Picture Perfect
A boy holds a picture in his hand, examining it closely. It is of a family, or part of one, picnicking in the garden in front of a cream-coloured house with a red roof, yellow shutters and a white picket fence. The scenery is nice, certainly, if a little boring, but it is the people that catches his attention.
There are three of them: a fourteen year old boy, a twelve year old girl and a seven year old girl. The boy has sandy hair, blue eyes and a cocky grin on his face. The eldest girl has black hair cut short and blue eyes-and is very beautiful, the boy notes. The youngest of the trio looks wonderfully innocent and sweet and young-there is no other way to put it, he thinks, with her golden curls and slightly chubby face. Even her storm gray eyes lacked fierceness and fire.
It could've been them, his family, he thinks, only it wasn't possible. This was not of his family; not the one that he ran from, his real family. Their eyes aren't hard and weary, like they've been chased all their life and are sick of it. They are fakes, smiling at the camera, reminding the boy of what could've been.
All of them look happy and carefree. The boy has been taught to be observant, and he notices the secret smiles the eldest two have specially reserved for each with a familiar pang of resentment.
He stares at the picture somewhat nostalgically. It isn't fair, he thinks, that some people should have all the happiness they want while others have none. He studies the photo more carefully, searching the photo hungrily, letting his eyes feast on it, drinking in this image, his Cup of Elixir, as if he could tear out this image and make it real, and remembers where it was taken: Miami, Florida, 19th July. He has never been there before. He knows where his thoughts are leading: to a certain raven-haired Hunter with electric blue eyes and a blonde-haired teen with gray ones. Was it only a coincidence that the photo resembles flashes of the past? His past? Knowing the Fates, probably not. It isn't fair, he thinks again. Staring at the photo, the fact that the kids in the picture are smiling wholeheartedly seems to taunt him, mock him, saying that no matter how much they look alike, it was never going to happen. So close, yet so far.
Taken by a sudden fit of rage, he howls, unearthly, inhumanly and utterly terrifying. Flinging the picture away, he curls into a ball, rocking to and fro. After what feels like hours, he calms down and retrieves the photo.
All he ever wanted was a family. They promised him that. All he had to do was wait and serve. When this madness was over, he would rebuild what he had lost; and this time, permanently.
Luke Castellan had never been one to spend his time wishing for something he could not get just yet. He went ahead, and got it.
A/N: Ah, Luke, you don't know how wrong you are…but to make things clear, the photo isn't of Thalia, Luke and Annabeth. It's a random family in Florida. Peace out!