Helena

There's this one particular maxim that many have really taken into heart. However, what many never know is that even if beauty is in the eye of the beholder; not everyone will always have the same, similar, and mirrored viewpoint on what are the accepted standards of beauty. It could be a particular hairstyle, one that fits the way a person's face is structured. 

For some it could be one's eyes as they gaze into a future they wish to spend with that particular individual, maybe even to dare gaze into the true naked soul of a living and breathing human being. However, there are those that believe that the eyes reveal the unfiltered and ugly truth; No matter how much one can hide behind layers of foundation and mascara, the contours of the colors of one's face will always be overshadowed by this lingering and unsettling feeling of nakedness. 

For Lyanna, beauty means everything. Each stroke, each dab, each gentle and precise caress of her eyelashes; Aesthetics are her everything. A single flaw meant death as her entire existence relies heavily on this facade that she had carefully built over the last few years. It is her armor of faith, her unbreaking shield, and her first line of defense against those who seek to manipulate her. The blush which looked artificial only added to this collection of mystique for the levels of iron in her body is dangerously low; Pills would litter her room, many considered supplements, some are multivitamins, others considered placebos. 

She is pretty. For some, beautiful. To many, gorgeous. To her, hideous.

Lyanna stared at the most recent picture taken of her, the canvas of the dark sky and the light which shone unto her somewhat delicate and pale skin; a smile which seemed genuine looked fake to nobody else but her. The picture was beautiful, the subject, the backdrop, the angle, the lightning; yet even with all these coalescing together to paint a work of art only seen in museums, she could never accept that fact.

If there was no woman on Earth as beautiful as her, then why did he escape to another realm where other women exist to take advantage of his instability. She looked unto him as her savior, the one who pulled her out of an abyss so deep that only a miracle would've saved her already forsaken soul. Her once fragile body was nurtured and held within his ever caring arms, her fragile psyche pieced together by this person who tore himself apart and fixed this broken bisque doll using his own flesh and bone.

She sighed as the sanguine color which lingered on her lips slowly dissipated as time went on by. That unfortunate day slowly returned to her; holding back this blossoming feeling of bittersweet melancholy; all she could do was laugh at the absurdity of that day.

It was like a romance novel, under the horrible downpour at midnight. Crying and screaming her lungs out as that bus that carried half of her entirety—the man who had saved her from the abyss just to place her back in—left to seek greener pastures. 

He told her that she'd live a life now that she was whole again. That she had an indestructible will, that her sorrows were no longer her worries. He wore that stupid bracelet that she got him for his birthday, his rugged hair and unshaven face, the deep bags under his eyes as he tried to stay composed even if their worlds were about to crumble. She remembered how she knelt on the concrete, begged him to stay, told him that she'd fix things and set everything right. That even with all their imperfections they'd make it all work—because that's what they do best. 

The taste of that last drop of liquid courage as he stepped into the bus and gave her a final smile that she'll never forget till the day she died. A smile that she'll forever bear till the end of time and a smile that'll no longer return to the sanctuary that is her heart. It would take her a second to realize that a tear had already run down her cheek, ruining the carefully and elaborately placed powder on her face. She just sighed and placed everything down, for at this point she'd have to restart all over again. Even if the day is about to end, there's this urge to wear this mask of hers even if there's nothing to be done.

Restart. She wondered if it could even be done. 

To begin again, to let go. Like a casino in the middle of a desert, built to stand as a testament of one's love only to serve as the tomb of the very person it swore to represent.

No matter what beauty she exhibited, there's this understanding of the unforgiving truth. She'll never be Aphrodite for gods no longer realm this godless world. She figured that she's just another Helen; fought over by savage and simple minded me fueled by an insatiable list and greed. But she knew that her face would launch a war so great, so catastrophic, that it may very well end in a Greek tragedy. It already happened once after all, what's stopping another one?

But never let yourself be unguarded, for this Helena strikes like a spiteful Gorgon. Her fury unmatched as within her ever deepening sorrow lies a storm which never called after5 this disgrace that she would experience at his hands.

Her artic glares and tempestuous attitude deters those aiming to taste this ambrosia of hers which she never gave away for years as a testament to her devotion to a man who'd never return; her words, though never on par with the oracles and wordsmiths, are still as sharp as the thorns of a beautifully blood-covered rose which grew in a lush garden. Where others died or decayed this rose stands, defiant of all the evils and sins of this world, Lyanna stands.

Because, even with all the disgusting stares, the carving words of lewdness, the disrespectful attempts to touch her carefully guarded temple. 

She waits. She endures. She believes.

The man who'd saved her from the death of her persona, his promises carved into her very soul which shattered on his departure. These words are the only things left for her to cling onto as the distance between her and her sister grows ever larger, as the world becomes more ludicrous, more disgusting, more manipulative.

Lyanna closed the windows of her room, the moon no longer shining down at her now naked body which had departed from the clothes that kept her warm. Her skin feels the warm and silky textures of her bed and blankets; a similar feeling to a light hug which encapsulates her entirety.

She tossed and turned before grabbing a pillow by her side and held it tightly to her chest. More tears would stream down her face as her heart began to race.

Alone. Naked. Tired. Afraid.

Lyanna's throat forced one last sound before she'd try to escape to a world where she's safe.

"Please come back home…" she muttered.

But before she'd join Morpheus, the loud buzzing of her phone would interrupt her slow descent to the darkness.

Goodnight. It read.

A small smile formed on her face before she resumed her journey.