deathless aphrodite of the spangled mind

dité remembers helen.

dité loved helen. of course she did. sometimes people talk about it, about the whole paris thing, about the falling out, about the way that her friendship with helen fell apart the way that it did, like it was incidental. like it hadn’t mattered to her. like dité was this cold-hearted bitch who had just been using helen for clout, even though dité hadn’t needed helen for clout.

dité had chosen helen to be her best friend because she was the only other interesting bitch at that stupid rush party. she’d seen her YouTube—everyone on campus had seen her YouTube—and even though most of her videos were painfully standard, there was something about helen, about the way she moved, about the expressions she made when she forgot to school them. dité knew that underneath the perfectly cultivated exterior there was a dope as fuck weirdo just waiting to be unearthed, and dité wanted to unearth it.