Nodus Tollens [PK]

[Frawlic 1602]

 

 

The Death of Helena Helmi Amador

 

A depiction of the deceased Amador.

Her entire being, her personality, her front, from the way she did her hair to the way she spoke, was practiced to perfection. There was never a smile she made to greet that was not seen by her at least a thousand times in the mirror before. Her pulchritude was painted to fit the pictures of princesses she had been fed in her younger days, not that she was no longer young when the time came. But, she was a mere peasant, robbed of the life of perfection and spoils she once could have imagined. Not that this was ever a hindrance, for her father and his eagerness to please her found the girl fabrics galore, her mother cooing over ironed ringlets heated by a wand held over stovetop, and the same shoes she washed too many times to ensure they stayed clean from the muddied streets of their homestead - when her twin brother would not carry her. Those provided a richness to her life that she knew many would dream of.

But the rich are selfish.

Something always remained out of her grasp. The performance she constantly puppetted did not provide her with the attention she wanted. Odd stares and murmurs of her act, often of displeasure or deep hatred, buried back to her roots. Helena spoke as if she wanted the whole world to love her, and that was an impossible feat. The need to succeed whilst doing as little as possible was an objective she could not complete.

This was not Helena, though.

Helena kissed frogs in the pond beside their house. She rode split-legged on her brother’s back. Her fingers were pricked to bloody messes from the secret stitching she would do upon the clothing of those within her home. The floor of her room was scuffed flat; the pattern of the hardwood didn’t even show anymore, now an off-yellow color from how she spun herself in dances of solitude. Arguments were had with a boy.

She was just a child, stubborn to be a child.

 

By the age of sixteen, Helena was aware that she suffered nodus tollens, which she attributed to her behavior from the years prior. A lack of empathy, a leg healed improperly, which set back the dreams she had just thought to herself of building, and a boy, now a young man, dancing with another girl who would have been a princess. Her parents lived in a home of empty nesters, and stuck in the show she had written, she remained to herself in the absence of her siblings. Until she realized she would soon be an adult, a grown woman.

With him, a true extension of herself was provided. Boots in place of heels, and the lack of torturing some grey cat on their journey. Her, him, and a horse.

The crowd was not pleased by the lack of a rehearsed script. All it took was a tumble, and the stage light went out. Helena’s performance was cut short, and her chapter had reached its end.

 

Helena Helmi Amador
2024 - 2041

[krispeechips 150]

Mikhaila sat on the edge of a bed, a bunk-bed to be exact. Two young children laid, all tucked within the cloths lain over them. A small book was held within her grasp, a theatrical voice reading aloud from a children's fairytale.

 

"Once more did the Princess then wear that crown upon her head, and outwards did the Queen decree to the Kingdom below 'May eym all live in prosperity, Mik beloved daughter and our Princess has returned to our loving arms.'"

 

A pitched voice piqued upwards, stark white hair tossing as she turned in her sheets.

 

"Nie, Nie- Why did she marry the Thief? She needs a Prince Charming to rule alongside!"

 

The Mother giggled, hushing her child to prepare for sleep, sending her off with some explaination as to the Princess' decision. A peck was given to the foreheads of her two children, once more did the sheets get tucked to their sides.

 

--

 

Now she stood, those white sheets tustled once more over the mop of snowy curls, flowers surrounded her in a peaceful manner, she seemed almost... as if she was just sleeping.

 

Sleeping. That had made sense, simply a deep sleep, one she would never wake from.

 

Her dear daughter. She was just taking a nap.

She should read her a story.

 

"Once upon a time..."

 

[Koodini 854]

It was the weight which none could shoulder. Beneath it, Anaksandr shattered.

From his lips, as he stared upon his sweet girl— without breath nor blood, what began as a croak turned acidic. A howl like none before, backed by a feeling akin to the very makings of his throat tearing. This was no mere tragedy. This was the still of his own heart, beneath the decay of her's.

[Sladetricity 101]

There was not much from the twin, his eyes cascading down to the now quiet state of his sister.
How rare it was. Be it different he might have rejoiced, though not now. Not like this.

When they were smaller, he remembered always taking the heads off of his sisters dolls to use as anchors for his toy ships. Barbaric, but a memory nonetheless. They were heavy enough to hold down the little floating pieces of wood, rocks were far too heavy and everything else just did not work the same. He would remember the countless times they whispered to one another in the night, scared that a dragon might sweep down and blow out their candles. The memories of carrying her on his back, even when the adults told him no, not wishing for her boots to get dirty and covered with mud. 

Those were the last things Kristoff could remember about his dear sister, the final memories that dwelled in the storm that plagued his mind.

Helena was not just his twin, but his closest friend. Just a few years before they had promised each other that they would always be excited to see one another. Whenever there was a party, they would always find each other. If there was a room full of people, both would seek the other to speak to them first. 

She was the best sister he could have asked for.

That promise will be left lingering in the air, and only time will tell
The tides will always come back in, and the sun will always rise again.

Edited August 14, 2025 by Sladetricity

[ReverseNebula 373]

How many more?

That was the question Raginolf had asked his Sister, once the girl, naught more than a child, had been moved out of the Healing House.

He'd not been present when it happened, neither of them had - merely subject to the aftermath where Veta tended the dead, and Ragin comforted the living.

 

How many more would find ill-put respite in these trying times?
How many more would die before him, kith and kin got to rest?

The unending query, for what felt like the limitless deaths beginning to accumulate.
How many more?