I am supposed to be smart. I am supposed to be clever. I am supposed to be creative and bright and wonderful.
I am none of these things, it seems. Time has told of my greatness; yet history will remember me as vapid and weak. My legacy of intelligence and wisdom will fall to the remnants of my parental anguish.
I am a fraud. I am the failure of my own life's work. My daughter, beautiful Helena, smart Helena, ambitious Helena: she is gone. She has been taken by the only man who saw her for how incredible she truly was. He was the only one who saw her as I saw her.
Her wand, so similar to my own, lies next to my bed. I cannot bear to look at it for too long, for it reminds me of her excellent skills. That fact enrages me - I should not look at an inanimate object and think of cleverness; I should think of her wonderful smile and beautiful eyes. I should think of her infectious laughter echoing the halls and her eagerness to dance.
My quest for knowledge has led to my only daughter's death. My passion and obsession, my virtue and vice, killed my child. Baron may have the blood on his hands but it is my own imprudent selfishness that caused her to run in the first place.
The ghost of Baron returned to the grounds, entering my room with words of sorrow and despair. He weeps at my bedside and I cannot bring myself to console him. I am too pained to help him. I do not care for his broken heart, for he is dead. He will continue in this world with the knowledge that his hands killed the woman he loved. He swears he will tell no one, at my request. He will hide until the four founders are resting in their graves.
I do not know what I will tell the others. Salazar suspects something is amiss and Helga shows concern for Helena's disappearance. Godric, oh my sweet Godric, comes to my chamber to console me. They do not know why I am so solemn, for they believe my diadem is safe within my quarters. They believe my illness to be why I mourn in my chamber.
Once again, I hide from the ones that love me so. Will this iniquity be my last?
I should have given it to her. I should have let her see that knowledge is not more important than the love we have for each other, and even for those around us. I should have taught her to respect her own mind, as well as the minds around her, for they are as unique as the snowflakes that fall on my sill.
Instead, my broken heart seems only to add to my demise. And our namesake will die with me. My shameful actions have caused me more heartache than any witch should endure in a lifetime, let alone on her deathbed. When I reach the beyond, and see her again, I will forgive her this betrayal and she will forgive my selfishness. We will be a family of intelligent, creative witches.
We will be a family.