Helene L. D'Autremont

It was a slow day at the store, which wasn’t exactly something out of the norm but Flora enjoyed the peace – it gave her the time to get everything back in order and work on her little projects, just a few tweaks here and there until the bell rang to let her know a customer had walked inside. She loved living in Crescent Harbor and yet, it was all she’d ever known. Flora rarely ventured into bigger cities, the hustle and bustle too overwhelming, too loud and dirty but a lot of her childhood friends seemed to think differently. A lot of them had left for good, some had come back, some had left again and some stayed behind.

A familiar voice ripped her from her thoughts when she was just folding and putting away some jeans and her eyes widened at the realization of just who it was who’d approached her, speaking with an elegance Flora only knew from one person in particular and the more she said, the wider her smile grew. “Miss Flora Summers at your service,” she chimed with a giggle her tone sporting her best customer service voice before she gave a surprisingly graceful curtsy and her eyes indeed sparkled when she turned to face the blonde. “Mon cœur! You’re here?!” She exclaimed, her tone excited and genuinely happy when she mirrored her smirk with a smile and let out a happy squeal as she opened her arms to welcome her friend into a hug even before accepting the gift box offered to her - this was more important to her.  

It’s delight she feels as the sight of Flora’s familiar smile, a simple warmth that spreads from the area she supposes her heart lies within her chest. Weeks could go by, years could, and her social circle could wax and wane with the moon, but just as the familial loyalty to her father and his family’s ideals burns bright within her, so does Helene’s fierce adoration for the woman whose eyes shine exactly as she’d described. “I am,” The blonde confirms, her own gaze glimmering like that of a thoroughly amused feline as she shifts the large box to her hip to hug the woman back with one arm. “Here, this is for you of course.” A few things from New York and abroad. Wine, fabric, sweets she’d baked... In the absence of being able to properly show her affection at all times, she’d learned a long while ago that a carefully curated (although nearly always entirely over the top) gift could suffice when it could show how thoughtful she could be. “I have a gift for your parents, too, but that’s in my car.” 

For all her happiness, however, there’s that note of aloofness, some part of her kept away, hidden away from all. Even Flora, whom she trusted with her life (and far more than she trusted her husband at the moment — she still had to tell her about that). “Are you stuck here all day or is there any chance I could steal you?”

A month. Well, perhaps nearly over a month it’s been and she’s yet to dip her toes into greeting any of her family in this town. As small as it is, it’s surprisingly easy to avoid being seen with her commutes to Seattle and her ability to work most of her days from home. But, it had to happen eventually, and of course she had thought she might surprise her cousins on Allison’s birthday but that was too... Much. It wasn’t like they were close, it wasn’t as though Helene had any idea what a proper gift for the woman might be. So Helene waited. Helene delayed until she felt like greeting her extended family and felt like making her presence in Crescent Harbour known beyond the few that she’d already seen. 

“Hello, Allison.” It’s a cheshire cat’s smile that has yet to unfurl from her mouth, sharp-edged and beautifully sweet with the words cradled on her tongue. Allison. Little Alli that she hasn’t seen or heard from in years. Pretty. A Hawthorne but not a Hawthorne. “How have you been, cousin?”

She isn’t hiding. Nor is she entertaining the idea that she wants to be chased. Crescent Harbour was a place where nothing happened, and that was exactly what the blonde wanted for herself after a whirlwind winter: nothing. She wanted the nothingness of quiet, the nothingness of having not else to distract her from her work and how she felt. Still, bitterness sits at the back of her mind and makes her nauseous like bile at the back of her tongue if she thinks too long on the topic. But there’s beauty in distractions, and today’s distraction was a quiet, simple sort of beauty in front of her. 

She’d been building a bouquet in her arms, looking between the different containers to decide between different sprays of flora and greenery. What she lacked so far, though, was the focus of the bouquet. Roses, maybe? Peonies? Lilies? Her fingers trail over each of them gently, undecided as she looks towards the other, pointing towards the flowers: “I can’t choose. Pick one for me?”

It’s quiet. But, then again, isn’t it always in such a tiny town? At this rate she’d might as well tell people she’s taking some time away in the countryside: a sleepy town with diners and mom and pop shops and founding families— it was so very quaint and incredibly picturesque. The thought of uttering such words in even a facetious manner brought Helene to roll her eyes as she stepped into the little store. ‘Flora deserves far better than this,’ She thinks to herself, glancing around the place with perfectly concealed distaste. ‘I need to get her out of here.’ And perhaps she would. Perhaps she wouldn’t. Helene could give Flora the tools the way one could lead a horse to water. But, she couldn’t make her move any more than she could make a horse drink. Speaking of horses: she really ought to look into having Nikita brought here. 

“I’m sorry, but is there a Miss Flora Summers here?” Her voice is light, faintly accented in a way that would have her father demanding she spend the next summer at home. Blackcurrant, clove, and roses envelope like some shield, like some warmth that isn’t so easily read upon her features— so to say, she looks pleasant but unapproachable, carries herself with an aura that marks her a foreigner to Crescent Harbor. Vaguely intimidating with that high-born tilt of her head that she and her siblings always carried, nevermind the two years they’d spent here before. “She’s about this tall and has a dazzling smile paired with the most luminous eyes that one could ever hope to meet with their own gaze—” It’s laughter in her tone, playful as she presents a gift box to the other. “Hello, minette.” Affectionate, sweet, and paired with a smirk there is no mistaking that Helene is as she always is: entirely herself.

ᴀᴍʙɪᴛɪᴏɴ ɪꜱɴ’ᴛ ᴀ ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴡᴏʀᴅ; ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴇɴ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏᴏʟꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ɢɪʀʟꜱ.

𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐁𝐢𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐲