I do not own any one from the Percy Jackson series cause if I did Nico would get a lot more hugs...poor guy really need em
Black ink dripped from stained fingers onto a tarp, most likely placed by another camper, that protected the wooden floors from receiving the same fate as the one who's hands and fingers were coated in, most likely, permanent black splotches. Pools and splotches of wet and dry black ink and paint coated the tarp leaving one to wonder what the original color may have been once upon a time. Those stained hands lead to deathly pale wrists where the persons sleeves had been pushed back in a futile hope of keeping the garment they wore from being equally stained, needless to say that it was a wasted effort if the shirt had once been any color other than black it was no longer evident. Fragile wrists lead to slim arms ending in slight shoulders, bony and thin as though they weren't eating enough and they hunched inwards as though they were trying to make themselves as small as possible, as though they were trying to hide from things no one else could see. Black curly hair, that had not seen a brush for god's know long, spilled over the figures shoulders down to sharp elbows. It was only this that helped define the figure's gender for the sheer lack of care had drastically reduced their weight and they swam in the overly large clothes that they refused to wear anything other than.
Unseeing dark eyes darted back and forth as delicate long fingers brushed gently, almost tenderly, over white paper. No one knew what her name had originally been, or even if she had a name though they assumed she had, she was far too gone in her madness by then to do much more than allow them to give her this one place, this sanctuary that held her and hid her. A dark prison and protective tower all in one. It was unusual of the Roman's to be so soft, even to one of their own, but she was a special case. The only living child of her mother, a prophecy, and a good deal of pity, were the only things keeping her there. After all even they could not cast her out to die, even Romans weren't so cruel.
Her guard for the early morning sat in a chair in the corner sharpening their blades and cleaning their armor, don't be confused the guard was not to make sure she didn't escape, but to make sure that she did not hurt herself or others in one of her more violent...fits. So long as there was black ink for her to dye her skin in and paper to plaster on her walls she was mostly content there were only a few times were she could not be consoled and had to be restrained until that time passed.
The called her Duana, an Irish name...her accent long forgotten from a time when she once was able to speak made them believe she hailed from there once...it meant coming from darkness, they chose it for one reason only, though her darkened home stained black with ink could be called the reason now, her mother was Mania goddess of death and madness and that was exactly what Duana was now. Nothing, but death and madness...for now.
A/N: Hey I know it's been forever since I posted anything and I'm really sorry, but the ADD kinda makes it hard for me to stick with one story for long cause the next thing I know I've gotten an idea for a scene for another story and I just get so excited that I completely forget about what I was suppose to be working on I promise I will try really hard to stick with this one though!
P.S. I am in denial that Nico is gay, ok ok ok I KNOW I KNOW he's gay I get it I have no problem with it, but it's just it's NICO! I love the guy and it breaks my heart he bats for the other team TT_TT so Imma ignore that and pretend he's Bi... (ie I'm making him bi so tough titties guys)