First Person: [The gentle rocking of the passenger car slowly draws Helen awake, blinking slowly at the unfamiliar surroundings. She doesn’t remember boarding a train. How had she gotten here?
Then, little by little, it starts coming back to her, more than a year’s worth of memories filtering back into her mind. It seems the city hasn’t quite grown tired of her, after all. At least, they’ve foregone the catacombs this time, allowing her to arrive in a more traditional manner.
When the train finally pulls into the station, she doesn’t hesitate to step onto the platform, taking in the sights around her. Everything seems just as she remembers it, and she can’t help but feel like she’s coming home.
Searching her pockets for the newly comforting weight of the pocket watch, she sends out a simple broadcast, hoping at least a few familiar faces are still about.]
It would seem I simply can’t stay away. I expect I have some catching up to do.
Third Person: (For context, this takes place shortly after Helen lost her daughter.)
Helen ran her hand lovingly over the banister as she slowly ascended the staircase. Too often in recent years, she used the elevator to navigate between floors, but not tonight. Tonight she wanted to feel the smoothly polished wood beneath her fingers, reacquaint herself with every blemish, every imperfection in its surface.
Most of the marks were old, familiar, but some of them were newer, foreign. Those marks received the most attention. She studied each carefully, learning their shape, their texture, committing every single one to memory. Each mark was silently filed away, added to her Sanctuary’s identity.
Reaching the landing, she caressed the banister a final time before moving down the hall, fingertips lightly trailing across the wall as she walked, relishing the tactile sensation. Her heels sank into the carpet, leaving temporary indentions in her wake that vanished moments later, disguising her path.
Her step faltered, palm pressing flat against the wall as she reached the heavy oak door once belonging to her daughter. She hesitated before reaching out, gently twisting the brass knob, allowing the door to swing open of its own accord. For a moment, she stood frozen in place, peering into the darkness as though afraid of what lurked in the shadows.
With a shaky breath, Helen took a step forward, then another, and another, until she was standing next to the neatly made bed. Sitting on its edge, she smoothed her hand across the comforter, the texture familiar from so many nights spent holding Ashley after her nightmares.
Slipping off her shoes, she pulled her feet onto the bed, stretching out on top of the covers. Clutching the pillow tightly to her chest, she breathed in her daughter’s familiar scent, her tears already beginning to fall.
[CANON] Helen Magnus || Sanctuary || No Reserve || 3of 3
[The gentle rocking of the passenger car slowly draws Helen awake, blinking slowly at the unfamiliar surroundings. She doesn’t remember boarding a train. How had she gotten here?
Then, little by little, it starts coming back to her, more than a year’s worth of memories filtering back into her mind. It seems the city hasn’t quite grown tired of her, after all. At least, they’ve foregone the catacombs this time, allowing her to arrive in a more traditional manner.
When the train finally pulls into the station, she doesn’t hesitate to step onto the platform, taking in the sights around her. Everything seems just as she remembers it, and she can’t help but feel like she’s coming home.
Searching her pockets for the newly comforting weight of the pocket watch, she sends out a simple broadcast, hoping at least a few familiar faces are still about.]
It would seem I simply can’t stay away. I expect I have some catching up to do.
Third Person:
(For context, this takes place shortly after Helen lost her daughter.)
Helen ran her hand lovingly over the banister as she slowly ascended the staircase. Too often in recent years, she used the elevator to navigate between floors, but not tonight. Tonight she wanted to feel the smoothly polished wood beneath her fingers, reacquaint herself with every blemish, every imperfection in its surface.
Most of the marks were old, familiar, but some of them were newer, foreign. Those marks received the most attention. She studied each carefully, learning their shape, their texture, committing every single one to memory. Each mark was silently filed away, added to her Sanctuary’s identity.
Reaching the landing, she caressed the banister a final time before moving down the hall, fingertips lightly trailing across the wall as she walked, relishing the tactile sensation. Her heels sank into the carpet, leaving temporary indentions in her wake that vanished moments later, disguising her path.
Her step faltered, palm pressing flat against the wall as she reached the heavy oak door once belonging to her daughter. She hesitated before reaching out, gently twisting the brass knob, allowing the door to swing open of its own accord. For a moment, she stood frozen in place, peering into the darkness as though afraid of what lurked in the shadows.
With a shaky breath, Helen took a step forward, then another, and another, until she was standing next to the neatly made bed. Sitting on its edge, she smoothed her hand across the comforter, the texture familiar from so many nights spent holding Ashley after her nightmares.
Slipping off her shoes, she pulled her feet onto the bed, stretching out on top of the covers. Clutching the pillow tightly to her chest, she breathed in her daughter’s familiar scent, her tears already beginning to fall.