorns and coals, but at the end of the road...ohh, I've seen glimpses of its beauty, Abby. Your Lord's promises are so much farther away. You can find it here, on Earth."
Helena sighs, removing her hat, and tosses it aside, before dropping the cape at her feet. She stalks towards the camera again, eyes intently locked down the lens, a languid grin on her face.
"You can leave your attempts to follow the rules of man behind. Embrace a greater way of life. Let the pain speak to you, as it speaks to me. Or you can ignore it. Shut yourself out from the truth, continue to live the lie you've lived for so long...I thought I knew how things were, Abigail, but I have seen the truth. I have seen the light, birthed in fire and blood, and it is beautiful. Either you can live in pain...or die a martyr for a lost cause. Either way, you and I are going to dance...and we'll find out who the real Sacrifice is."
With that, Helena draws back, thrusting the sword into the camera with a peal of laughter as we smash to black.
Well howdy there pardner.