a/n: idk where this came from;; also, i love my aphrodite babies dont touch them hisses
they grow up not wanting to be roses, but sunflowers
They're beautiful, they think. Beautifully beautiful.
It was how they were raised to be. Most of the time they're okay with that.
Mother says patience is a virtue. So they hide behind walls of lipstick and foundation and slather themselves with defenses called attitude. Perfume drowns out scathing remarks easier than warm touches or hugs.
Time is the only thing they have, and they can be patient, because Mother is perfect and they'll soon all grow up to be, too.
(Perfection is not real, but no one ever told them that.)
They are the spitting image of what campers should never be:
Helpless; they're not weak, but then, they are. Vulnerable; they were too fleshed out and easy. Self-centered; they care more about their well-being because it's safer that way.
Cowards. They run away from themselves a lot faster than they do in battle.
But they have not reached beauty—they're in the pursuit-of, and that's much less grand.
In third grade, Mitchell's teacher told them to write down what they wanted to be when they grew up. His classmates laughed when it came down to his turn, and he had been for silent the rest of the day.
He found the sheet of paper under his bag of hair products the week after the Battle, miraculously immaculate of crumples. There, in sloppy crayon taunting him—"I WANT TO BE HAPPY" was placed right below a crude drawing of a heart.
He wiped his tears and threw the scrap away because he doesn't know how to swim out of the past and it's easier to drown.
Lacy glances at the mirror more than any other sibling, and that's a feat by itself. Satisfaction is something she's never tasted. After every second dinner of the month, she'd head towards the toilet and sit in front of it until everything's out of her system.
She always has a headache after and she wants to die. It's not worth it at all, but she does it anyway. No one hates her more than she does herself, and Lacy has to look away from the case of pills sitting innocently on the bathroom sink. She has to look away.
Drew found out the worst way. From an Ares camper with a ghost of a frown and half-pitied words.
Her favorite sister, dead. Just dead. Dead means never coming back, and she knew that. But Silena wasn't just dead; she was a traitor. She recalled when Silena taught her how to braid, when she had seen through all her lies, when she never threw angry distrustful looks at her even if she deserved them—
When she had been her sister.
That was when Drew found out leaving your trust in someone was the stupidest thing anyone could do. So she never did it again.
Drew does not hold grudges, but she also never forgets. It was only after everyone was asleep did she let herself collapse in sobs. She made sure her mascara did not run.
Piper looks better with makeup on, is what she discovers one day.
Masks are her favorite thing to wear, and everyday, she's able choose from so many. One for every person she meets. Maybe she can be an actress like her father and be different characters, own different lives. Everyone else is easier to play than herself. Is that how her father feels?
But she doesn't care anymore because she loses herself every moment she finds it again.
They're beautiful, they hope their Mother will think. Beautifully beautiful.
It was how they were raised to be. Sometimes, they're okay with just that.
Mother says things will come in due time. So for now they wear their strong bones and vibrant clothes to hide away the dark hole burning through their hearts. Perfume only can hide so much before it chokes you.
Time is the only thing they want but patience isn't in their reach anymore. Mother is perfect and they're not sure if they're ever going to be.
(Perfection, they realize, does not necessarily go hand in hand with beauty.)