Hello fellow PJO fanDAM fans! This is my first attempt at writing actual fanfiction, so bear with me! Also, the regular ships will be involved, (no Perachel! Yay!) and I'll update as much as I can. Ideas and suggestions are appreciated! (And if you love historical fanfics, check out firebenderAnnabeth's story "Centuries," it's pretty sweet.
Enough with this mumbo-jumbo! GO READ.
Hazel stepped outside her mother's home into the darkness. Fetching water from the well was a pretty normal occurrence, but the sun had set unnaturally early tonight. The house was snuggled into a hidden alcove right outside the outskirts of the city, so she parted the brush and stepped out onto the forest path.
Candlelight glimmered through the cracks of the wood and mud houses as she traveled past. The sounds of lyres reached her ears, along with shouts of "Vita!" meaning 'life' in Italian. She scurried over to the shared well and placed her bucket on the muddy ground. She lowered and raised the lever until her bucket was full to the brim, then let the well rope and its bucket drop back to the depths. Looking over her shoulder, she lifted the heavy container, being careful not to slosh any over the edges, and hurried back into the dark woods.
She nudged her bare foot into the crack in the door, opening it with a resonating squeak. "Mother?" she called, for her mother was not where she left her. The placed the water-filled bucket on the floor, and went to place more logs on the dying fire. "Mother, it's me, Hazel." Grabbing a long stick and lighting it on fire, she went around lighting the candles in the room. Silence. Hazel's feet matched the color of the dirt floor. She stood still for a moment, listening. Low voices were talking on the other side of the old wooden door. "... Et pacem in perpetuum." "Thank you. Thank you, Queen Marie Levesque. Here," a stool creaked and the sound of metal hitting stone reverberated across the rooms. "Viginti argenteis, twenty silver pieces. For letting me talk to my dear Diana." Hazel knew exactly what her mother was doing. Weighing the pieces in her hand, inspecting them with her cold eyes. "Hazel?" she called. Hazel could never outsmart her mother. She placed the stick she still held against the mud wall, and pushed through the door. Eyes cast downward, she addressed her mother. "Yes, mother? What may I do for you?" "Come," she motioned to the third stool, it being right net to her. Hazel sat and looked at the silver pieces. "Hazel, what do you see?" "Twenty silver pieces." The man was watching them like he was at a competition of the game called Tennis. "And what do you notice most about the silver pieces?" "They have been shaved." "How much, exactly?" Hazel knew. Don't ask her how, but she knew. "Three ounces." The man's face turned incredulous, red with the heat of embarrassment. "Wha-? How?" "Simply put," says Queen Marie, "my daughter has a gift. Now I have a gift for you." Marie stood, almost gliding over to a cupboard where she held pieces of Hazel's secret. Cursed jewels. Whenever a customer she did not like (or more importantly, tried to gip her), she gave them a 'present.' Whenever they sold the gem, somehow, someway, something would happen to them ending up in death. Hazel knew each person who had died from her so called 'gift' in some way. Had sold them milk, bought their strawberries, et cetera. Marie took her time choosing the perfect jewel for the gentleman, finally deciding on a emerald the size of a fingernail. She glided back to her seat, and opened up her palm revealing the gem. The man's eyes grew large with greed. "For me...?" Hazel's mother smiled a real smile, as if she enjoyed watching people's selfish desires utterly destroy them. "Yes. For you." She extended her hand out even farther. As the man reached for it, Hazel closed her eyes. She hated what her mother did. Hated that she exploited her 'gift.' Hated how she made her live. She had had enough.
She stood abruptly, knocking down the stool in the process. Neither adult paid her any attention, so focused were they on the gem at hand. Storming through the door once again, she started to pace. Thinking that if she could just escape, she might have a chance at living a normal life. A peaceful life. But first she needed to control her emotions. No more spontaneous jewels. She needed to get away.
With the swipe of her arm, she shoved the candles off the table in the kitchen, grabbing the tablecloth. She walked over the mat where she slept, folding up the blankets and spare tunics and breeches. She had no reason to own dresses. Running her hand through her dark, curly hair she went through the food. Wrapping up berries and a few pieces of chicken, a handful of nuts, and grabbing half of the funds kept in a drawer, she placed them inside the tablecloth, finally tying it onto the burned stick she used earlier. She shuffled her feet into her only pair of sandals, and took off into the night.
Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson or The Heroes of Olympus.
This is a fan made story written for fellow fans to enjoy. :)
