Most of you know the story of Zoe Nightshade, user, and her battle with brain cancer. At this point, many of you know that the two of us have been arguing for a long time.
My oneshot, Invincible, was written for her, as many people know.
This is the rest of the story. Of how we found out what a -bleep- she really is.
Once upon a time—no, not once upon a time. Some things transcend time. Some things make time stop all together, or speed up. So once upon a time is not appropriate in this situation. It all took place once upon a dream.
Because it was a dream.
A dream, and yet a reality.
In this dream-life was Zeus. And sometime, a long time ago, he built a massive wall, dividing the world into segments. Each god then ruled a portion of the earth, so as to solve some of the many disputes among the deties
And living along with this wall were two girls—they were twelve at the time, maybe a little older— named Zoë and Storm. Their homes were close together, but on opposite sides.
One dream day, when exploring, they found each other, purely by chance. A space in the wall, a chink, where a voice could pass through—a voice, but they could not see each other. They could only describe what was happening on their side. They would go and sit by the wall for hours at a time, discussing random things. Everything, and nothing.
Time passes, though. Even in the dream. They turned thirteen, then fourteen. Once, Storm avoided the wall for six months at a time, and Zoë eventually stopped coming.
But they came back. They always did, in the end. Back to that spot where a voice could pass. By then, other people had already found this spot. And they began to know all the others that came, all the other people that relied on a faceless friendship. A friendship with someone that didn't know you, who couldn't judge you based on looks, or accent, or history. A clean slate. Where you could be whoever you wanted.
Isn't that right, Zoë? You could be anything. Anyone.
They were braver, those ones. They could talk about more private issues.
Too much, maybe.
One day, Zoë's voice sounded more pained. Frightened, maybe a little, though that didn't make sense. After all, she was Zoë. She was invincible.
"Zoë?" Storm leaned closer to the wall so she could hear. "Zoë, what happened?"
"I…" Zoë stopped. Storm took a deep breath, telling herself, over and over, that everything was going to be fine. That there wasn't really anything wrong. "Monsters," Zoë said at last. "They're… they're kind of attacking everything over here."
Storm left the wall shortly after, half paralyzed with fear. Almost as if the monsters were coming for her instead. She knew that monster attacks were frequent on various towns—several members of her family had been killed in a raid—but they always felt so far away. Now it was here, more real than it had ever been.
She cried. She cried a lot, hating that she did so. She cried too often, and knew that. Hated it. It was one of the worst feelings there was. Whether or not the absence of tears is worse is debatable.
She told herself it would be okay. That Zoë's area might be safe. She spun pretty hopes out of rotten yarn, wrapped herself in them, and turned to the distractions of day-to-day life. For the most part, it worked.
Still, she went to the wall more, hoping that Zoë would still be there. If she never let her leave, she might stay safe.
It might have been around this time that they became sisters, when all the wall-ers were working out how they were related. Storm wasn't sure. She can't remember anymore.
It was a week—maybe two weeks—later that Zoë reported something along the lines of Cancer the crab, an injury. Storm couldn't exactly hear over the sobs that were forcing their way out, even though Storm didn't cry, ever. Didn't cry, so why were there tears? She turned her face away from the wall so Zoë could not hear. (Since her sister never cried. She was invincible.)
The injury, Zoë sad, was treatable.
The injury was treatable, and yet the girl on the other side of the wall started getting worse. So much faster than anticipated. There weren't enough doctors, she said. They were treating all the other wounded. The wound was getting worse, and they weren't sure what they would do.
Everyone was at the wall the day Zoë disappeared. Disappeared in the middle of a rather unpleasant discussion, sending everyone into a panic. They yelled for her. Tried to climb up the wall, called as loud as they could for her to come back.
Because they were all terrified.
A terror only confirmed when an angry voice came from nowhere. At first, they thought it was Zoë. But it was her sister—her real sister, hinting at something, not saying until they forced it out of her.
That Zoë had tried to kill herself.
That a lot of the blame lay with another wall shadow, who nearly ate herself up with guilt. They all did. All thought they could have done something, were all terrified for her.
Luckily, Zoë survived. And a few more weeks passed in what might be considered peace.
Until Zoë whispered that they would have to amputate the leg. It was dangerous surgery, though. She might not make it. But luckily, a doctor had been found for her. Out of the blue. Out of a dream within the dream.
Something went off in Storm's mind. A sigh of relief that was a little too relieved. But she ignored it, ignored that little warning, because it was Zoë. She'd known her for two years. She was Zoë, her Zoë, and she loved her.
But death is the only child of love.
And Storm cried. She remembered back when she was twelve, thirteen, hanging out at the wall. Back when everything was easy. She wanted those days back, wanted them, but couldn't have it because time always marches forward.
And then, when the wound was so awful, so infected that it might poison the rest of her body, Zoë left. Left for this dangerous but life saving operation.
Storm left, too. Left behind. She waited. Talked to the others that lurked at the wall, but it wasn't the same. Everyone was worried, everyone loved her.
They didn't have long to wait, though. Soon another voice came to the wall. The sister, again, but this time she wasn't yelling at them.
All the wall-shadows pounced on her for information. Zoë, they learned, was in a bad state. She might die. She was unconscious.
She
Might
Die.
"It's really bad." Zoë sister had a similar voice, Storm noted. But she ignored this too. Sisters could have the same voice. It was possible. Another little flag that she ignored.
Because the world was collapsing, crumbling into dust. And they all cried.
"Oh no. Oh no. Something's happened," Zoë's sister said after a little bit. "I have to go." And then she was gone, and they couldn't call her back.
Days passed in silence.
Silence, it is said, breeds thought, which in turn breeds dissent. It was Redd Heart who said this. As usual, Redd Heart was right.
But it was a different kind of dissent.
It began with an iris message, when Storm and Sheva could wait no longer. They IM'd Hermes, god of medicine, ruler of their segment. Pleaded with him to tell them how she was.
Hermes looked baffled.
"Zoë Nightshade? But she's not hurt."
Storm thought of that red flags then. The ones that were lying in one corner of her mind, abandoned. But it was Zoë.
Sure this couldn't be true, they turned to Apollo. God of Zoë's.
"No," he said. "She's okay."
He was confused as they described her injures.
"But there was never a shortage of doctors in her area. None at all. They would never leave a kid like that. They wouldn't let it get that bad. And if it was, they wouldn't operate…"
Storm felt nothing. Emptiness. Pieces, falling apart, like her jigsaw puzzle when the neighbor tried to tear it up.
Just dull disbelief.
"But her sister said…" Sheva was still staring at him. "She said that it didn't go well… she said…"
Apollo shook his head, clearly impatient with such foolishness.
"Someone like Zoë wouldn't react like that. She's fine."
Their friend on the other side of the wall had lied to them. Zoë. She was Zoë. This wasn't true. It couldn't be. And one small part of Storm hoped—in a mean way—that her friend, her sister, really was dying. Because it would mean she actually had that sister.
Otherwise, she didn't know her anymore.
Eventually, she and Sheva agreed to tell only Theia and Kay, the ones who were closest to Zoë. And more days, weeks, passed. Summer plotted on. Life went on, and this time, it was life beyond the wall.
The tears, the feelings of betrayal, the anger. Storm locked it up, tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about Zoë at all.
It didn't work.
They tried to keep it quiet, they didn't tell the others, but it all fell apart again when Zoë again returned to the wall.
Speaking was one of the hardest things Storm had done. She had spent three weeks deciding what she was going to say, but now that the time was there, it had all vanished.
So she just went straight to the point. "We IM'd Hermes, and he said you weren't sick. Then we asked Apollo."
There was silence on the other end of the wall.
"What are you getting at?" And it was Zoë, the one she had known for years. Zoë, who she had cried for. Zoë, that faceless presence on the other side of the wall, the one she had come to call sister.
And yet it wasn't.
Sheva came. They presented their evidence as best they could. Storm didn't know what she was expecting. For Zoë to come clean, maybe, so that it could be like it was before. That time before the month of hell began.
But Zoë was Zoë and Zoë never backed down. She was invincible. And so they let it lie. But words can't be taken back. Minds don't change.
They didn't talk anymore. No more nights sneaking out to the wall, talking about everything and nothing and crying and pretending not to. (On Storm's side, of course. Zoë never cries.)
The silence continued. Was it days, or weeks later when Storm overheard a conversation at the wall between Zoë and someone she knew in person?
Storm hid, even though she didn't need to. They couldn't see her. They were separated by the stone. Zoë was probably only at the wall by accident, not intending anyone to hear what she was saying.
The conversation went something along the lines of 'hi how are you, Zoë?'/ 'I'm great.' / 'I'm so glad I'm not in the 8th grade anymore I don't want this teacher.' / 'yeah I'm glad I graduated in time.'
Storm is having trouble remembering the actual conversation. She just remembered that Zoë had told her she skipped a grade. And that she was supposed to be dying. And though Zoë made excuses—not to her, they haven't talked directly since that last day at the wall—roundabout ones to Sheva, Storm couldn't believe her. Couldn't believe that she had really, just
Not anymore.
If there was evidence pointing towards it I would believe you but… there isn't.
September had started, the summer of chaos had ended, when Zoë began breaking into her life. When she was locked out of her email, her connections to everyone. When she had to fight to get them back—and there they were again. More tears. Shameful tears, this time just of frustration as she fought to keep her life together.
That was when she took a torch to the family tree, burning Zoë's name off. When she was more open with the details about what happened, because she was tired of lying.
She is still tired of lying.
But if you're reading this, it means the lobbying attempts of Peter Ji and Theia 47 were effective.
She did push against them, for awhile.
She didn't want to post it.
Didn't want to tell the world.
For no good reason.
Except that maybe she hopes, just a tiny bit, that Zoë will return to the wall.
To their wall.
But she knows she won't. She knows better. After all, Zoë has, for lack of a better term, been excommunicated.
And if you're reading this, it means she wouldn't take her back anyway.
I hate you, Zoë. I hate your fucking guts.
Astrocytomas don't grow that quickly.
When they do grow, they grow bigger. They don't multiply, like Zoë said hers did.
If they did multiply, they wouldn't do the surgery.
The hospital she said she was at has a large endowment and wouldn't leave a kid who needs surgery without.
They also wouldn't give an upfront cost.
It is very rare for a fourteen year old to have a stroke during surgery
Miraculously pulling through right before she's about to be taken off the machines hardly ever happens in real life. Even I wouldn't have been fooled by that one, even if I hadn't known by then.
Sheva and I called half the hospitals in her city looking for her. Every one with an oncology department.
The doctor she referred to on countless occasions does not exist.
My FF account was hacked by Zoe's email. My goodreads, , facebook, email by a different one.
I am not the one refusing to speak to her. I've PM'd, texted, emailed her several times. She's the one ignoring me.
Zoe is the reason that an anonymous Verita left us. And I know that by then you were in too deep, but you could have at least pretended to get better, to cancel it out. Or you could have just confessed. We loved you, Zoë. We didn't want you to be sick.
To those that are saying the story is against guidelines:
It's not a real-life insert. There is no Zoe. There's an attention seeking teenage girl out there somewhere, who made up a lot of lies about herself. Thus, I don't count this as adding a real person, because it's not.
And to those that are saying that the Veritas are just taking revenge on her and that two wrongs don't make a right:
She said she didn't care if I posted it. (I got a direct answer! Ain't it lovely?) And it's not about getting revenge on her. It's about telling the truth, it's about making sure the rest of the fandom isn't worried she's about to die. To those that come from other fandoms: you would never know her/care (unless you've PM'd or forumed) so it honestly doens't really involve you. It's for all those in PJO that worried along with us, that wore those support Zoe avatars, that just knew.
And I posted it as a story, instead of a list, for the benefit of those who only know part of the story, who think I'm out to take her down or hated her from the beginning or whatever else. Because fragments are floating around, and we just decided everyone should know what actually happened.
Veritate Sto.