-A few minutes ago-

She awoke on a beach. The warm waves gently washing over her, then retracting to join the rest of the calm aqua sea, over and over again. But for someone who had just been washed up on an unknown beach, after being tugged out to sea whilst on holiday with her mum (She had no dad, the swine ran away before she was even born – although her mum always tried to convince her he was a good guy.), she felt strangely... revitalised? Also very, very comfy! In fact, she was so comfy she started to drift off into a (hopefully, she thought) dreamless sleep. But her sleep was never dreamless.

And then the sane part of her brain kick-started again.

She was on a beach; she couldn't sleep in a public place! She was surprised at how uncharacteristic she was being! So instead she started thinking through everything about herself and her past. You know, just in case she had amnesia or something.

She was 15 years old. 16 in exactly one week and two days, on the 12th of June. She had wanted a new fountain pen with black ink cartridges for her birthday, which her (quite frankly, brilliant) mum had bought her and given to her exactly one week and three days early. This brought her to the subject of mum. Her mum was called Louise Thompson; she was kind-hearted, had a calming presence about her and liked to bake chocolate surprise (She still hadn't figured out the surprise) cookies on Sundays.

Aaah, now she remembered. She was the strange, quiet, self-proclaimed hermit, Cyan (yes that's a real name) Thompson. She was 5ft 9in in height. She had big aqua-coloured eyes, a longish nose, that flicked up a bit at the end covered with a light smattering of freckles, plump rose tinted lips, lightly tanned skin, noir (she thought noir sounded so much blacker than just plain black) hair that naturally fall into ringlets, and a faint pink scar in a slit mark across her throat from when she was attacked on a London bus at the age of 13 by some crazy guy dressed up like an ugly Bull on two legs.

With that over and done with, she resolved to open her eyes. Now that wasn't as easy as it sounded. Because about the only encouragement she had to open her eyes was the fact that she could hear loud voices nearby. A girl shouting "Percy go get Chiron quick! She's alive but she seems to be unconscious!" And then the sound of someone – she assumed Percy – running in soft soled running shoes away from where she was. She inwardly sighed. She knew she should open her eyes or someone might call nine-nine-nine. Ooops! This was America which meant nine-one-one (If she'd been completely awake she would have winked!) Anyway... Ok, she thought, I'll open my eyes on the count of three. One...Two...