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Helena was there, but wasn’t. This was her body, her voice, her face, but nothing of her mind, of her soul. An empty shell, like some sort of reverse ghost, a solid form devoid of everything that made Helena who she was. Myka couldn’t stand to even look at her, the woman who meant so much to her, who worked so hard to earn her trust and then betrayed her, wasn’t there. This was a mockery of the real Helena G. Wells, of unparalleled mind and deeply caring heart. This wasn’t her Helena, and it was too much for Myka.