Crucis

Early in the morning, a round-faced pompous boy could be found admiring the girl of his dreams. Admittedly he had never spoken to her, nor did he know what she was truly like, but George exulted her, nonetheless.

The object of this boy’s imagination was Helena, and she was currently attempting to avoid the boy’s lecherous gaze. One thing for certain was that she did not enjoy it, his gaze never seemed to be one of care or wonder, but instead pure obsession.

With similar coal hair to most of the Scorchers and slightly lighter chocolate skin, Helena was scarcely different from others. Yet somehow according to Eugo, George would still manage to find at least ten aspects that differentiated her from the rest of society. 

A feat which Helena deemed completely and utterly “fucking useless.”

Helena had known of George for a while, she was thankfully good friends with Eugo; who tended to inform her on many of his actions. She had often found many of his actions peculiar, especially George’s treatment of her as though she were a deity. 

Part of her knew she should be completely disgusted by this… She was. The vast majority of her mind, heart and soul told her the boy was absolute degenerate scum.

Helena saw George’s hiding spot to consist of... a pile of metal a very uncommon finding in the dome. She absolutely admired the effort he put in to hide from her, with his bulbous head poking over the stack. She imagined that from a certain angle the pile may have provided some secrecy, but Helena didn’t fashion herself to be stupid. 

Although, what she did find amusing was the number of distasteful eyes which drilled into the boy’s back, she hoped his mum might give him some repercussions later.

Helena had just been going about her usual day, which generally consisted of wandering aimlessly around town. Like George, both her parents still lived and hence she didn’t have much work during the day. 

Although on days like this when she was especially bored, she would go visit Eugo, he was always entertaining to talk to. Both of them had a knack for sarcastically insulting others, especially George which tended to give her days that much more enjoyment; enough to make them bearable. 

Unfortunately, she had discovered earlier that Eugo wasn’t home, which meant she was dealing with her obsessive stalker instead.

Still, part of her didn’t mind the boy when he was meekly hiding in the distance, unmoving and.... She had noticed him approaching her, and her once relaxed state disappeared very quickly. What started as a slow stroll away, became a jog, into a relentless sprint.

Deep down Helena knew she didn’t despise George… probably. At the very least she didn’t feel like talking to him at the moment, or for another year at least; maybe two. 

Briefly looking behind her she noticed a thin blur, George had followed. He was certainly much faster than Helena had anticipated, not that she was too fit herself.

A minor issue with most Scorchers was that strong arms never made for fast sprinting, in fact, the extra muscle probably just added weight. Knowing this, she knew that another plan had to be set in action, hard to do when either side of you is nothing but a blur. 

There was one area she did know though, a small cave at the castle.

Few knew of it and it was dark enough to hide from dim-sighted George. Plus, her dark skin and hair probably fit in the inky blackness within the cave. 

She continued to run.

§

While running Helena realised that she’d have to remember where to go while on the run, it had been approximately… a long time since she last visited the cave. 

She had gone several times alone when she was young, in need of exploration. Although back then, her small size meant she could happily glide between guards without an issue. That would be a bit harder now that she had at least doubled in height.

She did her best to spring over as many obstacles as possible to lose George, but for some stupid fucking reason the boy didn’t stop. Helena seriously couldn’t understand how an unproductive lazy bastard could have so much damn stamina, thankfully she was nearing to her destination.

Noticing she had gained quite a bit of distance on George, a few sharp turns and a slide over the ledge in front of the castle almost guaranteed that she’d lost him. Helena took some time to catch her breath, she’d definitely prepare for this the next time George approached her.

Looking around the small cave area beneath the castle she noticed it had changed significantly. Firstly, it was far smaller than she remembered, although that may have been a perspective thing. 

Secondly Helena noticed that it was somehow more, dull. The air felt cold, as though the cave itself was telling her to leave. Although hearing some footsteps higher up she wasn’t going to be leaving any time soon.

Her thoughts were interrupted with a steel hand on her neck, it clasped tightly. Helena knew almost immediately what type of person had found her, and quickly twisted out of the person’s grasp she faced whoever it was. 

Unfortunately, she had landed at a dead-end in the cave which meant the large ominous Spotless man could very easily deck her if she ran. Clearly it didn’t matter either way as Helena found herself falling backwards in a daze, collapsing in a heap on the ground.

Helena felt herself stare into two pale sky eyes, vacant, the eyes rested on the floor behind her. It contrasted a round grinning face and grinding yellow teeth, as the man’s hands cracked in front of her.

§

Helena felt her neck stiffen; tiny twitches caused her body to writhe. Her mouth still rasping from the pain of extruding bone. Mottled clumps of blood crept between her shattered teeth, most now bent inwards, some threatening to fall down her throat. 

A dry mouth was only softened by the drops of crimson flowing throughout it.

She felt her skin tear with each minute movement, unveiling the peach tinted flesh beneath. Thankfully the pain had long since numbed, Helena’s one saving grace. Though internally, her screams cried to be heard throughout the dome, not a word was uttered. Just a mouth clasping back and forth.

A breath.

Then a click.

The man cocked a small flintlock pointing at her temple, discarding the shovel he was using earlier. 

For a brief moment, Helena felt pure tranquillity, her legs healed, she could speak and even sing! All was quiet as she saw a world of comfort, of colours she had never seen. Brightness, sadness and wonder, shown through a simple kaleidoscope. 

Perhaps this wasn’t such a bad fate

A war cry disrupted her thoughts, and a pompous figure dropped from above plunging the Spotless man’s knees into the ground.

Crack

Helena saw the man’s knee’s fracture into the ground. A swift movement of his arm grabbed the fallen hero, squeezing tightly at his neck.

George found himself hopelessly spluttering on the ground. Helena guessed the man was in a good mood, having sheathed his firearm; he instead pulled out a set of crooked nails.

§

Helena was no longer covered in blood, returning to the usual dress of dust and grime. The man had left after becoming seemingly content with his work. 

Helena’s hazel eyes scanned the marbled ground, a disfigured body laughed at her. 

“Lookie lookie, I’m a strung-up pig.” 

The voice of the man still bounced in her head. In time she noticed the man’s voice wasn’t vacant but confused. A voice that questioned why useless coal workers would step into his castle.

The man had dragged both of them out of the abyss, stringing George for the public to see. A total of six shots could be found hanging inside the unfortunate boy. 

Hanging on a wall the nails securing him slowly tore through his flesh. They dug so deep into his hands that in time the holes were large enough for him to fall through.

Helena picked a still smoking round out of the boy’s thigh, she held it close. With a drifting mind, her ears failed to perceive the sudden shockwave emanating through the air. Just as her wandering eyes failed to notice the plume of smoke.

Helena was grateful that not many had seen George, especially since she had gained a new respect for her martyr. The watchful eyes that scanned George thought he was dull. 

They’d seen it before. 

Thankfully the nearby destruction had attracted them away from George.

Unable to move, with shattered bones still present in both legs, she lay down. Helena’s rush of emotions could only be expressed in one form, a scream. A wilful call that seemed to question anything and in many ways everything. 

Helena’s eyes had been opened to actions and events she once didn’t deem possible. It all came down to one question:

“Why do we live?”

For now, Helena knew she didn’t know the answer to that question, though she hoped in time she could come to answer it.

Briefly looking back at George, the Spotless had strung him like a pig, shot, stabbed and beaten him to the edge of life. Part of her knew she was the reason for it.

Though daft, George had a strong will. His steadfast courage had carried thus far, though God had yet to determine whether it should be his downfall.