Helen of Troy

Helen, that was her name. Now, her name is my own. My tongue rolls back, uttering each silent syllable. I have become well-acquainted with the ancient tongue spoken by the most ancient of beauties. The beauty has been abducted. I am no double; I am her. I speak with her mouth. I hear the cadence of each word with her ears. Her blue eyes gaze at me from inside the careless mirror.