a/n: Well, here's another one-shot. Second person, yay... Um, there's kind of a narrator. I was picturing Alecto or Drew, but, you know... it doesn't have to be. And yes. 'You' is Reyna. And yes. It's Reyna/Jason/Piper. Sorry it's so short, btw. I didn't want it to go over one page in Word, so... Enjoy the story.

+standard disclaimer.

++review, please.


Starry Skies

(It's heartbreaking, isn't it? The love goddess plays favorites, honey.)


You're at the fields, lying underneath a starry sky, tears streaming down your oh-so-pretty face.

The same face that apparently isn't pretty enough.

Your long dark hair fans out underneath you, wet from the tears.

You're glad no one can see you here. You're their leader, and they can't see you break down over a boy. They need to be shown that all isn't lost. You need to be shown that all isn't lost, but that's not gonna happen. So here you are, crying a river, hoping that you'll figure it out.

You vaguely remember someone telling you that the love goddess doesn't play favorites, but obviously they're one of the lucky ones. You get the urge to sucker punch the girl who made you like this. Of course you won't blame him. You never will. That's just a horrible, disgusting, regrettable, true fact of your life.

You take deep breaths, but they only seem to make you cry harder, and soon, drops of clear rain begin to fall. You silently hope that someone—you stopped caring who just minutes ago—will come to find you.

Because in reality, you just wish that someone would care enough to make sure you weren't good doing something crazy and potentially dangerous.

Besides, what are you, anyway? Nothing special, because obviously you're not heroic, you're not in need of saving, and you're not a beautifully tragic lost cause. (But that's a lie and you know it because those last two describe you to a T.)

You're a hopeless romantic. You are a willing pawn in the love goddess' disgustingly addictive game, and no matter how much you want out, there's no escape.

It's heartbreaking, isn't it?

You sit up. It's pouring now, and it has become impossible to tell the tears and rain apart. You hear yourself give off a loud sob, but the louder sound of the rain muffles it.

Your beautiful black curls are now soaked and hanging straight against your face, and you feel yourself shiver. You're a (horrible, beautiful, disastrous, tragic) mess.

You pick yourself up and head back to your cabin. When you reach it, you realize just how freezing you are and take a hot shower, relaxing as you begin to feel your toes again. For a moment you remember how sick you're going to be in the morning, but the thought leaves you as soon as you feel the tears stop. It's a wondrous feeling, after all.

When you get out, you've composed yourself again, looking stern and businesslike as ever. You feel so, so much better. For a blissful minute, you forget about all your troubles and all the drama. Something in the back of your mind tells you to not turn around and head for bed, but your curiosity gets the best of you.

(Don't say I didn't warn you.)

Your happy moment shatters when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

You're a mess. Your skin lost its glow, and your eyes are no longer shining in ambition. You hair is limp and looks thin. You wonder how a boy could do all this.

[The moral is this: never forget that the love goddess plays favorites, honey.]