A/N: Credit for the summary goes to HallowedHallsOfWriting. The title translates to: A World Beyond Victory. I was going to keep it in plain English but French looks way cooler than english. Get used to it. I think I'm going to do the rest of my fics titled this way. ^^
Everyone has a piece of the greened-eye monster in them.
A satyr came today. Turns out that everything I learned in Science and History class was wrong. I saw the looks he gave to Juliet. I'm guessing that, he too, likes her more than me. We were "claimed" the minute we stepped over into the borders. And of course Juliet got claimed first.
My name is Ophelia, and I'm 12 years old.
Linelineline
She always was better than me. It was ironic really… She always won first while I always came in last. I think that's why mom likes Juliet better than me. Or maybe mom liked Juliet more since we were born and that's why she always wins. I'm not really sure which.
My name is Ophelia, and I'm 13 years old.
Linelineline
Juliet got hurt in sword fighting class today. Apparently, some jealous daughter of Aphrodite stabbed her when she wasn't looking. Swarms of boys visited her in the sick ward, bring along get-well cards, chocolates, and the occasional rose. Did I mention that in addition to winning in everything, she's also drop dead beautiful? Being her twin sister isn't easy. I always have to live with the fact that she's always going be the more liked twin.
My name is Ophelia, and I'm 14 years old.
Linelineline
She just went on her first quest. I think even Chiron likes her better. Do you want to hear the prophecy?
Daughter of the Goddess with Wings
Will once again overcome
Victory is in her path
And the life of a Hero in her present
Damn you Apollo.
And of course, two weeks later, she comes back to camp. A bit dirty and really wet but still drop dead attractive. I don't know why (okay…maybe I do know why) but it sickens me every time I see the picture of her next to all the other picture frames of people who came back from a quest.
My name is Ophelia and I am 15 years old.
Linelineline
She stole my boyfriend.
She. Stole. My. Boyfriend.
Every single freaking stupid minute I watch them make lovey-dovey faces at each other is another single freaking stupid minute I want to strangle both of them (literally!) to death.
I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.
Why DOES SHE ALWAYS HAVE TO BE BETTER?
?
What have I ever done?
My name is Ophelia, I am nearly 16 years old, and I will never speak to my (ex) sister again.
Linelineline
That night, on the sandy beaches of Camp Half-Blood, a girl could be seen. She didn't care if she got caught. She didn't care. She didn't care. She didn't bloody care. She didn't freaking bloody hell care.
If someone looked closely enough (no one did), a tear could be seen running down her pale, flushed cheeks.
If someone looked closely enough (no one did), a picture containing two people could be seen floating in the endless ocean.
And most of all if someone looked closely enough (no one did), they could see that look in the girl's eyes.
A look one would say, that belonged to the insane and crazed.
No one would know that, on that fateful night, a vow on the Styx was taken.
A/N: I know. I know. It seems really unconnected all of that. But it'll make more sense when I post more chapters. Think of this, as the prelude.