Helena sat in the gardens toward the back of the school. More so a science project for some of the more, greenery-included princesses at AP. She tended to feel more empty here than anywhere else. Maybe it was something to do with the sadness the plants seemed to radiate. Missing the spring as most did when winter months came about. Without a greenhouse, she wondered what could be in such a cold climate.
The notebook was opened on her legs, long lines of script marking up each line. Stupid repeated words, sayings she’s heard that day, and just any thought that came to mind. She was BORED. Something her brothers wouldn’t understand. How does one feel more bored being free than when locked up?
Her interest peaked when she heard a cry in the trees. More or less a cry than anger. PURE RAGE. Something the daughter of death understood very well. She crept through the trees in order to discover what escape from boredom that teased her. In the clearing, she took in the look of the purple haired pixie she had all but stopped thinking about in these last months. Without thinking the dark-haired princess scoffed.
“What did the trees ever do to you?”
Mal would jump, if she had the presence of mind to be startled---or the energy to do much at all besides struggle to manage her hiccuping gasps. As it is, the unsympathetic sound both fills her with the usual dread that she’s being seen like this---and with a strange comfort that comes with familiarity. The thing she despises most about hurting here on Auradon is when people fuss over every single display of pain and rush to try and fix it all like she’s something soft and weak that needs others’ help to be held together. She knows she should have outgrown that---but she’s only used to the isle, where empathy was the last thing on anyone’s mind.
It takes every ounce of her willpower, but she finally forces her sobs down into sniffles, though her breath still comes uneven and sharp and the occasional sharp hitch in her breath still strikes her at unexpected moments. “A-actually, I w-was kind of screaming more at---the sky,” she gets out, voice still breathless and hoarse, and there’s no way to sound casual with her words so mangled by her still-spilling tears. Still, she grits her teeth and tries anyway as she adds, “Though fuck the trees, too. M-making oxygen so that I have t-to keep putting up with everything.” It’s melodramatic, but hey, when isn’t she?
Finally sparing a glance at Helena, there’s a shift in her expression that even Mal wouldn’t know how to identify---softness, or resignation, or relief or regret; all equally contradictory but still just as likely as the last with only her expression to go off of. She heaves a broken sigh and sits fully on the grass. “I’m---not actually mad at th-the trees,” she says, as though that really needed to be said, before letting herself fall to lay back and stare skyward again.
“Y---our brother gives good advice, but I didn’t follow it. Stupid.”
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