morning star.

Helena; Greek. The shining one. Helena Highsmith | Eighteen | British-German Shadowhunter. Wife. Soon-to-be Mother. “I hate to hear you talk about all women as if they were fine ladies instead of rational creatures. None of us want to be in calm waters all our lives.” ― Jane Austen, Persuasion Pulvis et umbra sumus. We are dust & Shadows.

[jeanpierrehighsmith]

A New Beginning || Helena and Jean-Pierre

A near hour had passed since she had made her arrival, and not once had Jean-Pierre taken his eyes of the precious wonder sleeping soundly in her mother’s embrace. From the very moment she had been placed in his arms everything had suddenly been different and he could not help but wonder how someone so small could possibly lay such a complete claim on his entire being. His heart, his soul, his mind was entirely hers; his every breath and heartbeat dedicated to fulfilling whatever wish she may have. He wanted to know what she was dreaming of — the way she stirred and furrowed her small brows in her sleep was strangely intriguing. How much did she know of their world? Of her future? Had she really heard, and did she remember, what he had whispered to her each night and each dawn before she was even born?

Genevieve. His Genevieve. Jean-Pierre couldn’t help but continue to marvel at how, when every time he believed his heart was not capable of containing any more love before bursting, he was proven wrong — each moment that passed it grew, his devotion eventually aiming to surpass what was humanly possible. Every inhale was a thankful prayer; thanking the Angel with all his might for being granted this kind of love, Helena, and now their precious daughter, even though there had been a time when the greatest light in his life had been disguised as heartbreak and doubt. Every exhale was a reminder; a reminder that he had only been kept alive this long for the sake of perfection in all its softness sleeping soundly before him, and he owed her, Helena and the Angel, every last bit of time on this earth that he had. However long or short that may be. He had never been alive simply for his own sake; he knew that now.

Genevieve Alexandra Highsmith. Genevieve after his beloved sister, whose sacrifice he had only been truly thankful for the day he had met Helena Morgenstern. He had wished, for such a long time, that he could have died to save his sister instead, or at least died along with her. He did not deserve to live and each day until the fateful moment outside of the Accords Hall, he had made sure to remind himself as well as the people in his surroundings of his unworthiness. Helena had been his reason to be worthy of the life his sister had blessed him with. Their daughter, bearing the same name, would forever be proof that he had embraced his second chance.

Alexandra. It meant ‘defender of man’. Helena had been the first to notice the mark on their baby’s chest — similiar to the scar left behind from a Rune marking, in the shape of two parabatai runes overlapped. Perhaps it was simply a birthmark, but its shape was far too distinct for it to simply… be. There were no answers to be found if they asked what it meant, he knew, but if there was one thing he was certain of it was that fate always tended to have a hand in things. Perhaps his and Helena’s choice of their daughter’s middle name had not been as random as they had thought.

Suddenly, the door to their chambers opened with an audible yet gentle click — causing Jean-Pierre to reluctantly tear his eyes away from his baby daughter and look at the Inquisitor, who was now standing in the doorway.

[helenamorgenstern]

There was still so very little Helena knew about being a mother. She was still very cautious in her actions, careful not to hold little Genevieve too closely or too tightly for she feared she'd make her feel uncomfortable. Whenever she moved in her mother's arms, Helena would hold her breath and would, for half a moment, panic because what if she dropped her child? What if, for some reason, her arms would slip and little Genevieve would fall? Whenever her soft pink lids fluttered, Helena's heart would skip a beat for fear that her daughter would start crying and she wouldn't know how to comfort her, or give her what she needed. All her life, Helena trained to be prepared for whatever demon could be lurking in the shadows. She was trained to be prepared for anything and that was one of the few things she was very proud of herself. She was quick on her feet when in battle and she was always so attentive. However, nothing--no amount of reading, or advice-- could have prepared her for motherhood. And that terrified her.

As Genevieve stirred in her arms, her tiny hands closed into fists and her eyes half-lidded as she yawned, Helena couldn't help but marvel at how such a small being could be so beautiful and have such an effect on her. Growing up a Shadowhunter, Helena was taught to value life but to be prepared to lose it any second as well, and she had, for the past six years or so, ever since she received her first Mark, lived by those words. Shadowhunters dealt with death every single day and Helena had been prepared for her own ever since she could remember. But as she held her child and watched as she dreamt, Helena began to value life. Her own because she wanted nothing more than to spend a long, long time with her child and husband. Jean-Pierre's-- granted, she had always valued his life more than her own. And most of all, her child's. How she could feel the emotions she was currently feeling was beyond Helena. The protectiveness she felt for her child was beyond anything she's ever felt for a Mundane she had to defend from a demon, or a fellow Shadowhunter. She has only felt it for two other people and they were Jean-Pierre and Hana. Helena wanted nothing more than to keep her daughter safe and happy for as long as she would be able to.

She should have been exhausted. The events of the past hour was no small feat. Her hair, although no longer soaked in sweat, was a mess and her face was paler than usual. But Helena was far from tired. While her back felt slightly sore, she barely noticed it as she continued to gently rock her sleeping child in her arms, all the while whispering to Jean-Pierre about how beautiful Genevieve was and how Helena still couldn't quite believe that, after all the waiting, their daughter was finally with them. As she looked up and smiled at Jean-Pierre, she could see the joy on his face that, she thought, no doubt mirrored her own. "I still cannot believe she is real." she said under her breath as she brought her daughter's face closer to her own. "She and I are no longer one but she still feels like such a huge part of me, someho--" The words died on Helena's lips when she heard the sound of the door opening. 

On the entryway stood the Inquisitor. He was not in the robes Helena had seen him wear during the interrogation after the Clave was informed of her and Jean-Pierre's relationship, but he still held the authority of a man who was responsible of making sure that Nephilim and Downworlders alike who break the Law are properly punished. 

"Inquisitor Whitelaw..." Helena said, her eyes slightly widened in curiosity as she regarded the Victor Whitelaw. 

"Mr Highsmith, Miss-- Rather, Mrs Highsmith," Victor's gaze flickered from Jean-Pierre to Helena then to the sleeping child that was in her arms. "Congratulations, I suppose, on the birth of your child. You must know the reason as to why I am here?" 

[helenamorgenstern]

Much Awaited || Helena & Jean-Pierre

[jeanpierrehighsmith]

Helena’s cries had gone silent, and for a brief moment, the air around them was completely still until it was filled with another cry entirely. For the first time since he had been allowed to kneel at her bedside Jean-Pierre took his eyes off Helena and instead, followed her gaze. In the arms of the younger midwife an infant was floundering — the smallest fists and feet he had ever seen reaching for the ceiling as the lady who was carrying her continued to wrap her in towels and blankets.

Jean-Pierre stood up. Never before in his entire life had he felt so compelled to do anything as he was to stand and move forward. Toward her, toward the crying Angel, the beacon of light in the midwife’s arms. Perhaps once, though. When he had first seen Helena standing by the posts outside of the Accords Hall; her deep blue eyes shining brighter than anything he had witnessed, surely too beautiful and glorious to be walking the same mortal earth upon which he had been living, unknowingly taking every step he had ever taking in her direction.

He could not hear anything but the child’s cries; his daughter’s cries, that sounded so strangely beautiful as they filled his ears and his entire being while simultaneously filling him with an urge to make them stop, to make her calm. To make her happy. He would give everything he had, everything he was, if it would grant her a lifetime without ever crying again. Jean-Pierre did not hear what the midwife said to him. He simply nodded, his eyes wide with a mixture of anticipation and terror, without ever removing his gaze from her where she rested in the woman’s arms. He was terrified. He was. Granted, he had been frightened by the prospect of becoming a parent earlier, but the realisation was somehow just taking proper shape now that the fact was imminent. How could he possibly be father? He was arrogant, irresponsible, he—

The midwife placed the baby in his arms. For a second, he stood frozen; hardly more animate than an age old statue. It was as though he had been shattered into cinders then rebuilt in less than a heartbeat and he could not tell for certain whether each piece had been placed where it was before. To Jean-Pierre Highsmith, this second of immobility could not have lasted any longer, for with every beat of his heart he wanted nothing more than to bring her face to his.

"Genevieve…"

As if his word — him saying her name — had mattered to her, the crying faded. “Genevieve,” he said again, more clearly this time even though his voice was thick with tears. “Ma fille, ma petite fille, je t’aime," he sung softly as he brought his face down to meet hers, placing soft, light kisses on her nose, her cheeks, her forehead. "I love you." She was no longer crying. Her small hands were now reaching for his face and gently brushing his cheeks. Jean-Pierre knew that it was not very likely, but he couldn’t help but wonder if it could perhaps be because she recognised him. Recognised his voice. Knew that he was her father and that he loved her because for the past six months, since they had learned that she was growing in her mother’s womb, he had told her over and over.

Genevieve rested her head against his face, and he pulled her closer — protectively wrapping his arms around her small body with the promise that he would not allow anything, or anyone, to ever harm her in any way. She was his daughter, and he belonged to her. Completely and wholeartedly. He would dedicate his entire life to keeping her happy, safe; to make sure that she knew just how loved she was. He did not know her future, or his own, but he did know that his love for her would remain; constant and far greater than he would have thought to be possible already.

The entire time, from the moment she had found a home in his arms, Jean-Pierre had been crying ceaselessly; warm tears rolling down his cheeks as he looked down at his new born daughter. As she stirred in his arms he continued to take her in. The very sight of her, the warmth she radiated where rested safely in his arms filled him with an evangelical sense of bliss. Her fingers were so small — barely able to wrap around his thumb, and her feet… so small, and so soft. Everything about her was soft and gentle, but he could also tell that she was strong and determined. He did not know how, but he could. Her lips were pursed and her eyebrows slightly furrowed as though she was thinking of something very important, but only for a moment before she yawned, and opened her eyes — ever so slightly, but revealing a sight so glorious that a smile even wider. She had her mother’s eyes. The beautiful, radiant dark blue eyes he had only ever seen in one other person looked back at him with curiosity. He would gladly spend an entire lifetime looking into those eyes. He wanted to know every secret they guarded.

Helena. Having been completely engulfed, his entire being gladly devoured by the little girl who fit so perfectly in his arms, he had not yet given Helena the chance to hold their newborn. Genevieve continued to stir and warble as he turned to face his wife. His love, undying and eternal now belonged to two women but had not been divided; only doubled. The love that was evident in his eyes as he met those of his beloved Helena was more than he could ever had dreamed of a lost child in Alicante, where he had first met her; where he had found himself through her. She was his salvation, and once again, she had blessed him. Blessed him with a life filled with love not even a poet could describe without doing it great injustice.

Gently, Jean-Pierre bent down, watching as a mesmerised Helena reached out and held their daughter’s hand inbetween her own fingers. “She is,” he agreed, unable to stop smiling as he looked up at her. Helena looked so tired, so worn, and yet her entire being was radiating with joy. Even in a time like this, she was breathtaking — from the smallest strand of ruffled hair to, most importantly, the very depths of her heart. He could not have loved her any more than he did in that very moment. “Like her mother.” Calmly and eagerly all at once, he placed their newborn daughter in her mother’s outstretched arms. Then, carefully, he sat down on the edge of the bed — moving so that Helena rested against his body rather than the pillows, her head against his chest, allowing him to embrace both mother and daughter. Jean-Pierre couldn’t help but wonder as he looked down, if there had ever been a sight as beautiful as Helena Morgenstern cradling their infant daughter. “Genevieve Alexandra Highsmith,” he said, beaming with pride. “You have no idea how loved you are.”

[helenamorgenstern]

For the past six months, nothing terrified Helena more than the concept of motherhood. After all, what did she know? She had never taken care of another human being. Let alone a child who would need her attention and care every second of every day. Helena was absolutely clueless and that, amongst a few other things, frustrated her to no end. She would lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering how on Earth she could become a mother her child deserved. She wished to be like her own mother; to be as patient, as caring, as nurturing as Anna Morgenstern. But Helena was none of those things. She was the kind of person who took it hard when things went awry and while she was proud of her strength, she had no idea if she'd be capable of being as patient as her mother. She was, Helena believed with all her heart, was the worst candidate to be a mother. She had absolutely no tender bone in her body and she feared her child would hate her. But as soon as she heard her daughter's cries, the fear became totally insignificant. Because there was nothing more than Helena wanted than to be a mother to the child who's cries were filling the air. 

There were no words that could describe how she felt the very moment her husband carefully placed their child in her arms. It was as if nothing else existed except for the little bundle that was in her arms and Helena couldn't help but marvel at the tiny being wrapped in white. It was as though her heart was no longer in her chest, but in her child's body. How she could love someone unconditionally without knowing anything about them except their name was beyond her but that was exactly how she felt for the little person she had just given birth to who was now in her arms, with half-lidded eyes and her mouth forming the smallest O as she yawned. She was absolutely beautiful, Helena thought, and she couldn't fathom how she was able to give life to such a beautiful being. She was so tiny and Helena held her as if she was fragile, but she believed that her child was anything but. Her lips stretched into a smile as her baby's eyelids fluttered open and eyes that resembled hers stared back at her. This was it, Helena thought. The child in her arms was real and she was no longer a part of Helena's body but even so, Helena felt like she was a part of her still. And there wasn't anything she wouldn't do to protect her little Genevieve from anything that might wish her harm.

"Hello.." Helena's voice was thick with awe as she softly caressed her daughter's cheek with the back of her fingers. Her heart was filled with indescribable warmth and tears began filling her eyes once again as she gently rocked little Genevieve. It was truly a wondrous sight, her child. Their child. Her and Jean-Pierre's. Both their bloods coursed through the little girl's veins. She was their flesh and blood; the product of their love for each other. Helena had never thought of herself as a sentimental person but she began crying softly, unable to contain the many emotions she was currently feeling. There was no more fear. Only determination to be the best mother that she can be for her newborn baby. "Hello there, Genevieve." she whispered before slowly leaning forward and kissing her daughter's forehead ever so gently.

As Jean-Pierre settled himself behind her, Helena leaned back against him and rested her head against his shoulder. How lovely they must look, she thought with pride. They were a family now. She and Jean-Pierre were now parents to such a lovely child and Helena thanked the Angel for everything-- even the obstacles they had to go through in the past for Helena wouldn't have known such joy if it weren't for them. She was truly blessed. 

Genevieve moved ever so slightly in Helena's arms, causing Helena's heart to skip a beat for she feared she would drop her baby. But it seemed that Genevieve only wanted to snuggle closer and so Helena brought her closer to her chest. Something caught Helena's eye as she wound the blanket properly around Genevieve's little body. The dark-haired Shadowhunter softly pushed the cloth down to reveal her daughter's small chest and there, just above her beating heart, was a mark. A birthmark. "Is that..." Helena started, her brows furrowing. "Is that a parabatai rune? Do you see that, Jean-Pierre?" 

[halstcnsage-deactivated20171228]

Helena & Hana Morgenstern

"They were always together— inseparable. One could never set the two apart." "How did Helena take it when her twin sister died?" "What do you expect? The girl has not been the same ever since."

[weheartdaddario]

annabeth chase

[helenamorgenstern]

Much Awaited || Helena & Jean-Pierre

[jeanpierrehighsmith]

Jean-Pierre had to fight the urge to cry out as Helena crushed his hand, his face contorting in pain. His hand remained in hers as she continued to cry out and held it even tighter. It seemed like such a small and insignificant gesture for him to make — to simply leave her with a hand to hold when there was nothing he could possibly do to lessen her pain. And he knew, from the pain of broken fingers shooting through his hand, that Helena — his Helena, so incredibly strong and usually the type to suffer in silence — was in agony that made the pain of being stabbed in the gut by a jagged blade seem laughable. So, instead of pulling his hand away, he left it in hers. The pain she felt was his as well, and even though his surely broken fingers could only compare to a fraction of it, he wanted to share as much of it as possible. Hoping to somehow make her burden lighter.

"Oh, love," Jean-Pierre breathed as he picked Helena up — the weight of her body in his arms seemingly non-existent as he found himself feeling stronger than ever before. Reluctantly he removed his hand from her grip, placing it on her shoulder instead. The other arm supported her weight at the hollow of her knees. "Breathe, just breathe… You are strong. Stronger than anyone I know." His thoughts were nowhere but in that very moment. They had to get to their chambers — Helena needed to lie down while they awaited the arrival of the Silent Brothers. Perhaps they would be able to soothe her growing agony, he thought to himself in an attempt to find some comfort. He could not stand to see her in such pain.

With determination, Jean-Pierre pushed through the doors of the library and began hurrying through the corridors. Every so often he mumbled soothingly to a crying Helena — wishing that he would be able to lay her down on their bed soon so that his hands would be fre to wipe away her tears as they continued to trickle down onto his shirt, warming the skin underneath. He begged of her to hold on. To draw deep breaths and listen to his voice. He could have used someone to tell him the very same thing seeing as he had barely taken a breath at all since he had found her on the ground in the library, but what he needed was less than negligable. Especially to himself.

Finally. Jean-Pierre felt the relief surge through him as he could finally see their chambers in the not too considerable distance, as well as the figures waiting behind the door. A Silent Brother he had never seen before as well as two women; midwives. But there was no time for him to breathe just yet. “Open the door,” he yelled out at the strangers, thinking of no one other than Helena as he rushed into their room before everything slowed down. For what was barely a minute, as he placed her down onto their bed, everything was still. Calm. Helena was breathing; still in distress, but taking deep breaths. Kneeling beside the bed, he wiped her tears away and placed feather light kisses on her cheek.

Then suddenly, as he felt a foreign hand on his shoulder, the entire world sped up again. Helena’s cries blended with the sound of a woman yelling out instructions; some to Helena, some to the other woman by her side, as Jean-Pierre turned to face the Silent Brother who had demanded the young Shadowhunter’s attention with his touch.

Mr Highsmith, the Brother spoke to his mind. It is not expected of a man to be present during a delivery. I suggest you wait outside — the Inquisitor has been called and will arrive shortly. I believe he will want to speak to you when he does. It is in your best interest.

"I… What?" Jean-Pierre felt his hands go numb and his voice tremble — only now did he realise what pressure his nerves had endured over the past half hour, and he struggled to remain standing as his heart flickered and his knees nearly went limp. In spite of doubting his ability to speak at all at this point, he continued to address the Silent Brother."I am not leaving. I am not going anywhere. I will stay in this room, beside my wife, and you cannot convince me to do otherwise. To stay here is what is in my best interest. Perhaps not yours, but you see, I am a very selfish man."

The Silent Brother did not reply. In stead, he turned to the older one of the midwives; their eyes connecting as they seemed to be in conversation. Hardly a minute later the woman turned away from the Brother and faced Jean-Pierre instead. “If you would follow me, sir,” she said as she approached before gesturing him to follow her to the door. Her eyes were cold, he thought — even though they had a warm, amber colour, they seemed to be regarding him with ice.

"I will not," he said, but was unable to hold his place as she took him lightly by the arm and pulled him towards the door. He was far too weak. His entire body continued to tremble. It was a wonder, he thought, that he had not shattered into a thousand pieces already.

"It is not customary for a husband, or parabatai,” the midwife said in what was nearly a hiss as she continued to pull and push him towards the door. “To be present during a delivery. The Inquisitor will be expecting you ready to address him regarding the current nature of your… special circumstances.”

Ah. So perhaps that was why she was looking at him with such disdain. It was no secret that the absolute majority of the Clave remained judgemental about him and Helena; some were even appalled, and had no problem expressing their disgust. He had heard. From Amalia, who always sugarcoated it for his protection, and sometimes for himself. The thought of leaving Helena in a room with this woman — of letting her deliver a child, his child, that many who shared her opinion considered an abomination — was not something he was about to do.

"I suggest you make no fuss and leave immediately," she continued before Jean-Pierre interrupted her.

"Are you not paying any attention," he said, his voice growing stronger as he once again felt as though he was able to support his own weight. "Or are you simply a halfwit? I am not leaving! I am staying in this room, with my wife, and by the Angel if you try to throw me out again I will make sure that you come to regret it dearly. Is that understood?!”

The midwife stood completely still, regarding him with wide eyes. “I…”

Alright, the Silent Brother spoke, turning the attention of a heavily breathing Jean-Pierre as well as the terrified midwife towards himself. Mr Highsmith may stay. it seems there is no convincing him and your argument does not benifit anyone.

Jean-Pierre sighed in relief, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath before rushing over to Helena and once again kneeling by her side. He turned towards the man in the parchment robes. “Thank you, Brother..?”

Enoch.

"Brother Enoch. Thank you. I owe you beyond anything I could possibly provide you with, I assure you that you will not come to regret this." With an apologetic expression he turned towards the older of the midwives. "I… I am truly sorry for whatever distress I may have caused you. I make no excuse for my words and actions other than the fact that I was in a state of desperation." She nodded slightly before returning to placing towels on the bed, beneath Helena’s feet.

Helena clasped his sleeve and pulled, causing Jean-Pierre to lose his balance temporarily before regaining it and taking her hand in both of his. She cried out once again, and even though he felt as though the very sight of her in such pain twisted his heart and poured ice down his back, he knew that he had to remain calm. He could not take on the pain for her. All he could do was to be there for her; he would be her rock, her calm in the storm. And he would. With every cry that made him wish he could tear his heart out of his chest, he took a deep breath. Each time she pressed his hand he pressed back, before bringing her clenched fist to his lips. He rearranged the pillows behind her back. Wiped the sweat off her forehead with the towel he had received from the hands of the younger midwife who had been trying to do the very same thing until he had begged her to do it himself. “Helena, mon amour,” he whispered as he stroked her hair. “It’s nearly over now. You have been so good, my love, it’s nearly over…”

[helenamorgenstern]

"Breathe, Miss." The midwife ordered, managing to sound soothing while scolding Helena at the same time.

"I'm-- I'm trying! It is not as easy as you think!" Helena hissed through gritted teeth, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the midwife.

"Do not waste your energy. You will need it for the delivery, so try as best as you can to remain calm or you will be jeopardizing not only your safety but your child's as well." Helena's eyes were wide as she regarded the midwife and her mind processed her words. She had to remain calm, for her child's sake. She did not spend the past nine months trying her hardest to stay healthy to just mess it all up in the last few moments. And so she dutifully followed the midwife's instructions. However, as another wave of pain shot through her stomach, she was once again gasping. "It's time!" the midwife shouted from Helena's feet, catching the attention of the other midwife who was pushing Jean-Pierre out of the door just moments ago

Helena was beyond the point of caring. She was in so much pain now and it was all she could do not to scream and demand that somebody do something to make it stop. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest and sweat mixed with tears dampened her pale face. She was aware of the midwives shouting instructions at her, but she couldn't quite make out their words. She was gasping too loudly and the sound of her blood pounding in her ears did not help. She heard Jean-Pierre's voice then and when she turned her head, she saw him and she reached for him, wanting to hold onto his hand. He was always giving her strength, even when he did not know it, and she needed him now more than ever. "Don't-- don't go, please. Stay. Don't leave." she said as tears began running down her cheeks once again. Helena was not only in pain, but she was afraid as well. What if something went wrong? What if something had happened to their child? She would never be able to forgive herself, and she knew Jean-Pierre wouldn't as well.

"I can see the baby's head!" Helena's gaze flickered to the midwives standing by her feet. The younger of the two looked excited and the sides of her lips were tugged upwards when she raised her eyes and met Helena's. "You're gonna have to help us, Miss. When we say push, you push, alright? And try not to scream so much or you'll quickly lose energy." Helena nodded her head, her lips pressed together. She was still terrified, but Helena was determined to do whatever the midwives asked her to do. Taking a deep breath, she intertwined her fingers with her husband's and when the midwife told her to push, she did, squeezing Jean-Pierre's fingers in the process. Her other hand was clutching the sheets, balling them into her fists as she used whatever strength she had left to push. "A little more, Miss!" the midwife ordered. Helena did as she asked, but she could feel her strength waning. "Another, Miss! One more!"

Helena could not remember feeling as tired as she felt at that very moment, but when the midwives urged her to push, she did. And this time, she gave it her all. Despite the midwife's instructions, Helena screamed as she used the little strength she had left to deliver her baby. She must've held her breath for a full minute before she fell back onto the bed and gasped for air. "I can't-- I can't anymore. I'm sorry." she said in between sobs, her eyes closed and her hands limp. 

The room was quiet for a few minutes before the soft sound of a baby crying filled the air. Even though she's heard plenty of children cry in Alicante, the sound of her child crying was unlike anything she had heard before. In spite of her weak state, Helena was able to prop herself on her elbows and from where she was, she could see the midwives wrapping a white blanket around the baby. Her baby. Helena smiled, tears clouding her vision as she watched her child cry in the older woman's arms. Warmth filled Helena's chest and all she wanted to do at that very moment was hold the baby she had been waiting for for nine whole months. She heard Jean-Pierre inhale and she took a quick sidelong glance at him and smiled when their eyes met, before turning her attention back to her child. Or, rather, their child.

"You have a lovely baby daughter." the younger midwife remarked. The baby was in her arms now and she was smiling as she moved closer to the new parents. 

"May I-- May we hold her?" Helena inquired, her gaze never leaving her child's face. The sight of her--of Genevieve-- filled Helena with wonder and joy and above all, love. 

The midwife gently handed over the baby to Jean-Pierre. Helena figured it was best. After all, she doubted she had the strength and her hands were shaking in her sides. Helena watched as the baby settled in Jean-Pierre's arms and regarded him with sleepy blue eyes. She was no longer crying and her tiny fingers were in her mouth. Slowly, Helena reached out, taking her daughter's hand in hers and softly holding her tiny fingers. "She's beautiful." she whispered, her voice thick with awe as she raised her eyes to meet her husband's.

[helenamorgenstern]

Much Awaited || Helena & Jean-Pierre

[jeanpierrehighsmith]

Three things had been established by Jean-Pierre Highsmith from the moment he had gotten out of bed that morning, some time before sunrise — firstly, that the cold was positively unearthly for mid June, even at such an hour; secondly, that he was subject to his wife’s every whim whether she wanted him to be or not; and lastly, that he did not mind any of it at all. It had been with a smile on his face he had let his bare feet touch the cold floor of their chambers after having felt Helena stir beside him. He had known that it had only been a matter of time and sure enough, moments later when she had opened her eyes, he had already been fully clothed. He had greeted her weary expression with a complacent grin. Jean-Pierre took, without an ounce of shame, enormous pleasure in smugly greeting his wife — often still half asleep — on those mornings when she would have early on during the pregnancy snuck down to the kitchens by herself, not wanting to ‘disturb him’. Nonsense, he would say, but Helena was… Helena. And so she would not let him do anything for her did he not manage to keep his plans a secret. Whenever he succeeded he couldn’t help but be extraordinarily pleased with himself.

"I suppose we know each other well enough for me to be completely honest with you," Emily said from where she stood leaning against the counter, regarding him with mild astonishment. "And so I must say that I never would have guessed you, of all men, to be such husband material. Granted, none of you were at that age, many still aren’t, but you…”

Jean-Pierre bridled at her. “Excuse me,” He said, mocking offense, although meanwhile grinning with amusement as he recognised the inevitable truth in her statement.

"Oh you know what I mean," she said, waving her hand dismissively as he continued to assemble various fruits on the plate before him. "And you should, in fact, take it as a compliment. Even though you were once such an unlikely candidate, you are by far…" Emily fell briefly silent, her voice thickening and causing Jean-Pierre to look in her direction. She continued shortly — a warm, gentle smile now spread across her features. "By far one of the most devoted and loving husbands I have ever witnessed."

"Such kind words," he said with half a smirk as his gaze once again fell on the stunningly decorated plate before him. "Even for you, Emily." Jean-Pierre couldn’t help but wonder why Emily was all of a sudden speaking to him in such a manner — she had always been sincere and, much like her aunt, been kind to him and treated him as a member of the family; even when he had not deserved it. One thing he had never known her to be, though, was emotional. Although there she stood with him in the kitchens at sunrise, her eyes glistening as she seemed to be speaking from the heart. Something was slightly off. Even though he did not find it too odd to have found her awake and wandering at such an hour — she could have been out hunting, after all — he felt as though he needed to ask why that was. Not that he could bring himself to.

"I am glad you found someone you love as much as you love Helena. Everyone deserves such pure, unconditional love in their lives; you make a wonderful couple, in every sense of the word." Jean-Pierre looked up at her. Emily Penhallow, friend of the Clave; Emily, the very embodiment of the Nephilim law; Emily, who knew every word of the Codex like the back of her hand, had spoken those words. Perhaps there was more to her than he had ever figured.

It was strange, and not that strange at all, that all he could manage to say in such a delicate moment was a phrase as plain and unemotional as “shall we go, then?” Emily nodded, and Jean-Pierre picked up the plate where diverse pieces of fruit had together formed a commitment rune.

Emily had insisted on walking with him as she was apparently heading for the library, and Jean-Pierre was not one to deny her that. Even during a time when the company of others had seemed like nothing but a dreadful idea, Emily’s company had never been all that bad. They had only just reached the corridor when Jean-Pierre felt a strange tug at his heart — moments before hearing a mind piercing scream. The voice, sending a mixture of fire and ice through his entire being and causing him to drop the plate, was unmistakable. Helena. An eternity later he heard the muted sound of porcelain shattering. As he bolted forward, Jean-Pierre would have felt the same porcelain crunch underneath his feet as a few of the shards pierced his shoes — although he didn’t, for the sensation of his heart being set ablaze combined with the determination of reaching her had engulfed him completely.

It had come from the library. It was as if the world apart from the path before him did not exist until the very moment Jean-Pierre pushed through the doors, desperately scanning the room as his senses were overcome with old colours and smells experienced in a whole new way. There she was, his Helena, crouching on the ground with such pain on her features. “Helena,” he called out as he rushed over to her, taking her hand and kneeling by her side. “Helena, darling, is everything alright?” Although it did not take much for him to tell that she was not ‘alright’. “Emily,” he yelled with a mixture of desperation, worry and determination as he turned to where she stood in the doorway. “Call for the Silent Brothers, wake Charlotte, get… anyone. Please.” But he did not have to beg, for she was already on her way with hurried steps. A fraction of a second later he heard the sound of running echo through the hallway. Jean-Pierre brushed his hands through Helena’s hair as he whispered soothingly, his forehead pressed against hers. “It’s alright… shh… You’re alright…”

[helenamorgenstern]

The pain was excruciating and Helena had to bite her lip and clench her hands into fists to stop herself from crying out once again. It was early in the morning, after all, and most of the residents of the Institute were no doubt still asleep. Helena was convinced that she could handle the pain and so she did not want to bother anyone. Perhaps it was pride that made her think such thoughts even at the amount of pain she was in and got her on her feet for about a full minute before her knees gave under her and she was on the ground as pain continued to shoot up her stomach every second or so. It became apparent to her that she was in desperate need of help so when the door flew open and she found her husband standing on the entryway, with a surprised Emily standing right beside him, Helena almost sagged in relief.

"Help me." she managed to say in between gasps and groans. Her eyes were glistening by the time Jean-Pierre got to her. Helena was on the verge of tears because of the pain and she wished for nothing more than for it to stop. She knew what the pain meant, though. She had asked Charlotte Branwell questions about labor and had spent a good amount of time reading about it as well. Helena had considered herself prepared. After all, she was a Shadowhunter and pain had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember. She survived sprains and twisted ankles and broken arms. But no amount of reading could have prepared her for that very moment. Everything was completely out of her control.

"No.." She shook her head vigorously, her dark curls flying around and some strands of her hair sticking to her forehead because of the sweat. Helena was breathless and she could hear the blood pounding in her ears. Her legs felt like water and there was a stabbing pain in her thighs that made her want to cry out in agony. "I am not alright, Jean-Pierre! So much-- pain!" She gasped and grabbed Jean-Pierre's hand, squeezing it tightly as pain shot through her stomach once again. She was sobbing now, hot tears spilling down her cheeks as she held on to her husband. "The baby-- Genevieve--" Another gasp escaped her lips, this time followed by a groan. 

Helena clung to Jean-Pierre as he carried her. The hallways were all a blur to her as Jean-Pierre walked, and she could see the concern on his features as she clung to him. She wanted to reassure him that she was fine, that she could handle the pain--even though she was having a hard time time convincing even herself-- but all she managed to say was "I'm fine. I'll be fine." before she gasped once again. Helena was trying her best to remain calm for her child's sake and for her own, but it was difficult when all she wanted to do was sob because of the pain. 

By the time they reached their chambers, there were people standing on the doorway. Helena's muddled mind barely recognized their faces but as Jean-Pierre put her down on the bed and a cloaked figure drew closer to her, she found herself staring at the expressionless face of a Silent Brother. Remain calm, Helena, he said, directly to her mind. Breathe or you will have a hard time delivering your child. More figures came to stand by her bedside and there was suddenly a woman on the foot of the bed, giving her instructions on how to breathe evenly despite of the pain.

Helena tried her best to follow the midwife's instructions, inhaling through the nose and exhaling through the mouth. She found herself calming a little bit, but was once again groaning when pain took over her body. She searched the room for Jean-Pierre and found him standing by the doorway. Helena propped herself on her elbows using the bit of strength she had left and called out for him. From where she was, she could hear the midwife ordering Jean-Pierre to leave and just when Helena was about to protest, to tell the midwife that she wanted her husband in her room, she felt a sharp pain--this time, more excruciating than the previous ones-- and called, instead, for the midwife. 

[bartowsky]

O! I am Fortune’s fool!

[hana-morgenstern]

Helena?

[hana-morgenstern]

I haven’t been up to much, really. Training, reading, spending time in the kitchens. And no, I haven’t. Why do you ask?

[helenamorgenstern]

Curious s'all. I thought they visited and didn't bother to let me know. Though knowing father, that is unlikely. It seems scolding me has a become a hobby of his. [she chuckles softly] 

[isabelle--sophia--lightwood-blog]

"It is, terribly uncomfortable." She said sighing, fixing her clothes. "Yeah, I’m fine, thank you." She said, not having realized she had fallen asleep in a couch in the Sanctuary.

[helenamorgenstern]

"Why were you sleeping on it then?" she asked with furrowed brows. Perhaps she did not have a room in the Institute, Helena thought. She rarely ever ran across anyone who slept in the Sanctuary. After all, the area was mostly used for entertaining Downworlder visitors who cannot step foot inside the Institute. "I don't believe we've met before. If we have, then it must have slipped my mind and for that I apologize." The dark-haired Shadowhunter held out a hand. "I'm Helena. Helena Mor-- Highsmith." 

[hana-morgenstern]

Helena?

[hana-morgenstern]

Well, that’s good to hear. You’re happy with Jean-Pierre, so I’m happy for you. Glad that you are. Well, I’m sure I can talk to him some other time.

[helenamorgenstern]

He would love that. [she smiles] What have you been up to, dear sister? Have you heard from mother and father recently?

[helenamorgenstern]

Much Awaited || Helena & Jean-Pierre

Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to walk around the Institute in her condition. Especially when it was as cold as it was that very morning. Then again, the cold had never bothered Helena, having grown up in a city that rarely ever saw the sun. She was, however, bothered by how quickly she felt exhausted. She was certain she had only been walking for five minutes or so, and she had trained for far longer than that without ever feeling the need to rest. But there she was, standing by the entryway of the library, her legs and back aching. It was both funny and frustrating. Helena understood completely why she was feeling such things. The Silent Brother told her that it was normal, but at the same time, she couldn't help but feel useless. And Helena hated feeling useless. There were days when she could barely get out of bed because of the pain, and plenty of sleepless nights as well. Helena always thought that she had a high tolerance for pain, being a Shadowhunter and having to deal with injuries everyday, but she was proven wrong when a wave of pain took over her entire body that first morning. And, seeing how much it worried Jean-Pierre to see her like that, she would usually try and make it seem as if it wasn't as bad as he thought when, most of the time, it was worse.

Then there was the fear. After nine months, Helena still couldn't shake the feeling that she would fail miserably at becoming a mother. After all, what did she know? She was only eighteen and had spent the past five years looking out for herself and only herself. There was Jean-Pierre and she had looked out for him as well, but he wasn't a child who needed attention and care every hour of everyday. And love. The child would need love. Helena spent countless nights thinking about whether or not she would love her child enough, and if she would love Helena back. It was absolutely terrifying how unprepared she was and she had to constantly remind herself that she wouldn't be alone in this; that Jean-Pierre would be with her every step of the way, raising their child with her and the thought of that would be enough to calm her thoughts. Because even though she doubted herself, Helena knew that Jean-Pierre would became a great father. He was always so attentive, so thoughtful, and so loving. He never seemed to grow tired of her requests--though there had been very little considering she was determined to do most things for herself still, even with her large belly-- and he always managed to make her feel better even when she thoughts it was impossible. She would also be forever grateful for how patient he has been. With the discomfort she had been feeling, Helena was more irritable and angry than usual but Jean-Pierre stayed by her side. 

However, that morning, Helena was not with Jean-Pierre. He had gone to the kitchen to fetch her a plate of fruit upon her request and had taken too long to come back to their chambers. While Helena was not worried, she was curious as to what was keeping him and decided that a short stroll to the kitchen would do her some good. But the walk did not have the desired effect. Helena's back was in so much pain, and she felt as if her legs were about to give under her. Despite of the cold, there was a bead of sweat on her forehead as she forced herself to take a few more steps towards the nearest sofa by the fireplace of the library. She felt relieved as soon as she sat down, the pain in her back and legs slowly receding. But not a moment later, there was a sharp pain in her stomach that caused her to cry out. Her voice bounced through the walls of the empty library, her hands clenching into fists. Her breathing became labored and she would have cried had she not been too busy trying her best not to collapse.

[isabelle--sophia--lightwood-blog]

It’s okay, just a nightmare.

[helenamorgenstern]

You really ought to sleep on your own bed. That sofa looks terribly uncomfortable. [her brows furrow in concern when she sees the look on the other girl's face] Are you alright? 

[hana-morgenstern]

Helena?

[hana-morgenstern]

I suppose that’s true. I’ve been good, nothing much, really. And you? How are you and Jean-Pierre?

[helenamorgenstern]

I'm well, thank you. Though I am growing more uncomfortable every day. Brother Enoch has told me that it is normal; the baby is due any day so the discomfort is perfectly normal. But still. [she chuckles] And I believe Jean-Pierre is fine as well. He went.. somewhere. Just a few minutes ago, actually. Pity you didn't catch him. He would've liked to talk to you, I'm sure.

[hana-morgenstern]

Helena?

[hana-morgenstern]

You have? What for?

[helenamorgenstern]

I simply wanted to come and talk to you, dear sister. I feel like we rarely ever see each other. We live under one roof, but our paths never cross. [she smiles] How are you, Hana?

[hana-morgenstern]

Helena?

[helenamorgenstern]

Hana, there you are. Had I known you'd be here, I would have come here first. I've been looking for you all morning. 

[jeanpierrehighsmith]

All Loved Ones || Helena, Jean-Pierre... and Genevieve

[jeanpierrehighsmith]

"I can’t believe this," Jean-Pierre mumbled into his sister’s hair as he struggled not to break down entirely. She felt so very real, so solid as he held her and yet, every ounce of reason he possessed spoke against the idea of Genevieve actually being there, in his arms. But the image and sensation of her was far to vivid for his mind to have conjured all on its own. Even though he had so often wished to see her one last time, to tell her everything he was never granted a chance to when she had been taken from him all too suddenly — so much so that he had once been willing to and sincerely contemplated taking his own life so that he may be with her in death — he had never thought his mind would be desperate enough to drive him to hallucination. But even though his heart still chronically ached with the loss of her, something he had never gotten past but learnt to live with, he was certain that he was no longer in a place where such madness would consume him. He was happier than he could have ever wished to be, all thanks to Helena. His Helena.

Jean-Pierre pulled away slightly, looking into her hazel eyes as if to assure himself that she was still with him. In them he saw everything he remembered, and more. Even though she was still the sixteen year old girl who had left him much too soon he could tell in her eyes that she was, in a way, older; that she was wiser, which he had never thought possible. In his boyhood Jean-Pierre had never been able to imagine that there would be anyone wiser and more understanding than his older sister — making it suitable that the only person wiser than she had been would be herself. "Je t’ai manque," he breathed with a smile as he rested his forehead against hers.

"Je t’ai manque aussi, mon petit frére," she said, returning his smile and gently resting her hand on his cheek he did the same. “Mais tu n’es pas petit plus, n’est pas?” Genevieve laughed warmly; a sweet sound to her baby brother’s ears. "Je ne peux pas tu faire ressembler un fille maintenant… au moins un jolie fille."

The two were smiling, holding each other tightly when the door to the chambers opened. Helena, Jean-Pierre thought with excitement as he looked up, eager for his wife to share this moment with him. Never once had he dared to think that he would ever be granted a chance to introduce his sister to the woman he loved — to tell Genevieve that there was a child to be born in a mere couple of months, who would be given the name of her aunt in honour of the ultimate sacrifice she had made.

But Helena’s expression did most definitely not mirror his own — in fact, it was entirely one of hurt and shock. Jean-Pierre slowly backed away from his sister and moved closer towards his wife, warily reaching out towards her as he desperately tried to figure out what had happened to upset her so. “Helena darling, what’s wrong, has something happened…” he begun, but was rendered dumbfounded the moment she opened her mouth; speaking in such immense anger and stress that Jean-Pierre could feel it running through his own bones. “How dare I… what? What?” He furrowed his brows in bewilderment. Meanwhile, he gently guided his wife — who did not seem too eager to have him touch her at all in that moment, for some reason — to have a seat on the edge of the bed.

Jean-Pierre did not know what he could possibly have done to make her so upset. Obviously, he must have done something, judging by the way she was accusing him but he had absolutely no idea of what. She had been completely content with everything, as had he, when they went to bed the previous night. Had he said something to hurt her in his sleep? Carefully he took the plate she was clenching in her hands from her and placed it on the nightstand. Hoping she would offer some female insight, he looked towards Genevieve, and—

Genevieve. Whom Helena had never met and therefore most likely did not recognise in any way. He imagined there was only one conclusion her mind had led her to when seeing him embracing a strange girl in their chambers and, even though Jean-Pierre was more hurt than he would admit over the fact that she would ever think such a thing of him, he understood why the actual reason — her husband embracing the sister he had lost four years ago — was not the most obvious one.

He sat down beside her, lovingly placing his hand on her shoulder as he tried to think of the best possible way to mediate the actual situation. But as she flinched away he could not help but look at his sister — who had, as always, reached the same conclusion far earlier than her little brother — and both siblings burst out laughing.

As he laughed, Jean-Pierre could think of nothing more than how insensitive he was being and what an awful person he was to laugh at his wife’s reaction when she was obviously in distress over the situation. But he was far too amused, and in combination with his original surge of overwhelming emotion, laughing had become inevitable.

"You’re being cruel," Genevieve said in between giggles, trying desperately not to seem as amused as her brother was. In stead, she moved towards Helena — crouching so that their faces were aligned as she took her hands in her own. It was a strange situation, she knew; therefore she made her introduction as simple as she could, seeing as there couldn’t possibly a more appropriate one to be thought out. "Hello, Helena. My name is Genevieve, and it is lovely to meet you at last."

[helenamorgenstern]

Helena was trying her hardest to keep herself from crying. Was he laughing at her? Had she been so pathetic all this time? Her heart felt heavy in her chest as she avoided Jean-Pierre's gaze. She couldn't look at him for she feared that if she did, she would break and that was not something she wanted either Jean-Pierre or the mysterious girl to witness. Helena did not know what to do. She sat there, frozen, her hands clenched so tightly into fists that she could feel pain from her nails digging harshly into her palms. Jean-Pierre was laughing at her; laughing! She would never have thought that he could be so cruel to laugh at her when she was in pain. How badly she wanted to walk away but for some reason, she sat there, staring blankly at the leg of a wooden divider nearby. Her eyes were stinging but they were dry. 

She was surprised when she felt a pair of hands take hold of hers. Helena turned her head slightly, expecting to see Jean-Pierre but instead found herself looking into the green eyes of the fair-haired girl. Her wide blue eyes flickered to Jean-Pierre's amused face--what was he so amused about?-- then back to the girl's pale face. Her features were lit with amusement but her eyes were kind. The feeling that Helena knew her from somewhere was the only thing keeping her from retrieving her hands. Where had she seen her? In Idris? One of the girls who fawned over Jean-Pierre? Her jaw set and she was just about to pull her hands away from the girl's hold when she spoke. 

"What?" Helena was dumbfounded. It couldn't be. . Could it? Genevieve was gone. . dead. She wouldn't be in their bedroom, looking at her with kind green eyes. But there she was and as Helena stared at Genevieve's face, she saw the similarities between her and her younger brother. Helena had seen a photo of Genevieve a few times but she had been younger in the photographs. Perhaps ten or eleven. This girl looked a little older and Helena would have recognized her had she looked closely. "Genevieve?" she asked, her voice silent as she regarded the girl crouching in front of her. It was then that she realized why they had laughed. Helena felt heat rush to her face and she turned her head to Jean-Pierre and glared at him.

"You could not have told me as soon as I entered the room?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from sounding harsh but failing. "You had to laugh at me when I was so obviously in distress?" The grin that stretched on his lips made Helena take one of her hands from Genevieve's and lean towards Jean-Pierre and smacked him on the shoulder. The blow had little force and Helena had acted on impulse. But the hint of a smile was on her lips when she looked at the two Highsmith siblings. "By the Angel, Jean-Pierre Highsmith! I could have had a heart attack and you just laughed at me!"

Her gaze flickered to her husband's sister once again; her sister-in-law. Helena had never thought she would get the honor of meeting the most important girl in Jean-Pierre's life. Had it not been for Genevieve's sacrifice, Helena wouldn't have met Jean-Pierre. She wouldn't be living the life she was living now. In more ways than one, Helena owed her happiness to Genevieve and she had absolutely no clue as to how she was there, but Helena was happy to have finally met her. "Genevieve." she said, smiling at the other girl. "I.. It is such a pleasure to meet you. Your brother-- He has told me plenty about you." 

[weheartdaddario]