Far Away

She never idealized her life. Never. Nor did she ever expected to live the perfect life; that sort of thing just didn't happen in real life. Sure, she was content - if she was really stretching it, happy - but really, that never prevented anyone, least of all her, from wishing for more.

When she was little she imagined she was swept off her feet by her prince in shining armor (that he had hopefully decorated because just plain grey was so boring, not that there was anything wrong with grey that is). He'd save the world, convince her father from killing the beautiful scenery that she loved to draw, and spoil her rotten. They'd live in a regular-sized house far, far away. They'd be surrounded by people they loved, new people. They'd have their ups and down and always came out ok. They'd have three beautiful children, and when she's entering the room, she'd see how charmingly he dots on them. If there was anything Rachel knew about herself besides her love for painting, it was that she had always wanted children.

She knew she wasn't exactly lacking in the looks or character department. In fact, anything else she lacked would have been made up for with her character. Head-strong, independent, funny, creative, loyal, brave, daring. What wasn't to love?

Everyone had their faults though, and apparently, she wasn't any different. When she was young, she knew things before they happened. A fight between her parents, another one of her father's schemes to transform her into a "proper" young lady, when one of her teachers was having personal problems, an accident, a good investment, a good investment turned bad. Her father thrived with that knowledge. Of course, deep down, she knew she loved him and that he loved her. He just had a funny way of showing it.

Apparently, that was the least of her problems, the predicting-thingamajig. If fact, now she predicted bigger, more important prophecies, ones that could possibly get all of her friends, or her friends' children, or their grandchildren killed, miamed, and scarred for life. That's the funny thing about prophecies. They bring bad news and yet, these enduring, silly, stupid, stupid demigods do exactly what it says. If a line said something bad would happen in the middle of March, they'd go prancing around without a care for their safety despite being warned. If another line said someone would die in the desert, they'd head straight into the desert. Nevermind that they just kind of stumble there, they were just stupid. It was an endless cycle.

Not to say life here in her cave was all that depressing. On the contrary, even in her old age (although she would never admit it), being around all of these young people was pleasant. They were always moving, experimenting, creating. It thrilled her to paint them. She had some of her best times here, and she even had three personal assistants that she'd never tire of bossing around. If she were to guess, though, she'd say they've become immune to her antics.

But all of this (of course) came with a price. Curse her sense of duty.

It wasn't so bad, she suppose, and she'd probably pick this life eventually anyway. But another part of her wanted a choice. She was practically the Apollo form of Artemis's Hunters without the whole I-think-boys-are-so-disgusting immaturity.

Sometimes, she wishes that she was cursed to never love anyone romantically, but apparently, Apollo "wasn't that cruel." Percy was proof enough of her flawed will, although now all he earns is an eyeroll, but back then was different. (Ok, so that was before the vow, but details, details.) There was also this guy at the bar a few years ago…

Don't get her wrong. She'd never, ever, ever peg herself as one of those silly girls that picked up guys at the bar, but oh gosh, he was so sweet and charming and had his silly smile that she just wanted to wipe off his face keep it in a secret place, much to her horror. Hadn't she sworn off all boys? She thought she did. Still, that didn't stop her from coming back again, and again, and again. They'd joke around, talk, and told each other stories of their friends' antics. He'd tell her about the book he was writing on the side of his teaching job and she'd show him her drawings and paintings and occasionally sketch him. She never told him what she really did for a living, just that she was an artist. He was from the midwest in a small city in which everyone knew each other on their side of town and didn't seem at all fazed when he found out what her father did. They were two opposites. She knew he'd never be anything more than a friend at the bar, but that didn't help her from wishing. Her senses finally caught up to her a year later. She never went back.

She watched her friends grow up, married, and had mini-me-s of their own. Annabeth and Percy were, of course, happily married and raising a family. No one needed her to predict that for them. Leo was still searching the seas high and low for Calypso, Nico and Will had gotten together, and Grover finally had the guts to ask Juniper to marry him a few years ago. Chris and Clairsse had surprisingly gotten married very quickly, Travis and Katie were still continuing their love-semi-hate relationship, Jason and Piper lived a romantic life worthy of Aphrodite, and Frank and Hazel were one of the most famed and powerful couple in all of New Rome even after retirement from the Legion. She had watched all of their children grow up into strong demigods and loved them all. Except for maybe Travis's lot. They acted just like him and if those little rascals hadn't inherit part of Katie, she was certain she would tell them she predicted eternal doom for them all just to scare them senseless.

No, her life wasn't dark or unhappy or loney. Just not what she had expected it to be.

Now, at forty-eight, an age where most of her friend's children were grown up already, she was sitting patiently with her still vibrant red hair up in a ponytail and glancing around in the pavilion. The demigods were chatting excitedly about whatever was going on that day, but that didn't matter to her. She was waiting for someone, a very special someone, especially to her. After thirty-two years of service, she was ready to retire, ready to pass on the torch and this green snake. She'd move to Paris, to Oregon, Washington D.C., to any other shoreline really.

Just then, a timid little twelve year-old brunette girl, whose name she knew was Neillie, stumbled into the pavilion besides a styer. She shouldn't be though. She'd love this life, she just knew it. Rachel smiled. Freedom at last.

It might have been a bit OOC (I finally know what that means! :D Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. I'm behind) since I don't really know Rachel all that well, but this popped up and I just had to write it. That, and the fact that I don't want to study for Finals, practice my Spanish oral presentation, or do my chemistry or math homework. I hate graphing and lab reports. Sue me.

I am currently work on numerous other stories lately, so no, I haven't forgotten about you guys. I want to be at least close to finishing them though before I start to publishing. I hate it when stories are on hold. Unfortunately, between school, family obligations, my continual streams of ideas, and my weird obsessions, I haven't made much progress. I was also flirting with the idea of continuing "One Phone Call" but it's not going the way I would like it. We'll see how it goes.

For some reason, I feel like I am exceptionally more talented in writing in a child's mind-set and depressing stuff rather than the sort of things I usually read. I wonder if that means anything… Anyway, I hoped you guys enjoyed it… hopefully. I'm no professional writer.

Sincerely,

~Sepharim (The Original! *cough* Vivi *cough, cough*)