I own literally nothing.

Let's be straight here: Beryl Grace lived for attention. She was an attention-hog. An attention-camel. The star of the show. The one who wore the prettiest dress out of the entire congregation.

She wanted fame.

111111
 She used to live her life by the Bard. She would star in almost every show in her Christian high school. Meter, rhythm, she had it all down. It crept into her normal speech. Amused the hell out of her parents when they ate dinner together. Giggled about it with her friends.

Juliet, Kate, Miranda, Titania…

1111111

She was the star of the show. The center of everything. The worlds of everyone else in the school revolved around her. And she loved it that way. Beryl Grace, the whispers went. Everyone in the school in the school knew her name, and Beryl couldn't wait until everyone in the world knew it.

She started Shakespeare thinking that it would be a stepping stone to her fame. She continued it in senior year because she had learned to love it, for all of its complexities and confusions. When she got out of high school, the first thing she did was try out for a reality show. She got on. A few people found this amusing—straight-laced, Shakespeare-loving Beryl on a reality show. For most people, it was easy to see. Beryl loved it—all of the people were interesting, the pay was good, and it was her ticket to fame. Her parents gave her more than a few raised eyebrows, but they eventually got used to it.

"Why do you do that show, Beryl?" her mother would ask.

And Beryl would give her a stare and let out a breath. "I can't describe it," she would say. "But it's interesting and it's exciting and it's the life for me."

And her mother would give her an unfathomable smile. "If it makes you happy, darling," she would say, and leave the room.
11111111
 Beryl had a voice. She had a powerful voice and a powerful presence. The directors bent to her will more than a few times. Beryl had a tight circle of friends, a steady boyfriend. She saw her parents every few weeks. She loved the adoration she got being a star. She loved being the center. She loved being on a pedestal.

But despite all of the friends and perks and money she had, she learned one thing.

It's lonely at the top.

11111111

Beryl wanted to live forever. Beryl wanted to be immortalized. Because as an actress, there's a moment when you realize that fame is not immortal, and that you will lose your youth and beauty. Beryl wanted to keep it, and she became desperate.

So when she met him, of course she jumped at the chance to be his lover.

Because he was a god. He really was.

His name was Zeus.

11111111

He had told her the whole story about the Olympians and how they were in America. He gave her gifts. He smothered her in adoration. And he left.

She should have known. Danae. Io. Metis. Demeter. Alcmene.

Or maybe it was her own fault. She had asked for riches. She had asked for all of his love, all of his attention. (She had asked for immortality.)

Because something else was growing inside her. She visited the doctor. She double-checked and triple-checked. And she found out that she was pregnant.

She always tried to be a good girl, with the 'yes, pleases' and 'no thank yous.'

Maybe if she had told him no thank you, she wouldn't be in this place now.

But all she knew is that she had met him and it had all fell apart.

11111111

Her father would have tracked the new daddy down and killed him with his bare hands, but Beryl didn't want that. She probably loved him. Or maybe she was sick of all the drama and wanted it to be over. And maybe she just wanted to erase him from her life, let him slip from her mind, let every remnant of him die out. Let he who moved you hither move you hence.

Every remnant, of course, except for the baby. Her something. Her little bump.

She continued working for as long as she could, but eventually it became clear that there was no room for a pregnant actress. She left with a few weeks of consolation pay, plus what she had saved up. She moved away. She got a new job as a salesperson at an Old Navy. She became exactly what she had never wanted to be: someone normal, someone who fades into the woodwork. She wore her company nametag like a badge of honor.
11111111

Pain and morning sickness. Not being able to see her toes. Feeling heavy. Beryl couldn't really help getting slightly bitter, could she? Everyone would have felt terrible about everything that had been lost.

Six months in, her mother managed to track her down. She visited Beryl at her apartment and sat on the bed next to her like Beryl was a kid again.

"Come back to us, darling," she told Beryl. "We love you. We can help you."

"I don't want help," Beryl said in a monotone, so different from the rhyme and the rhythm of her Shakespeare.

Her mother had looked into her eyes and seen that Beryl would not change her mind. Instead, she tried something else. "Beryl, honey, you need to know something. You can hate that baby's daddy and you can hate me and your father, but you should never hate that baby. That baby is a miracle. Her father is an ass, but that baby is innocent."

"I know, Mom," Beryl said. She was close to tears, but she held them off.

"Oh, my baby," Beryl's mother sighed, her chin quivering, "I'll always be here to help you. Baby, please remember my name."

1111111111

Memory is overrated, Beryl reflected a few months later. I don't want to remember the daddy or my parents, but I have to.

The baby was born. It had hurt like hell, and Beryl had been cursing her existence every moment of it. But she had come through and her mother was right, that baby girl was a miracle. Her Thalia. Flourishing.

And babies worm their ways into your hearts. They are there for you to hold. But eventually they grow up. And within a little time, Thalia was crawling around and didn't really need her anymore.
0000000000

And let's just say that one day, Beryl and little Thalia were at the SuperShop, and they pass the media aisle and the show that Beryl used to be on is playing. And they've got a new actress her part. And Beryl just can't take it anymore. So she passes the wine aisle. And without thinking about it, she puts a bottle of tequila—pure escapism—in her cart. And at the check-out aisle, the lady working there—Carla, she remembered—had grabbed her hand. "Honey," she said, "Please don't take that stuff. It'll ruin you."

Beryl had smiled a quivering smile at her and continued to check everything out.

And Beryl and Thalia get home, and Beryl can't bring herself to drink the tequila. But eventually, the memories get to painful and Beryl is forced to think.

One: The show that's forgotten her.

Two: The parents long estranged.

Three: The main she might still love.

Four: The baby growing up.

And she can't help herself from taking out the tequila. And she takes a tentative sip.

Nothing has ever tasted so good.
111111111111111111111111

Okay, so we've seen Beryl pre-Thalia and her descent into alcoholism. Please, please, PLEASE review! Tell me if you want me to do a Jason chapter.