This was originally written for my other story. The Chase Family.
But then I figured that it didn't have much to do with the twins, so I made this another story.
So, enjoy(?)
Hands
The sunlight casted through the branches and leaves, splashing on the dusty forest floor.
A girl with curly blonde hair stopped in her tracks, tilting her head a bit, as if pondering something.
It was quiet, with only the occasional bird chirping and the wind rustling.
Annabeth smiled to herself, and held out her palms.
Once in her memory, she remembered another pair of hands. Tiny, soft, and holding the key to her past.
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The hands, they were smooth, reaching towards the blue sky as if they held the world.
The owner of the hands, she was a child, a sweet little child filled with happiness and a fiery passion. She had the most joyous laughter that could ring out within the whole street.
Those hands, they were magical. They belong to a real artist. Anyone could tell from the way the girl would splash colorful paint onto a huge white canvas. She would always have stray droplets of blue or yellow flying too high and landing on her face or hands, but her everlasting smile would indicate that she didn't gave a care. Waving her fingers, letting them dance all they like and to weave her heart into a beautiful harmony, like it's the one thing that she enjoys doing most, the one thing that really matters. It seems like as long as she kept creating, her tiny hands would never get tired.
But one day, those hands crept away and never returned. What was left was a pair of dirty palms, clutching on a dagger for all it's worth, fighting her way into dark alley ways and dusty abandoned houses.
They were hardened, challenged by time itself, morphing. The girl had seen too much, heard too much. From the dust swirled up by a battlefield wind to the horrendous sight of blood shooting out the fatal wounds of enemies, friends, going down. From the sounds of metal clashing against each other to the haunting screams of pure horror. Images and voices that would plague her nightmares for the rest of her life.
These hands lost the childish energy, but gained a heavy responsibility. These hands are getting too heavy, too heavy to follow the beat of the skipping, gliding hands that were no more. These hands have a different mission, a different goal. Too far apart.
Where have they gone, those pretty, delicate fingers? The joy and hope those tiny hands held, are they still in those palms?
Opening up, Annabeth inspected her own tanned hands.
A bit tattered, with a scar here and there, bruises around the edges. They were no longer sweet and innocent. No longer.
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"Annabeth?"
The questioning voice lifted her head, to find a pair of green eyes staring right back at her.
He didn't ask why she was here, or what was she doing.
But simply held out his own hand.
She reached out to intertwine her fingers with his, and they headed out the woods side by side. Together.
True, her hands were rough and quite beat-up.
Yet, he was right there, taking it all in.
And she couldn't have been happier.
And that's that! Thank you for reading.
Please leave a review as you go it would be highly appreciated. uwu