So... this is my first Percy Jackson fanfiction. Guess we'll see how it goes. Just give it a chance. Any construction criticism is welcome. There is some language.
I don't own jack-didly.
I am Pandora. It's a sucky name, I know, but, hey, if we don't have hope, what else is there? I just really hope (yes, that somewhat-of-a pun was intended) that I don't end up unleashing unimaginable horrors on mankind. Of course, my namesake already did that, so I have to wonder: what else is there left to unleash? Nobody answer that.
My story begins with the union of two powerful demigods: a son of Hades and daughter of Demeter who had a child – here's the surprising part- together. That girl went on to marry a son of Aether. They, in turn, had a daughter who married a son of Erebos; together, they had a son who did not marry but had a child with a daughter of Hemera. The son of that union got thoroughly tired of the crap and married a mortal, to whom he remained very loyal. Their son unknowingly married the daughter of Nyx, once again bringing the family line into the eyes of the fates. (Not much more now) The next generation married into humanity again (I think to maintain any genetic possibility of sanity), but that, of course didn't last very long. A son of Ananke married into the family, followed by son of Chronos the next. Of course, these were all (excluding the mortals and that very first generation) the demigod children of some very minor gods, so the family tree was basically forgotten/ignored by the gods of Olympus. The fact that the children of demigods never go to camp anyway helped us to fade into obscurity; that privilege is reserved for the children of gods only (Way to make the rest of us feel appreciated!). So, a good eleven generations after the first lovely couple doomed us all came my mother, daughter of a daughter of…. Well, who really knows… and that son of Chronos a few long-winded sentences ago. My mother was beautiful beyond all belief and gifted, too. She had the most beautiful singing voice in the world. She was also ridiculously contrary, but that was probably due to her lineage. It was a small wonder that one or two gods paid attention to her.
Apollo was her first suitor. The creep could hear her melodic voice as she sang in the shower. Needless to say, I never requested that bedtime story very much. My mother, wonderful woman that she was, managed to resist that god's charm. According to her, his verses were never very good for a god of poetry, anyway.
Then came the god-man who (almost literally) stole her heart. Hermes was all she'd dreamed of and more. He was quite dashing and always returned her phone calls. Of course, he was always on the go and eventually left my mother with me.
So, here I am. What the hell do I do now?
Basically, I'm a freak o' nature. Small wonder that these words are coming from a demigod, but I'm special. (Yes, Mommy did say that; however, the fact that she did is beside the point)
Demigods are not supposed to live long enough to have children. Heck, they are not even supposed to live long enough to fall in love- or lust for that matter. The point is they are not supposed to live long at all. The oldest half-blood ever, a daughter of Zephyr, lived to be thirty-seven. Basically, the monsters found her really hard to catch. So, the children of minor gods do not even make it very far. The children of major gods, the Olympians, can just forget about it.
I was not supposed to happen, but that fact remains that I did.
What does it all mean? Not much, really. Divine lineage basically fades out in the next generation, excluding some attention problems and natural inclinations that vaguely hint at the aspects of whichever god, which is all fine and good because I'm not entirely sure how mixed up my blood would be otherwise, but my family (Why me?) just had to be special. Never before had the essence of the gods become so intertwined with humanity, especially over such a long period of time .For example, my mother, though deemed a human, would almost have been able to pass for a demigod, except for the fact that her afore-mentioned contrariness made it impossible to connect her with any divine being.
As for me, I could almost pass for a god(dess. Go feminism and proper term-ing!). You'd have to be blind in one or both eyes, almost completely deaf, have no feeling in any somatic cells, and never actually seen a god before ( not that you could if you were blind) to actually believe I was one, but I was the closest any "mortal" had gotten to immortal in a very, very, very long… ever.
And, (drumroll, please!) my genealogy has almost nothing to do with what happened to Camp Half-Blood, but isn't that how all the great stories start? Don't answer that.
So here's a shocker for 'ya: I knew Luke. I knew him very well. If the truth be told, I still know him. How, or maybe even why?
We sit together on the fields of Hades, burning in a veritable Hell. There's still hope, though. We managed to strike a deal with the Lord of the Dead himself. When one of his children is most in need of help, we get to go back (at the age we died and everything), on the condition that we get the little bugger out of whatever harm it happens to be in- and that time is coming soon. I just hope we don't screw everything up, or this time around, there may be nothing left in that sad little box.
Luke and I don't actually have an eternal punishment, other than being in this wretched place, that is, which I suppose is punishment enough. Instead, we stare at each other and constantly relive the wrong in our lives. Mine comes down to a single moment.
I could not stop him. I was there, see, when Luke stole the Lightning Bolt at the very beginning of the whole damn mess. I told him not to, to put it back. I couldn't understand what was making him act so selfishly. Admittedly, the children of Hermes steal all the time, but this, this was going too far. I pleaded, making him promise to return the bolt to Zeus with an apology ( a unique touch, considering I am my father's child), and I turned a blind eye when he did not.
I was there when he enchanted the shoes and forged the shield. He knew I knew, too, because he began poisoning my food with the venom of the same scorpion he would try to use to kill that Jackson kid, and I just let it go- right up until the night I saw him getting that damn scorpion into place. The entire situation had flown just a little too far.
I challenged him, right then, in the forest. The fight lasted for ten or fifteen minutes. He was good, but I was better, despite the fact that I had been poisoned for months. He lost his footing, and as he fell forward, my sword cut much deeper than I had meant for the sharp edged-blade to do. Luke was dying.
I saved him- and doomed the world. I filched supplies from the Apollo cabin (the trusting fools did not know how to lock up properly), and with some luck (as I thought at the time) and my own semi -(screw simply demi-) godly skill, Luke healed completely an hour before the sun rose. In that gray hour, he killed me. For him, my actions signified I was a liability to be eliminated. Too weak, from the poison , the fight, and the healing, I was not able to stop him from cutting me down. I was unable to even will myself to not die as I had done so many times before.
I failed. I didn't stop him when I could, and it was sin enough to land me in Hell. But, hey, at least I had a consolation: that bat rastard (and you know what I mean) was here too, feeling just as guilty and just as deserving as I.
Hm... thoughts, comments, concerns? Too much? I'm trying to involve characters we know, if not love. Honestly, I could use some reviews. Any opinion is fine. Pay attention to the little arrow!
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