( There's a certain point where nothing can layer over the blood on your hands. It'll just keep seeping through, drenching and drying through each layer so they stick together and fester. Helena can't help but wonder, sometimes, if she's deluding herself, if she's just fast tracking herself to a grave in the foundations of some new building works with all this.
Smuggling op, maybe, but she wants to take apart the families, and wants them to burn and writhe and know they're bleeding out and suffer through their deaths the way her mother did. The families are much a part of Sicily as orange blossom and the soil under their feet. They come hand in hand with invasion, violence and the brutal divide between those who have and those who haven't. Water in the mouth, they'd say, because you must never speak. I see everything, I say nothing. She only needed to worry about who it was that might be seeing her, and how much more blood that would tally up to - if she was corrupting herself irreversibly. (She'd been corrupted the day she was born, more than likely.)
It's seems innocuous enough, one of Sicily's wealthiest daughters waiting at the table and flipping through a menu as she waits for someone to come and fill the chair across from her. Guillermo better not be screwing her over, but at least there's a little less chance of him doing that when Sicily isn't his home. The odds of her asking him to cast away some other loyalty is less, but then the odds of him having any great loyalty to her is diminished, too.
So she waits at her table on the balcony of a fancy restaurant that overlooks the city at night, and tries not to remember the gun at her thigh or the knife in her dress. )
YOU KNOW WHO
Palermo, Sicily.
( There's a certain point where nothing can layer over the blood on your hands. It'll just keep seeping through, drenching and drying through each layer so they stick together and fester. Helena can't help but wonder, sometimes, if she's deluding herself, if she's just fast tracking herself to a grave in the foundations of some new building works with all this.
Smuggling op, maybe, but she wants to take apart the families, and wants them to burn and writhe and know they're bleeding out and suffer through their deaths the way her mother did. The families are much a part of Sicily as orange blossom and the soil under their feet. They come hand in hand with invasion, violence and the brutal divide between those who have and those who haven't. Water in the mouth, they'd say, because you must never speak. I see everything, I say nothing. She only needed to worry about who it was that might be seeing her, and how much more blood that would tally up to - if she was corrupting herself irreversibly. (She'd been corrupted the day she was born, more than likely.)
It's seems innocuous enough, one of Sicily's wealthiest daughters waiting at the table and flipping through a menu as she waits for someone to come and fill the chair across from her. Guillermo better not be screwing her over, but at least there's a little less chance of him doing that when Sicily isn't his home. The odds of her asking him to cast away some other loyalty is less, but then the odds of him having any great loyalty to her is diminished, too.
So she waits at her table on the balcony of a fancy restaurant that overlooks the city at night, and tries not to remember the gun at her thigh or the knife in her dress. )